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By the Sea

By: DWSimon



The following is a complete work of fiction.

Disclaimer:

The following story may contain erotic situations between consenting adults. If it is illegal for you to read this please leave now.

Any resemblance between the characters and any real life person is completely coincidental. Please do not copy or distribute the story without the author's permission.

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By the Sea

I live in my house by the sea. I have lived there since I was eight. My grandfather took me in and gave me the love and support I needed after my parents died. I was shy and timid. I always have been. Eventually, I grew up. I became six-six and weighed 250 pounds. I grew fur all over my chest and belly, the same golden color as on my head. But I was always easier, more comfortable, working in the garden or cooking in the kitchen. My grandfather had many friends that he was close to during World War II. I spent many a Wednesday afternoon listening to their stories and cooking for their lunch. When I graduated from high school, I enrolled in a cooking school in New York. I graduated after two years and my grandfather wanted me to go to Paris to continue my studies. I loved my time in New York, but I never really felt comfortable. I was good at what I did, winning many awards, but I wanted to return to my home by the sea.

I decided to spend a few weeks at home before going to Paris. When I got there, I realized that the time away had not been kind to the old man. He was frail and looked sickly. I knew I wasn’t going to go to Paris and leave him. Before my twenty-first birthday he passed away. I sat inside my house by the sea and grieved, but not forever. All of my grandfather’s friends came by on Wednesday as usual and had me sit with them and tell stories and then listen to theirs. It helped, and somehow they have always understood how shy and quiet I am. Shortly after, I found out that the house and everything in it was left to me as well as a trust fund from my parents. I realized I didn’t want to go to Paris and decided to turn my home into a bed and breakfast so I could cook for others and still stay at home.

I spent weeks going over all that I would need to convert the house. I looked at furniture and fixtures, talked with contractors, and even an architect. When all was said and done, I hired a contractor from out of state to oversee the project. Since where I live is fairly secluded along the Oregon coast, within sight of the majestic haystack rocks near Cannon Beach, I let the man stay with me. His crew was made up of local craftsmen, but he wasn’t local, so needed a place to stay. Over the next couple of weeks, I started to decorate as soon as each new room was completed. I decided to use large, sturdy, comfortable furnishings and bright, warm colors. I wanted people who came to my home to be comfortable and relaxed. The contractor, whose name was Robert, and I became friends. He was a tall man, but a little shorter than my towering height. He was big and strong and often worked without his shirt. I found myself becoming tongue-tied around him. I blushed a lot and stammered when he talked to me. In truth, I was attracted, extremely attracted to him. He would smile at me and wink. It made me feel even more flustered and shy around him. About two weeks into his stay, he came to my room one night.

He told me that he had seen me watching him and wanted to see how far things could go. With that he was kissing me. I was shocked, it was my first kiss, first everything. He took off my shirt and sifted his fingers through the hair on my chest. Then he took off his shirt and pressed me to him, pulling me, melding with me. His chest was covered in coarse, dark hair, such a sensual contrast to my soft, downy fur. He was fast and a little rough. He pulled and pawed at our clothes until we were both naked, standing by my big bed. He pushed me down and pulled my face to his lap, feeding me his hard shaft. He wasn’t all that long or thick, but it was my first time and I gagged a bit. But soon I became accustomed to his invasion. He held my face and started pounding his hips into me. His cock wasn’t long enough to go beyond my tonsils and my nose kept being bumped into his pubic bush. He pulled away and tried to catch his breath, telling me he didn’t want to cum so soon.

Robert took my face in his hands and started kissing me again. He pushed me back on the bed, forcing his hips between mine, pressing forward and begging for entry into my body. But when he pushed forward, he realized quickly that this was brand new to me. He immediately slowed and gentled. His forceful, pushing manner eased and he became sweet and loving. I realized that I had probably given him signals that led him to believe I was more experienced. The change in his attack was so different. Where before he was forceful, now he was gentle and coaxing. He started kissing me again, but slowly, teasingly with his tongue, begging me to play with him. Where his hands had pawed at me, now they stroked, stoking my pleasure, petting and relaxing me. I felt my nervousness leave and I started to return Robert’s ministrations. I tasted and delved my hands over his body, skimming against his back, reveling in the contented purr he let out. He continued to stroke my body, but his hands moved lower, skimming over my ass, bunching and kneading the muscular globes. He began stroking my hole with his fingers, brushing against the bundle of ultra-sensitive nerves. Then he was inside me, buried to the knuckle of his middle finger. He searched and prodded inside me, looking for admittance, for acceptance. I opened for him and he pressed his advantage. In seconds he was buried inside. He waited; he coaxed and crooned, telling me with gentle words to relax. He continued to pet me, stroke my body, willing me to relax. I did and he began to move. He rocked into me quickly and in mere moments was clenching and spurting, making noises like a braying mule. When he collapsed against me, all I could think was: this is it?

Then Robert rose for round two. This time I understood what it was all about. He stroked and built me, having taken the edge off of his own needs; he spent the time and energy finessing a response from me. When it was over, he was marveling at me, telling me how responsive I was and how good I was. It made me feel special. Our routine continued for the next few weeks while the last of the work on my house was being done. What we did in bed was mostly the same: kissing, my sucking him and him fucking me. The night before he was to leave, he came to me and was different. He was kissing me, but he let me lead. He didn’t take control. After a bit of rolling around, kissing and petting, he pulled me on top of him and wrapped his legs around my back. Robert looked at me and said ‘please’ before I sank into him. I felt him close around me, feeling him stretch around me. I pumped and thrust into him, amazed at the turn of events. I felt him build because he kept squeezing me, crying out and pawing his fingers into my shoulders. Then I felt him release, jetting against my belly. I kept thrusting into him, keeping from orgasm by the slightest margin. Shortly after, he came again and this time I couldn’t help but follow. My breathing slowed, and I slipped out of Robert while he cuddled to me.

I knew he was leaving tomorrow. I was okay with it. I was attracted to him and I will never forget the time we shared together, but it was only sex. If he were to stay, it probably could develop into more. But he was leaving. I was lying with him, watching the colors of the sunset change through the curtains of my bedroom window when I fell asleep. The next morning, he was gone. 

The next few years were lonely ones. I was crippled behind walls of intense shyness. It wasn’t too bad during the long summers. My house was full of guests. But the winters were long and lonely, with nary a guest for up to three months. Those were the times when I felt it the most, an almost bone-crushing sense of loss and loneliness. I had turned twenty-five the previous summer. I was gearing up for the lonely period after Christmas when my only real contact would be the Wednesday meetings with my grandfather’s friends. I received a call from a secretary for a literary agent. She asked to book a room in my little bed and breakfast for an indefinite time, starting the second week in January. A writer wanted to stay in my house to write and do research of the surrounding area. When I asked for the author’s name, I almost fell through the floor. It was one of my favorites: Toby Hunter. He writes mostly murder mysteries with a big dash of the supernatural thrown in. I was so excited. I had read all of his books. I couldn’t wait for the next few weeks to go by.

He showed up on the 10th of January during a huge wind and rainstorm. It was dark and close to 11PM. I wasn’t expecting him until the following morning. I answered the door and helped him grab his things from the car. We were both soaked. He stood in my front entrance while I went to get some towels. When I came back I skidded to a stop. He had stripped down to his boxers. He took one of the towels from my now dead fingers and started to dry himself off. It wasn’t supposed to be erotic, but my body didn’t care. He was a few inches shorter than me, but I would say we weighed the same. His shorter frame carried his weight in his chest and shoulders, perfectly sculpted and bulging with raw sinew. His dark hair was short and tamed against the wild curl evident. His eyes were a piercing blue. His nose straight and perfectly complimented the rest of his features. His lips were full and sensuous. His chin, hard and strong, was covered in dark stubble. Then I looked down to his chest. Some people don’t like hairy chests. I find them extremely sexy. His pectorals were covered in long, straight, thick dark hair, to the point where you couldn’t see the skin underneath. The hair was in interesting whorls all along the muscular plane. The hair trailed thickly between his abdominal muscles and hid his belly button. You would only know it was there because of the swirl of hair that deepened at that point. His legs were also incredibly muscled and covered in dark whorls of the same straight, thick hair. In a word: gorgeous.

I was afraid I had started drooling. I know I lost the ability to speak rationally. So I ducked back down the hall to change my clothes, hoping I could make the erection go away. When I was dry and had everything tucked away, hopefully not so noticeably, I went back to see to my guest. He had opened a suitcase and pulled a shirt over his head and was pulling up a pair of jeans. I offered him some food and when he declined, I helped carry his bags to his room. It was in the tower, directly over mine. It was the best I had, and considering how long he was going to be spending here, figured he needed the extra comfort and space. When he was settled, I went back to my room and crawled into bed. I was still hard, but I didn’t do anything about it. I drifted off to sleep and indulged in some incredible dreams.

The next day, Toby sat with me in the kitchen while I got ready for my Wednesday lunch. He talked to me and told me what he was hoping to find in the area. I asked if he always worked by not working and he laughed and told me that he wanted to take a couple of days and unwind, he had been on a book tour. He actually joined my grandfather’s friends for lunch. I was absolutely mortified when one of them whipped out a scrapbook and showed Toby. I was embarrassed and escaped to the kitchen. I didn’t realize that they had kept such records of me. Every single picture and article from cooking school was there. I had volunteered my free time at a women’s shelter in New York, but I kept it private. The school didn’t know until someone from the paper came and did an article on what I did. I hadn’t realized that my grandfather knew. It brought the pain of his death back to me. God I missed that old man. I carried dessert back into the dining room. One of the group told Toby that they were so proud that I did so much for so many people and all without a hint of recognition. Then he told him how I spent Fridays donating my cooking talent at the shelter down the coast a bit. It was true, but I was still embarrassed. Another member of the group wondered why I didn’t ask for something or do anything to get recognition. Toby piped up and said that some people had so much love to give that they wanted to share it and the sharing was its own reward. I actually fell in love with him right then and there. I had been fiercely attracted to him, but having him so easily define why I was motivated to help others was the last thing needed to have my feelings bloom. I actually smiled at him, full wattage, without ducking away in shyness when he returned it.

The next day I spent driving Toby around the area. I showed him a great lookout for viewing the haystacks of Cannon Beach. Then I showed him the lighthouse that the movie ‘The Goonies’ was filmed at. We drove to Tillamook to tour the cheese factory. While sitting in the café, eating some of their heavenly ice cream, I watched him watch the passing ladies. That kind of calmed my hope of a returned attraction. I know it’s foolish, but I was kind of hoping he would be the one to see me for the worthwhile person I really am. That his words at lunch yesterday would actually lead to something else. But I guess not. I could still be his friend. After all, it was probably hero worship; kind of like the silly crushes teenagers have for movie and rock stars. Though I knew it wasn’t.

That night Toby sat in my kitchen while I did my baking and prep work for Friday’s trip to the shelter. He was amazed at how much food I was preparing and I told him about my time in New York in which I would cook for a couple hundred people a day. What was nice was that he offered to go with me and help. We actually had a good time. Then Saturday morning, he was shut in his room, pounding away at his laptop. I had never seen anyone work so diligently at something before. He was in total concentration. I was in awe at the raw energy that went in to his creative process. Just watching him aroused me. He was truly beautiful. While he worked, he had steel framed glasses that he kept pushing up his nose from time to time. The total concentration seemed to make his face more angular. It was a breath-taking sight. But I stayed away, letting him work, bringing sandwiches and coffee every few hours. I would leave it by his side and collect the used plates later. He did come up for air every couple of days or so and I would help him with a tour of the area or a description of the seasonal changes. I gladly helped as much as I could, all the while fearing that my feelings were growing deeper and stronger, to never be returned. 

Toby had been working and writing for over six weeks. He seemed happy with the progress on the book. He would spend most days with me in the kitchen, poured over his laptop, saying that hearing me work added a bit of homey comfort that aided his writing. On Thursday nights, when I did the majority of my baking and preparing for the shelter, he would actually help me box up things and keep me company for the five or six hours I would spend cooking. It was a truly happy time for me. I had companionship and a caring body to share my time. It didn’t surprise me when I so easily fell deeper in love with him. I would watch him concentrate on his writing, be so into his characterizations that he would forget to eat. I would make a sandwich or something in which temperature didn’t matter. He always had something to drink close at hand, whether a thermal carafe of coffee or a pitcher of his favorite cool drink of half iced tea and half lemonade. Each time I would put something in front of him or remove used plates and glasses; I would usually get a smile. One Saturday, while I watched him work while baking an apple crisp, he caught me staring and we shared a smile that shot straight through me. I couldn’t catch my breath and I was so hard watching his lips curve and the dimples in his cheeks form. I had it bad. But I knew he had no idea. I enjoyed watching him. But I kept quiet about my feelings. Too shy, too scared to share them, positive that he wouldn’t feel comfortable with them. As I pulled my crisp out of the oven, there was a pounding at the door. I didn’t have any guests scheduled for at least two more weeks. It was late and figured it was a stranded traveler looking for a place for the night. It happens sometimes. 

But when I got to the door, there was a woman standing outside. She breezed in and handed me her bags and told me to place them in Toby’s room. Her attitude had me concerned, so I asked why I should place her bags in his room and she told me she was Toby’s fiancée. I blinked, trying to breathe in and out, because that simple task failed me. I knew he was straight. I knew he wasn’t going to be interested in me. But it still hurt. Nodding away the pain, I took her to the kitchen, which she was loath to do. But I led her to Toby. She squealed when she saw him and launched herself into his lap. I could tell he was annoyed at being interrupted, but he grasped her and hugged her anyway.

“Becca, what the hell are you doing here?”

She pouted at his harsh tone, but practically purred out her response. “Oh darling, I just had to see you.” She kept kissing at his neck, I wanted to turn away, but I couldn’t. It’s like looking at a car accident. It turned your stomach, but you still couldn’t look away. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Toby turned to me, with a look I couldn’t recognize, like he was looking for anything to help him. “Becca, I would like to introduce you to Jack.” His eyes softened and his smile was warm and generous. “He owns and runs this place and has taken really excellent care of me.”

She didn’t even turn her head to me. She just sort of made a little ‘how are you’ sound and then started kissing Toby. I turned from them and carried her bags to his room. I straightened up the bedding and made sure the bathroom had fresh towels. I also grabbed a stray plate off his desk and emptied the trash. I went downstairs into my office to make a list of chores for tomorrow. I heard Toby and Becca head out of the kitchen and go up the stairs. I decided to turn in and crawled beneath the covers. But sleep eluded me. After a few minutes, I heard the bed creak through the floorboards above me. I had heard the sound before from other guests, but I always tuned it out. This time I couldn’t stop from listening. I was absolutely green with envy, furiously jealous of Becca and her luck at being with someone so incredibly sexy and wonderful. I was also incredibly aroused by it. I listened for several minutes, the gentle quaking of the ceiling and the incessant squeak of the box springs. I could imagine the two of them, writhing and rolling on the bed. I could picture myself writhing and rolling on the bed with Toby. I felt myself tighten and quiver with repressed desire. I felt myself tingling with impending release. I wanted so badly to grasp my heated flesh in my fist and bring myself relief. But I didn’t. I tortured myself, listening to the two of them. After several heated moments, the pace of the squeaking sped up. So did my desire. Then I heard a loud bounce and the rumble of Toby’s voice as he found his release. Not that I could hear any words, just the timbre of his deep voice as he called out in pleasure. It was too much and I found myself clenching and spurting in my own heated release. I closed my eyes and felt each pulse leave my body and drench my tight briefs. The moment the last spasm left me; I opened my eyes and felt a deep shame. I had listened in on something so very private and personal. Even worse, I got off on it. I felt horrible. I got out of bed and went to my kitchen after throwing on a pair of cut-offs and a t-shirt. I decided to work off my guilt by starting my baking early.


By the Sea



I had baked three types of cookies, a cake, muffins for Wednesday’s lunch, cinnamon rolls for tomorrow’s breakfast, and was working on kneading the week’s bread, which I usually do on Sunday afternoons. I needed to stay out of my bedroom in case they were going for seconds. What made me truly sad: what if they went for thirds? Or fourths? I’ve learned to hide how I feel, I always have. But I have never felt more alone then I did that night, stupidly doing unimportant work. 

Since Toby had come into my home, my freezer was filled with extra dishes, made while being close to him working in the kitchen, and I delivered more things then ever to the shelter. Is this all that life has in store for me? Can no one see how alone I am? Can no one find it in his heart to see me for who I am and realize how much I need someone to love me? I placed the bread in a large bowl to rise by the oven, cleaned off my counters, and washed my hands furiously, beating myself up for being pathetic and frustrated because I don’t know how to change how I feel or make my own life better. I escaped outside to my greenhouse, tending the flowers that would fill my planters, baskets, and beds in the spring and summer. I always loved it in here. But tonight it was one more reminder of how pathetically alone I am.

I went back inside, washing up again, needing to check on my bread dough. I was putting the dough into loaf pans and putting them in the oven when Toby walked in. He was dressed in boxers, his hair was mussed and he was slightly sweaty. I could smell her cloying perfume and the raw, basic essence of sex on him. He had come downstairs looking for a snack. Ever the dutiful host, I packed a tray for him with sandwiches, fresh cookies, and milk. He thanked me with one of his warm smiles and headed back to his room. When the bread had finished baking and I had resorted all the items in my refrigerator, I went back to bed, stripping off my clothes and putting headphones and music on to drown out whatever round the squeaking bed springs above me happened to announce. For the first time since my grandfather’s funeral, I cried myself to sleep.

The next day I didn’t exactly feel better, but I felt more in control. I served Toby and Becca in the dining room coffee and cinnamon rolls, but it was the first time I actually gave a meal to Toby in the formal room except for Wednesday lunches when he would share in the weekly meeting of my grandfather’s cronies. I took advantage of the opportunity to go up and clean their room. It was the only time I actually wished I had someone else to clean for me. Not that they trashed it, but the evidence of the night they had shared was plentiful. I opened a window to air it out and changed the bedding. I even dumped the trash again to get rid of the tissue wrapped bundles of used condoms. Then I tackled the bathroom. Toby always kept it simple: one towel and no crap all over the place. I don’t think Becca could use one towel if she tried and she had lotions, make-up, and other such junk from one end of the counter to another. I cleaned up around it then went downstairs to see if they needed anything else.


The next night, Toby was down working in the kitchen again as I prepared for the next day. It was as if Becca wasn’t even there. And boy did she pout. She was absolutely incensed that he didn’t stop working and come to her when she snapped her fingers. Hell, even I understood what concentration he put in to every word and sentence. I never chatted with him or made him do anything. I quietly took care of him so he could work. It was all I could do for him when I would have gladly done so much more. I was cleaning up the last of the dinner dishes and had made a pot of coffee for him. I had filled his carafe and put it in front of him when he smiled at me. I leaned back against the counter and watched him work for a few minutes, letting the usual flush of arousal wash over me, feeling myself plump a little. But after a couple of minutes, I felt a presence behind me. I turned to see Becca looking at me. I could tell by the predatory gleam she got in her eye that she had my number. She knew that I was at least attracted to Toby if not head over heels in love. She gave me a smug look and sauntered over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing under his ear. I turned away from it and collected the kitchen towels, deciding on one more load of laundry. When I turned around, Toby was pushing Becca away, telling her ‘not now.’ I couldn’t help the slight grin. You don’t bother the man while he’s working. But she caught it and I could feel the claws come out. She was pissed. So I decided to retreat to the living room and a good book. She followed. She sat across from me, thumbing through a magazine, glaring at me from time to time. When the clothes washer was done, I got up to transfer the clothes to the dryer. When I headed back into the living room, I noticed my cat was curling itself around Becca’s legs. Now my cat is used to kids playing with it and pulling on its tail. She doesn’t mind. She keeps her claws in and is a very sweet natured creature.

I saw Becca try to brush the cat away. When it didn’t work, she pulled her foot back and kicked my cat, hard enough that she lifted off the ground and flew a few feet. She landed and scurried off. I don’t like to lose my temper. It happens so rarely that when I do lose it, it scares me in its ferocity. I walked right up to Becca; I know fire was shooting from my eyes. I don’t like to use my height or muscular frame to intimidate, but I did then. I stood over her and pushed forward and watched her retreat in fear.

“You are no longer welcome. Get out of my house.” I was shaking with rage. How dare she attack a simple animal, a sweet, gentle cat? But inside her was a backbone of steel. She got right in my face and started yelling back.

“Who do you think you are? I don’t give a fuck about what you want. This is a pretty lame excuse to get me out of here.”

I saw red. “Get out of my house. I will call the police. You have ten minutes to get your things and leave. NOW!” My usually soft voice rose to a roar on the last word and she actually jumped. She was momentarily cowed, but didn’t stay that way.

“Just because you want him, doesn’t mean he will stay if you kick me out. He will go with me.”

I swallowed, my fear breaking down and fear taking its place. “I don’t care. Get out.”

Scenting a weakness, she pounced. “You are so transparent and pathetic. Don’t even bother. He loves me. You won’t win.” Every word hurt. I’ll give her this; the woman knew how to attack. The barbs stick and she could even twist the knife.

“Becca?” Toby’s voice was very distinct because of its deep baritone. He came up to us and I sat down, the emotions ebbing and now that the adrenaline was wearing down, I started to shake. I hate when I lose control like that. I never know how far I will go. Toby knelt down in front of me.

“Jack, what happened?”

Because she stomped me into dirt his turning to me was a bitter victory. “Toby, he’s trying to kick us out.”

Toby snapped his head around. “Shut up Becca.” He turned back and his eyes were filled with concern. If I didn’t focus on something else, I’d have told him how I felt. “Jack?”

I chickened out, giving him a truthful explanation. “No one kicks my cat. I hate losing my temper.”

Toby turned from me and towered over Becca. He told her to go pack her things. When she left after a few sputtered arguments, Toby turned to me and asked if he had to go too.

“I like working here Jack. I’ve gotten a lot done. But I will leave if you need me too.”

I felt myself weaken. I looked into his eyes and saw the pleading in them. He really wanted to stay. And like the lovesick fool I am, I couldn’t deny him anything. “You don’t have to go.” Then I looked away from him. “If it would help you work, Becca can stay too.”

With that he went upstairs and I went to the kitchen to fold the laundry. I heard them come downstairs and out the front door. After a couple of minutes, Toby came back inside and sat down at the kitchen table in front of his laptop. I waited for him to say something, anything.

“Toby?”

He didn’t even look up. “Yeah Jack?”

“Where is Becca?”

He pushed a few keys then looked at me, a grin on his face. “On her way back to New York.”

I felt bad, petty and jealous, because of my feelings. “I told you she could stay if you wanted.”

He smiled at me. “I didn’t want her to stay. She knows I hate it when she interrupts me. I can’t stand it when she shows up in the middle of writing.”

Now I was confused. “But she is your fiancée. She probably will expect you—“

Toby’s confusion had him snapping. “Who said she was my fiancée?”

“She did.”

He tilted his head back and roared. “No wonder she was so pissed when I sent her away. She has been trying to get me to ask her for a couple of months now.” It was with an amused grin and a wink that he said, “I told her it was just casual.”

I actually smiled at that. I left Toby alone at the table to continue working, refilling his carafe with fresh coffee and leaving a plate of cookies within reach. I turned in and slept better than I had in a good long time.

His work progressed over the next few weeks as spring arrived. I started getting more and more guests and Toby would talk with them and joke around, signing copies of his books and generally enjoying meeting a wide variety of people. He told me it was what helped him create characters, the social interaction. One night I was babysitting for some of my guests when Toby joined me in playing and entertaining the three-year-old. I had a lot of fun. The next day, I was planting flowers in the beds lining my driveway and walkways. Toby helped me. We worked for a couple of hours in companionable silence. I really was going to miss him when he finished his book. 

One of my regulars, Mrs. Stein, came for her yearly visit during the first week of April. After dinner one night, I served her a cup of tea in the study across the hall from Toby’s room and she asked that I join her for a minute. We were sitting, talking about the weather and other generalities when she asked me a question that just floored me.

“How long have you been in love with Toby?”

I stammered for a minute then answered truthfully. “From the first day.”

She smiled warmly at me, nodding in a way that told me she thought I was being silly. “Does he know?”

I swallowed. “No.”

She patted my leg. “Are you going to tell him?”

Wasn’t that a pointed question? My heart wanted to scream it from the rooftops. But my heart… “Probably not.”

Just then, I saw Toby standing in his doorway, looking shocked. Mrs. Stein stood up and kissed my cheek before walking past Toby to her room. I sat there, knowing my face was on fire. I couldn’t meet his eyes. But I saw his feet as he moved closer. He knelt in front of me.

“Why didn’t you say anything Jack?”

I still couldn’t look at him. “After the few days with Becca, I knew you weren’t interested. Sometimes it’s better to never know. You know?”

“No, Jack, I don’t know.”

I looked up at him then, his answer was curious. There was actually something interesting in his eyes. My limited experience not withstanding, I could have sworn it was desire. Just that simple, fiery look had me trembling and hard. Hope flared up inside me. And it burst through me when he lowered his lips to mine and brushed against them for a minute. Then he deepened his kiss, begging me to join his motions. I did. I moved my tongue against his, playing and dodging, enjoying this simple contact more than all my other previous experiences combined. Then he was pulling me up, taking me by the hand into his room, shutting and locking his door. He pulled me to his bed and pushed me down, removing my shirt as he went. He paused and grinned at me.

“You look like a teddy bear Jack.” It was probably true; my chest was covered in a thick pelt of downy, curly golden hair. He reached out and touched it, running his fingers through it, sifting and tugging gently at it. I was so hard I cried out from the pleasure/pain of it. He ripped off his shirt and shucked his pants, standing before me in tented knit boxers. He was hard and he was hard for me. He reached down and undid the snaps of my jeans, pulling them off me with a quick tug. He grabbed the hem of my briefs and I lost those as well. His mouth engulfed me. His tongue laved me. His lips made love to my swollen shaft. I was in heaven. But it had been so long that three or four bobs of his head had me exploding in release, filling his mouth with my semen. He pulled back and smacked his lips and grinned. 

“You taste good Jack. It’s been a while since I did it. Didn’t know if I would remember how.”

I was surprised. “You’ve been with a guy before?”

Toby shrugged. “Sure. A couple of them.”

“Oh.” I felt really inadequate and awkward. “I’ve been with one.”

He cocked his head, studying me. “How long ago?”

I was ashamed, but I wasn’t about to lie. “Four years.”

He grinned deeply. “It has been a long time for you. But I expect a fully equal partnership.”

“What do you mean?”

“I hate the roles. Top, bottom, it doesn’t matter to me. I want it all and I won’t accept less. If you like one more than the other, that’s fine, but I want to play both from time to time.”

I actually grinned. “So which do you want to play now?”

With that he dropped his boxers and I saw all of him. His shaft was so thick. He didn’t have a drop of fat on him, except for that beautiful cock. It was a truly fat piece of meat. Long, but not as long as mine, straight and so hard it pointed to the ceiling. He started kissing me again. He lay completely on top of me, pressing his chest to mine and rubbing his aroused cock into my belly gently. Every move he made from that point forward was gentle and kind. He seemed to sense that I needed him to be slow, that I wanted to savor each moment. He didn’t disappoint. He rolled with me, gently rocking his body into mine. Then he started kissing and biting at my nipples, nipping the sensitive skin at the hollow of my throat. He reached over to the table by the bed and fumbled for a tube of lubricant. He smeared some on his fingers and touched me. I arched my back and moaned. It had been so long. Then he swirled around my flesh, teasing and testing the give of the sensitive ring. After a couple of minutes, he pushed into me with one finger which was followed quickly by a second, then third. After a few minutes of his ministrations, he pulled back and added some lube to his cock before spreading my knees wide and testing me with his shaft, pushing in slightly, testing the waters. I parted for him, willing my body to accept all of him. He rocked into me, a few shallow thrusts taking him deeper and deeper until he was completely inside me. He waited like a patient groom with his virgin bride, willing me to gentle and calm before ravishing me. It didn’t take long for me to adjust, feeling myself accept him, open to him, grip him in eager passion. Then he began to move. Long, slow strokes had me feeling each divine millimeter of that fat cock against my ring, feeling the divine pressure against my prostate, and feeling more full than I had ever felt before. The pleasure had me pulling, meeting, and writhing in joy. I met each of his lunges and moved towards my own pleasure, trying to wring his from him. I felt Toby thicken, the pressure increased and I felt my own orgasm approach. A few more thrusts and I would be there, releasing in ecstatic spasms. Three, four, five thrusts and I spurt against him, calling out his name. In the heated moments that followed, as he found his own pleasure, I murmured the words of my heart and told him I loved him. His answer was a long, slow kiss.

We traded back and forth that night, forgetting roles and switching with ease. We must have made love ten times that first night and each time got better and better as we learned the triggers that brought on the extra pleasures. Toby loved to have his back scratched lightly, he actually moaned when I rubbed between his shoulder blades. He loved to have his nipples played with. All the little things that you find in that first heated rush of aroused desire we learned those first few days. It was heaven. I still helped him when he needed it for his book. We would go on day trips to a museum or a shop, perhaps the boardwalk in Seaside. Then we would go home and retire to bed for a few hours. In the morning, in the evening, and sometimes in the middle of the day, when the passion arose in either of us, we dropped everything and appeased it. I would have been embarrassed, but I was having too much fun.

After a couple of weeks, Toby hunkered down when he figured out a scene that he got really into. During that time, I was sort of ignored and I reverted back to the caregiver role that I had played from the start. I didn’t mind. He worked almost non-stop for three days, only pausing to eat when I put food before him and sleep for a couple of hours when he was too tired to continue. But when he saved the file and closed the laptop at the end of the third day, he lifted his eyes to me and gave me a truly wicked grin.

I decided since I had been ignored, I would get to play with him that evening and set the rules. I led him to my room where I had made a couple of preparations. I had Toby remove his clothes and lie back on the bed. I took a red silk scarf and used it as a blindfold for him. I had him raise his arms above his head and lock his hands together around a bedpost. Then I went out to the kitchen to heat some massage oil. When I came back, I had to catch my breath. He was lying with his arms raised and the sight of him in nothing but that red blindfold nearly had me undone. He was beautiful and the deep red of the sash matched his dark hair and complexion perfectly. He was fully aroused and pointing to the ceiling as I sat on the bed beside him. I trailed my hand over his legs then belly, watching as goose bumps erupted wherever my hand had trailed. I poured a dollop of the massage oil in my palm and rubbed my hands together, spreading the oil evenly. I moved to his foot and started a slow, sensual massage of his body. My goal was to relax and arouse Toby to the point of madness. I rubbed his arch and between his toes, cupped and pressed into his heel before moving up to his calf, knee, and thigh. Then I did the other foot and leg. I moved on to one arm, then the other. I ground oil into his chest, pinching and tweaking each nipple. Toby lay before me, panting and writhing in pleasure, letting out gasps and slight moans, indicating his approval. When I got to his belly, he had a slight pool of clear essence that had dribbled from him. I rubbed and stroked his belly, finding yet another secret erogenous place on his body. He was begging by this time, his cock a deep, angry purple. I took him in my hand and stroked three times before he spurted. I watched his cum shoot up his chest, across his chin, and then drool onto his belly. When he had calmed, he moved to remove the blindfold, but I stayed his hands. I lifted his legs to drape over my thighs as I poured more of the massage oil on my swollen cock before sliding deep within him. I kept moving with great speed, lost in the sensations of Toby surrounding me. Overwhelmed by the love I felt for him and the joy of the trust he had placed in my hands by remaining blindfolded, it didn’t take me long to find my own release, pushing deep within him for my final plunge. I hit something inside Toby and he grunted with a second release, scant minutes after his first. 

It had been an ideal couple of months. We spent a great many hours lying in bed, loving each other, holding each other. We have made love in my room and in his. We made love one time against my kitchen counter and even in the dune grass by the gazebo at the edge of my property. I told him I loved him and often. But he never returned the feelings. He was affectionate and very caring, but he never said those three simple words. Then one day he told me his book was done and he asked me to read it.




By the Sea



I sat in my room and tried to go slow, wanting to draw out and savor each word, knowing that when I was done, Toby would soon leave. But his book was too good. I finished in just over five hours, devouring each and every word. I was moved and touched by what he wrote. It was almost the end of the book before I realized that he had turned me into one of the characters. The female detective, one of the minor characters from his last book, had come to Oregon to heal from her injuries. She stayed at a little inn along the coast and was nursed and loved back to health by a kind, warm, gentle man. It filled my heart to know that Toby really saw me, the person I feel I really am. I put down the last page, thrilled by the whole experience and went to find him.

I found him lying in his bed, asleep, facing away from me. I slipped off my clothes and slipped into bed with him. I pulled his warm body flush with mine. His back rested fully against my chest and I wrapped my arm around him, squeezing him to me. I started kissing his neck and nibbling on his ear. I was hard and thrusting lightly into his crack, gently masturbating myself into his willing flesh. I ran my arm down his furry belly and felt him standing hard and leaking against his belly button. I grasped him and stroked him slowly but hard. I nudged a leg between his thighs, lifting and separating his ass just enough that I could find him with my cock. I pushed into him slightly and rocked slowly into him, all the while kissing and biting at his neck and shoulder. Toby’s arm came up and he cupped my face as I continued to rock gently into him. I shifted slightly and pushed hard into him and felt his entire body shudder, his moan loud and low and deep. I kept moving into him, deep and hard, pulsing with pleasure, throbbing deep inside him with every beat of my heart. As I had noticed before, our hearts beat at the same rate and I could feel them sync up, pulsing through us at the same time. Each tense of my body had him shiver and groan. Each thrust had me gasping in ecstasy. Then I felt him thicken and get harder in my hand. I moved my fist up and explored the flared ridge of his head and sensed the slit open, readying to expel his essence. He cried out and I felt the muscles deep inside pulse and then his cock twitched in time to the jetting of his semen. Six, seven, eight heavy pulses and then he relaxed, limp from the pleasure. I sped up, giving myself the added tempo in order to trip and join him in sated bliss. When I came, I knew it would probably be the last time I was going to be with him and it made the strong, intense spasms poignant as well as earth shattering. As I felt my body calm, relax and soften from my efforts, I slipped out of him and pulled him even tighter to my body, hoping for just a few more hours of having my love sleep in my arms, before they became empty forever.

The next day I knew our time was drawing to a close. He spent a long time on the phone with his editor, discussing his new book and the book signing for his latest, just published opus. I steeled myself for the coming few days, willing myself to put up as good a front as I could. Wanting Toby to only look back on our time together with pleasure and never regret or guilt, I vowed to smile when I sent him off, back to his world. He found me in the kitchen and told me he would leave the following morning for New York. I don’t know how I kept from crumpling to the ground in pain, but I stayed standing, with a slight smile on my face. I nodded and then thanked the stars for the sound of my oven timer going off. After I had pulled out my latest batch of cookies, I turned back to Toby.

“You could come with me, Jack.” His look was almost pleading.

I smiled though it hurt so much. “I can’t during the summer. Maybe for a few months in the winter, or a week or two in October, but I can’t get away now.”

I wanted to ask him to stay, offering him a safe harbor to work, a companion to travel with for research during the long, lonely winters. I didn’t make the offer though. Perhaps I had too much pride. Perhaps I was too afraid that the answer would be no. I do have some sense of self-preservation. Twenty-six years of shyness does provide a few defenses for my psyche.

We spent the night together in my room. Our frenzied coupling was almost desperate in our need to be together. I used every touch and caress, every kiss and moan as a beacon to remember him by, knowing that I would probably need the memories to survive the cold of winter. Eventually we slept, holding almost fiercely to each other, as if we were both loath to let the other go. I awoke before the dawn, watching the sky lighten and define the features of his face, using the last opportunity to see him, knowing that the moment he left would probably kill me.

His flight was scheduled to leave Portland at three. It takes an hour to get to the airport. He left just before lunch. I helped him pack; looking in the drawers and shelves of his armoire for any last items he might have missed. When the last of his suitcases were locked, I helped him carry them to his car. He kissed my cheek before heading to his door. But I couldn’t end it like this.

“If you ever happen to be back in the area. You are always welcome, Toby.”

“Even in your bed?” It stung a little, to swallow my pride. But I looked down for a second before looking him straight in the eyes then nodded. After a few seconds, he was gone.

I walked back inside, feeling hollow and brittle. I had a feeling I would break at any moment. But I didn’t. I spent the rest of the day cleaning rooms, doing laundry, cooking up the usual storm for the shelter, talking with and helping the guests: anything to put the gaping hole in my heart out of my mind or at least to the back of it. I didn’t sleep that night, didn’t even try. The next day I worked in the garden. I planted every plant I had. Every pot and planter I had for the entire house was filled to overflowing with flowers and herbs. The house was covered in a profusion of color and scents. I put flowers in each room and draped the dining room in colorful blooms. And that night I didn’t sleep. The next day I knew I had put it off long enough. I needed to clean his room. I needed to change the bedding and do what was necessary to let someone else use the room. It took a good hour before I could garner the courage to go upstairs. But I did. I opened the door and saw the rumpled sheets on the bed and the used towel lying on the bathroom floor. I sank down on the bed and pulled his pillow into my lap, hugging it to me, sniffing it lightly, and breathing in his scent. I don’t know how long I sat there, feeling my chest tighten with the loss and pain I was feeling. I hadn’t cried since he left and I vowed not to now. I lost focus in my eyes and held on tighter to the pillow, letting its slight fragrance brush through me.

“You fake!” I looked up to catch Toby standing in the door. All my resolve to not cry fled as my vision blurred with the welling tears.

“Sending me away, letting me think everything was fine. You big fake!” His voice washed over me, making the pain even greater. “You made me think that you didn’t care, Jack. Letting me believe that your heart wasn’t breaking. That you weren’t dying inside slowly. That your chest hurt so bad it hurt to even breath.” His voice broke. “Just like mine did, from the moment I drove away.”

I blinked hard and Toby came into focus. He had tears streaming down his face. He dropped to his knees in front of me and grabbed me hard before kissing me. It was a wet, sloppy kiss, filled with taste and texture, love and hurt, tears and moans. We continued to kiss as he pulled me down to the floor with him. He rolled me to my back and wedged his leg between mine, thrusting his hips hard into me, letting me feel how hard he was. He kept rubbing into me, and I could do nothing but meet him. We were too desperate to remove our clothes. We kept kissing and writhing against each other, moaning deep in our chests as first he, then I found release. We kept kissing and crying for a few minutes. Then he pulled up and looked in my face.

“Don’t ever send me away again. It damn near killed me.”

“Never. I never wanted you to go.”

“I love you Jack.”

“I love you too, Toby.”

I look back on that afternoon in the upstairs bedroom and smile. And as I lie here, holding Toby, looking out the curtains at the lightening dawn I can look back and wonder. It’s not that he takes me places to research his books. It’s not that he spends the summer writing and helping me care for my guests. It’s not that he is starting to get a little bald spot at the crown of his head (which he fiercely denies). It’s not that he wears his glasses all the time now. It’s not that he is starting to silver at the temples or that his chest is more salt and pepper now. It’s not that he dedicates every new book to me. It’s not that he has put on ten pounds and blames my cooking on it. It’s not that he makes love to me every night and each morning, sometimes even in the middle of the day. It’s not his smile even though it causes my heart to race when it is sent my way. It’s not his eyes or his hands or his caring, wonderful nature. It’s not any one thing. I just love him. And it’s true. I do. For twenty-two summers and twenty-two winters. For every heartache and each triumph I love him.

So as the dawn purples, then grays, I pull him closer against my chest. I pull his leg over my own and part him, sliding in easily, feeling the remnants of last night’s lovemaking, knowing that if our position were reversed, he would find the same in me. So I slid home, pushing into him, feeling him waken and grip me. As I moved, he kept gripping and squeezing me, murmuring words of love and encouragement. And I kept moving, feeling his chest and belly, the smattering of hair, the smooth, warm skin, and the hard, muscular planes. I kept moving as the sky lightened as if waiting for us to find our pleasure before the sun broke out over the horizon. As the time progressed and Toby got closer and closer to his release, his words of encouragement became filthy, raw suggestions that pushed me higher, causing me to teeter over the edge, taking him with me just as the sun pierced the horizon, bathing us in its warm, heavenly glow. As our bodies calmed, I just wondered at nature’s beauty spread out before us. I knew that we had many more years ahead of us, knowing we had countless mornings that we would wake each other with passion. But each time felt like the first, the most important, and the best.



By The Shore



Rose turned off the ignition and smiled. It was a warm spring day and she had driven to her favourite beach for the first sunbathing session of the year. She popped open the boot and took out her beach bag.

When she reached the sands Rose was pleased to see that she was alone, although an abandoned rubber dinghy suggested recent activity. She put down her towel and quickly stripped to her brief pink string bikini. Rose lay down for a while and listened to the gentle whisper of the waves, enjoying the play of sunlight on her closed eyelids. But soon, feeling the warmth on her skin, she sat up and uncapped the bottle of coconut tanning oil. Rose smoothed the oil into her gently rounded flesh, caressing and pampering the skin, indulging in her vanity and pleased with the effect, enjoying the sheen and the smell of it.

By this time Rose had been alone for some time and her curiosity sparked- she decided to investigate the dinghy. She walked over to it and prodded the side. It felt surprisingly firm, like a large muscled body, and warm from the sun. Rose swung one leg over the side, deciding to get in. The sensation of the rubber between her thighs was suddenly arousing and she squeezed. The boat moved slickly between her oiled legs and brushed against the crotch of her knickers. She pulled at the side-ties and let them drop inside the dinghy. Her unoiled vulva rubbing against the boat created a squeaky friction and she felt the vibrations running through her clitoris. Thrusting her pelvis backwards and forwards, Rose built up her arousal, chest rising and falling as her breath quickened. Pushing down into the warm rubber now made slippery from her nectar, she did not notice footsteps crunching through the sand until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Rose gasped and whipped around, a moan quickly stifled. A tall, tanned man stood with a serious look on his face. The boat's owner? Rose blushed deeply, her skin pinkening from head to toe. She quickly tried to stand but her frustrated arousal made her knees too weak, and she slid into the bottom of the dinghy, crossing her legs and placing a hand protectively over her crotch. The stranger let his eyes sweep over her body unashamedly and he grinned, revealing even white teeth. "Why stop?" he asked her. "That was a beautiful show, and now I'm quite jealous of the boat." He ran his finger along the side of the dinghy where her juices had collected and were now rapidly drying, and raised it to his lips. His eyes closed briefly in obvious enjoyment. His shorts were loose but, collecting herself, Rose noticed a very apparent bulge now at eye level. She smiled back at him, giving her consent, and he took her hand, pulling her up to sit on the edge of the craft.

He tugged at the strings on her bikini top, leaving her fully naked. To keep things even Rose slid her fingers into the waistband of his shorts and he stepped out of them. He straddled the boat, one foot planted on the sand and one on the floor of the dinghy, and pulled her towards him. She hooked her legs together behind him. His thick cock just brushed against her fine pubic hair as he grabbed her bottom with one hand and with the other, spread apart the lips of her sex. The dark pink flesh gleamed wetly in the sunlight and her clitoris asserted itself wantonly, the hood drawn back and her sensitive pearl fully exposed. He bent his head and gently bit each rock hard nipple in turn, making her gasp, then pinched her clitoris between finger and thumb. "Do you want me to fuck you now?" he asked. Rose nodded. "Then touch yourself. Show me how you make yourself come." A practiced masturbator, Rose slipped her first two fingers between her vaginal lips and circled her clit. Gazing directly into his eyes she followed a sure, steady rhythm, her breasts jiggling as her pace increased. Again her juices were running down the side of the dinghy, making her slip and slide squeakily. Suddenly he grabbed her arse and thrust deeply into her cunt, whispering "keep going". The palm of her hand was pushed against her pubic bone with each thrust in, but she kept her place and strummed her fingers fast over her hot, tingling pleasure centre. His large cock pushed against her cervix again and again and she squeezed her muscles tight, making him cry out. This was enough to tip her over the edge and she came, moaning and shaking with his strong arms for support. A minute later she felt his hot spunk flood into her and she bit his shoulder as he exclaimed.

He pulled out of her and, still holding her, the man swivelled Rose around so both her feet were on the sand. He knelt in front of her and with firm hands he spread her thighs wide apart. He buried his nose in her cleft and with a corkscrew motion twisted his tongue deep inside her, drinking their combined juices. Then, with a broad flat tongue, he swept upwards along the full length of her vulva, cleaning every last drop of the combined fluids. Then he circled the tip of his tongue in a lazy figure eight, pushing the sensitive little nut of flesh from side to side. Still swollen from her orgasm it almost felt too much to Rose, but her desire built quickly. Holding onto the dinghy for support she squeezed the warm rubber. Letting her head tilt back Rose stared with unseeing eyes into the cloudless blue as warmth spread through her lower body and up. Again her heart rate increased and she let out little panting moans. Now he had fastened his lips around her pulsing clit and was sucking gently as he curled two fingers inside her to stroke her G spot. Her thighs started to tremble and she unconsciously pushed her pelvis forward. Quickly he began lashing his tongue across her hot flesh, flicking back and forth at lightning speed. Rose's muscles contracted strongly and she gushed and gushed into his mouth until all her strength was gone and she slid backwards to collapse inside the boat. He lay down beside her and introduced himself. 



By the Spillway



Evening, on the third day. You have been free with your smile: sunning the lives of innocent passers-by: irradiating children, and bringing a glow to men and women alike. I love your smile. And, I love when you are free with it. We are walking, now, closer to the spillway. The torrent thunders on, heedless, and the sound insulates us. There is a kind of peace there, in the shared separations. You look out to the thundering cataract, and then back at me.

I can see your arousal, and can know it. You are biting your bottom lip, and not speaking. You smile at me, your dark eyes lighting. I feel struck by a million candlepower; transfixed, I, in the lights of an onrushing locomotive. 

You cock your head, and I am seized, and follow, as you lead. You buttocks swim on the current; my mouth watering, as I follow. I quick march, and waylay you, kissing your cheek, nearer the park than the spillway. Looping my arm round your waist, and you, looping yours around my waist… and we sway along the path like drunken sailors.

I stroke your cheek, and smile, you smile back.

You lean in, I follow. And our lips touch; ever-so slight... the touch is electric. Your mouth opens to me, my tongue finds yours: a connection.

mmm

Inquisitive meets tentative. I hug you close, and bend you back as the kiss deepens.

And tentative hazards a question.

Capturing you upper lip and then your lower… teeth (mine) skating on the plush, and then, my tongue separating… exploring. 

A high, sharp, moan... like a squeak from you.

Then, I pull away, control slipping with each millimeter of distance. Control owned by you.

You know what they say about squeaky wheels, eh?

You look at me, your brown eyes big and dark, and, "kiss me, again, like that…"

And I... I comply. And yet… this steepling, climbing, never 'again'. Better. Grander. My love growing. My cock.

And I feel your body, tight against me. There is a fracture. And our gazes. You avert your eyes, and I'm holding your hand.

We walk on, as the sun marches lower in the sky. 

"Beautiful." Your verdict.

"I emphatically agree." Yet, I am looking straight at you, and, fuck the water.

Your cheeks are peach with reflected light. The peach deepens.

We stop there. Mute witnesses to the receding light and the purple-dark, once-white, river.

My hand lacing fingers with your fingers.

Your fingers… my fingers… our fingers: I kiss each knuckle in turn, and watch you.

You are stalwart. You resist reaction; even as electricity jerks up your arm. And, especially when I kiss your neck… just a tiny flutter on an eyelid to betray you. 

I'm holding you now: my hands on your back, my mouth claiming sanctuary in yours.

And the sunlight forgotten.

mmm

This dusk, this dusk...

When I pull back, seeing the sun's death in your eyes. It is so beautiful. Prisoned light, and pools of deep water: there, in your eyes. And there I fall, catching on the lips.

Searing heat, and bracing cold, your body molding to mine.

Yeah! 

Do you feel your soft breasts, against my chest and hear, also, two heartbeats? Yours n mine… yours n mine…

Ours.

And hours, we stand there, kissing.

Drinking. Tasting, feeling, flying…

mmm

My hands on your spine, my fingers describing the ridges of vertebra: down, down compass needle. Progression, my hands are firmly gripping your ass.

My lips firmly on yours. You know I want you. I'm with ya, innit. Right beside you. The growl tells it, and the fire down below, fire even the sun could not match… or the rising moon.

Elsewhere, water from the spillway blunders on and Quiet Night sounds indolent; you break from me a little. You look around, blushing, "someone might see… (?)"

"Let them look." My grin impish, my eyes alight, "if they aren't blinded by your beauty, then they deserve to see all that they can."

You favor me with an exasperated expression, shifting from frown to smile. 

And then it doesn't matter. Your lips are mine, my hands roving, seeking a home…

And you say, 'touch me,' or you send it psychically. Your body is a convincer… even if I am easily convinced.

My palm trembling on the curve of your ass.

And now the moon, high above.

And again your fear, as the skirt bunches, and the cold hits.

"Here?"

I nod.

"Now?"

Emphatic, the raise of eyebrows, and the smile.

You seem nonplussed. And, maybe the night air on your calves is giving you chills; as my fingers on your thighs are giving you pause.

"Please... I…" 

"Sssshhhh," I say… or do I? I can't remember, now.

I feel it though, as a thrumming, electric cable between us.

I am kneeling now, and reaching up. My hands inside and around the waistband of your panties. Now, in my grasp. There is heat there, and scent pouring over me.

Slithering down: the cotton, over your knees and silken ankles, and you step out. I hold this little thing in my hand, and fold it neatly.

My hand again on your thigh, on the outside. My fingers, loose-fisted; the flats of the nails grazing the front of your Sartorius muscle.

You lift, for me, your skirt; and I am presented, for the first time, with the wonder of your sex.

It is a good thing I am kneeling.

And so my third kiss, and, so you gasp… for the power of three is abundant, and the power of my tongue on your clit. This connection. This live circuit. My fingers sliding and separating. My mouth questing and searching.

mmm

My mouth, that is full and busy… and dancing.

Tell me of this taste, O Gods! Sing to me odes for ambrosia and musky Arabian perfumes.

Scent and taste/sweetness and sharpness… as like nothing else.

And the singular cry from you.... a choked... and wild and barely held joy. Your thighs spreading.

mmmmmm

So that nectar is mine, all mine: nectar for which I am greedy. My beard dewy with your presents… your flavor. I am practically chewing… my fists closing on your swaying ass, and pulling you down. I hear a moan, muffled by the fact my ears are enclosed in your heated thighs. And yet… it vibrates through your whole body.

Oh yeah.

I feel faint pressure, you fist in my hair… since when am I standing?

And since when am I a prisoner of your eyes, and your mouth?

I am now kissing you a fourth and fifth time; my tongue is invading and sharing with you, and you tasting you on me. Your passion coils back on itself, and becomes legion.

You hands in the vicinity of my sex, your nimble fingers unzipping fly, popping button… and my springing cock, blade-like in the moonlight, the head sheathed in foreskin, but curious and hungry.

Panting… saliva at the corners of your mouth… you look furtively about.

But the cock 'is out of the bag', my love! I don't care if the Chief of Police came strolling by, with half the city, and your husband. This deal is done, and all that remains is transaction.

I am lifting you and cradling you, for the path is not a comfortable place and the street lamp has attracted moths.

So I find bed, in the moss, in secret. The path seems distant. Is. And the chill. I hear no sound, in your presence. I know.

And your skirt slides up.

Is this your doing? Or mine? Perhaps it is ours?

And, of course, I pull away your tank top. For there is much beauty hidden there. Your breasts, pendulous, heavy. I keep between them, kissing each rung of your sternum. Your arching back, bringing alignment. I'm kissing and suckling, and searching… and wanting with the force and heat of breath. 

Exhalation.

Now, you groan. Your thighs creep up, and I can scent my prey.

Your fingers: sharply, sharply… even through my shirt. And me: on nipple, and the next, mouth only. Back and forth, nip and kiss and lick and suckle… but my teeth graze only, no hard indentation to flesh

And my hands blazing trails, flames erupting.

And your lips open up, down below, for me to search through.

There is a cry.

And it could be yours: low.... and sizzling, sibilant… echoing in my throat. "Fuck me!" Your voice, and my desire, "give it to me!"

And so I shall. I pull away my jeans, so that I have unfettered movement.

And I slip forward. And there are invasions so slick so sly that even an accomplish watcher would miss them.

But you do not.

Another cry. Sweet nightingale song tore from your depths.

I am pulling back and plunging forward.

Mmmm…

A raft on a wild, crazy, boiling river.

I swear I feel spray on my cheeks, and your heels on my rump.

You stare at me… mouth open, unspeaking; you eyes unseeing… but they see more then I know.

And I am kissing your throat, and my thrusts are regular and deep, met in rhythm by your hips.

Slick, sweet. Hot, hot… oh, so hot.

There is a heavy gust of pent up breath, mine, a wind in your hair… my fingers now, and my other hand, where your heart is.

Your heart, that hammers against my hand, like a caged bird.

Fucking you. Yeah.

Your lips parting: a smile, opened mouthed. Your legs looping ankles… and, has my lover grown spurs?

Your eyes are closed to me. You, sightless and groping… and your wailing should bring the wildlife down on us. You fingers digging stripes of my back.

I look at you and freeze. "Replace your divots, Dear."

And you can't help the little laugh.

But now it is: the rapids of this river.

My hard, straining, pulsing, hungry, cock: impatient inside you. Pushing onward. I let him run, and he charges. 

Your hips crashing against me, rising to meet me, your body slippery and glowing, streaked with sweat.

And the beautiful, gorgeous, heady scent of us, mingled and heavy as lilacs. I am holding your hands; clutching them as would any drowning man. My penis sloshing inside you. The sound of us, wet and encompassing.

I feel capsized, and I am… completely. Washed, and turned, and upside down.

Since when are you straight as a post; breasts rising and proud in the moonlight; your hair wild and flying?

I'm gripping you, lest you float away, and you are dancing above me… our hips our permanent joint.

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

I can feel too, a rising; falling up and into you… I can feel the way I contract, and the way you do; my hitching cock, and your snatching cunny.

I know I am close

My thumbs and fingers leaving pinkish dents on your flesh; and you are reaching for the stars, tangled in your hair, and sprinkled on your breasts.

I can feel nothing and everything, I am so alive. Every sense screaming, and screaming, for release. I can hold it back no longer. Bucking, bucking. Staring into the void, the junction. Seizing. Roaring.

And my semen shooting like a comet into your perfect, sacred vessel. Your cervix clenching, dipping down… Nature's course, like the river.

Once.

Twice.

Many.

Spasms, and light, and expanse. A rocking ocean, after a hurricane. You ride me out. Your back arching away like a curved bow, your arms two fluttering wings.

And I am calm. Spent. 

And you lay upon me, as if finding a shoal, or eddy pool. 

"Whew," you say. (Or I do)

I can smell you, in your damp hanks of hair, and a shiver runs through me. The sweet stink of sweat and pheromones… you potent cunt, you! I am in heaven. In warm, lustful, heaven: a meadow of Pan, so many nymphs to chase… and you. You, being the goddess o'er all.

I squeeze your body, and laugh. 

You shift a fraction, and my slack penis slithers free. You scoot over and cuddle unto my shoulder

I whine, "Escapee!"

And your laughter is in your lips, and against my cheek.

I feel, distantly, your open mouth touching me, and dew, shared and slick.

"Mmmm," your whisper, "lets come to this park more often."

'If you insist, my love…' and, did I say that?

I do not remember... for I am falling; or have fallen, with you.



By the Sweat of the Succubus' Brow



Kaletina's dark woolen skirts were bunched up and pooled onto the small of her back. 

The fleshy, hefty cheeks of the young dancer's ass were a reddish olive-brown color under the clear drops of sweat which had beaded up all over her pleasingly wide, violently trembling bottom. The yellow light given off by the ornate bronze lantern, which was suspended from the middle of the inn room's ceiling, made the perspiration glisten as it ran in gleaming rivulets over and down the shaking mounds of the girl's fetching rear.

Her chubby-fingered hands gripped two of the four stout hardwood posts of the inn's spacious bed, dancer-bells chimed at her ankles. A fat cushion had been placed under her belly, so that her olive butt was forced to jut upward and back. Her blouse was unlaced and the band of unbleached cotton cloth normally used to confine her firm breasts had been loosened so that the soft tit-flesh bulged out against the rumpled blanket.

From the point of view of the man who fucked the girl from behind, Z'mbutu the Nubian, his long and thick black cock seemed to slide into the deep cleavage of her generous ass, but he was actually penetrating below the double-curve of her derriere into the hairy and plump lips of the slut's tight cunt. 

Kaletina threw back her head, her long black straight hair draped over shapely shoulders, and cried out as she felt the smooth wedge of his big cockhead stretch her sex wide, the abrupt friction striking an intense burn throughout her shuddering, instinctively clasping pussy.

"Too big," she moaned. 

The dancer's throaty voice was thickly threaded with a Steppenian accent. Her red lips were stretched back to reveal her somewhat crooked teeth. Her legs kicked setting off her ankle bells on a wild fit of jingling. "Too big."

Z'mbutu was big, the saucy little strumpet was correct on that matter, but he had no intention of stopping. The alchemist had already paid good coin for Kaletina's advertised talents and his intent was to get his money's worth. He ignored the tart's protest, tensed his hips and fed her another few inches of his dark manhood, grunting as he plunged deeper into her spasming sheath.

"Please," the girl whimpered, the black phallus filling her to capacity. But it wasn't only his size that caused the dancer concern, she could feel the actual mass of his huge cock, the weight of his meat packing her full.

When she turned her face on the blanket, Z'mbutu could see how the epicanthic folds at the corners of Kaletina's pretty light-brown eyes formed them into almond-shapes. Tears cruised down the trollop's blushing cheeks as she looked back and up at the looming Nubian. Then, to her surprise and in contradiction to her voiced protest and tears, she issued a trailing moan of pleasure.

To the alchemist's dark eyes the dancer was impossibly exotic, hailing as he did from the Black kingdom of Banturia, on the vast equatorial savannah region. She, too, was an alien to the city-state of Narlenyss, their present location, but of the Steppes people, from a rugged land far to the north.

Z'mbutu chuckled, grinning as he felt the slut's walls strongly hug and lavishly oil his intrusive cock. Her rough lover paused, allowing Kaletina to adjust to his unceremonious and brutal entry. When he spoke, it was full of mockingly false concern. 

"If it's truly too big, I'll stop. Is that want you want, my juicy dancing girl?"

She moaned, negating her protests, and pressed her succulent ass back, wordlessly entreating him to plunge deeper. Once more Z'mbutu chuckled. He raised his right hand then brought it down hard on her sweaty ass. Kaletina screamed at the sudden sting and humped down against the pillow under her tummy. He took the opportunity to ram the rest of his long and corpulent shaft into her. He could feel her juices beginning to slather her contracting cunt in self-defense.

Again she screamed when he slammed into her. Z'mbutu was unconcerned. The cries of a wench being taken, willingly or otherwise, was not an uncommon occurrence in the Maul District, as the Foreign-Quarter of the city was also known. It was unlikely that any ill-conceived rescue effort would be mounted on her behalf. 

Earlier in the evening, after having witnessed her somewhat uninspired dance in a shabby tavern frequented by the sages of the city's university, Z'mbutu had paid Kaletina's inflated price and brought her back to his room at the inn. Whilst she had sprawled on the bed and drank lustily from a bottle of wine, he'd used his mouth on her.

Z'mbutu could tell, by the amount of unshaven hair on her body, that the girl hadn't been in the city for very long. The refined pleasure women of Narlenyss, the city's prostitutes, preferred a clean-shaven look to their legs and underarms. Their sexlips were likewise free of hair, exposed to the seeking eye of a prospective customer. The hairy girl had never felt a man's lips and tongue on her pussy. In her culture men cared more for their sturdy shabby ponies than they did for their women. 

The mobile and talented lips on her sex had both scandalized and excited the Steppes-bred barbarian. It hadn't taken long for her to put the bottle down and to splay her hands over Z'mbutu's head as she'd ground her cunt against his mouth. Kaletina had encouraged his efforts with vulgarities in both her native tongue and the slang she'd picked up from her time in the city. 

She came several times in succession, drenching Z'mbutu's face in her juices, her musk.

Z'mbutu was tall, as was normal for his people, and he was strong from traveling the world mostly on foot. He loomed over the much smaller girl as he'd begun to disrobe. He had taken his time undressing as she'd jabbered away, arousing him further with her obscene entreaties. Then she had suddenly fallen silent. Her eyes had gone wide at the sight of his ebony cock, not only long but the black meat was thick as well. She watched as his cock had hardened to its threatening fullness before her startled face. There was the first sign of panic in her heavy-lidded drunken eyes.

But, to Z'mbutu's way of thinking, a whore, just as any other merchant, was obliged to render her goods in the agreed upon manner at the agreed upon time and place. Z'mbutu had bought the pussy, sharing a bottle of good wine with the greedily thirsty wench in the bargain, he'd be poxed if he wasn't going to use the dancing slut as he saw fit. And so, he'd mounted her from behind.

Now, his powerful hips tensed again and he buried several more vein-humped inches into the reluctant little prostitute. Once more she cried out, then groaned as he pried her buttocks apart with his big dark hands. Her pucker, a healthy pinkish-brown, winked up at him from the deep valley of her spread ass. He placed the pad of his right thumb to the tight pit and rubbed, stimulating the cluster of nerves which ringed the orifice.

Kaletina's body went tense. Her leg and arm muscles strained, the tendons taut. Her sensual mouth was pulled back, again revealing her charmingly crooked teeth. She caught her breath, then issued a wanton moan as she released, her cunt oils generously bathing his enormous member entombed so deeply in her active cunt.

"By the Goddess!" She exclaimed and groaned wantonly into the rumpled blanket. 

Pressing her ass back, the dancer ground her clenched hole against his thumb, encouraging him to penetrate the crater. "Use me, outlander," she growled, over her shoulder. Tears freely ran down her face. "Fuck me."

And so he did. Z'mbutu long-stroked her, slow, arrogantly flexing his big phallus deep into Kaletina's molten tunnel. She sobbed beneath him, pressing her ass back as far as she was able, feeling him ram her, packing her full time and again with the masterful cock. His thumb anal-fucked her as a wet spot grew on the blanket beneath her. She came several more times as his heavy cock sac wetly slapped her hairy cuntlips. 

Eventually, inevitably, Z'mbutu could no longer hold back his load. "Receive my seed, girl," he grunted, his voice rough from sustained effort and passion. His hand came down on her jiggling cheeks and he spanked her hard as he came. The sweating Banturian threw back his head and issued a smooth baritone laugh in exultation as he pumped into her rippling pussy.

The sensation of his white-hot cum rushing into her clenching cunt ignited Kaletina again. She screamed, humped, and mewled her way through another intense series of orgasms. All the while Z'mbutu kept sawing in and out of the whore, his creamy cum drooled in thick ropes from the gaping mouth of her reddened and stretched pussylips, frothed in the dark curls of her thick cunt hair, and ran in pearl rivulets down her olive thighs. :. While Z'mbutu splashed his face with water from a basin on a table, he looked at the somewhat tarnished brass mirror above the wash table at the reflection of the released barbarian, Kaletina. He watched her wipe herself with the top blanket from the bed. She rewrapped her breasts with the cotton banding and from the waistband of her skirts she pulled out a small perfume vial. Despite her dry wiping, Z'mbutu's scent was still on her. There weren't many men who wanted a whore who smelled of another man's leavings. She sprinkled the bottled scent over her thighs, working a few drops into the curly thatch of her delta. Then Kaletina rubbed the perfume over her arms, behind her ears and finally dabbling some in the hollow of her throat. She hopped down off the bed and smoothed down her skirts, her ankle bells chiming.

She looked over at him and saw Z'mbutu looking back through the mirror. "Mind if I have another swallow of wine?"

The alchemist was sure she wouldn't have bothered asking permission if he weren't looking. "Aye. Help yourself. You were a good bed-romp, if a bit on the expensive side."

"Not for Narlenyss." She reminded him, offhandedly, before tipping the bottle and nearly emptying it. "My thanks."

"Think nothing of it."

While the little slut had been overpriced, still, Z'mbutu considered it money well-spent. 

The alchemist was on the trail of a mystery and the dancer had been the final stage in an experiment, of sorts. The women of Narlenyss were legend the worldwide, known for their seductive fabled beauty, their irresistible carnal charms. This was why he'd come to the city in the first place, his scholarly curiosity piqued, to see if the legend was fact or merely baseless rumor.

After spending eight months in the capitol city he'd found that the reputation of the ladies of Narlenyss was well-earned. Which had only served to set him after another mystery. Why were the women so irresistible, what made them so?

In retrospect the answer seemed obvious. It was the perfume, of course.

His ardor spent, Z'mbutu was completely dispassionate toward the dancer. It followed a familiar pattern. He'd found that the arousal power of the perfume was least effective in the post-coital stage.

"See you the next time you're in the tavern." She gave him a drunkenly flirtatious wink.

"Aye," he said. Which won't be anytime soon, he thought.

"Farewell, then, Banturian."

"And to you, my sweet little tart."

The strumpet dimpled a smile and left the room in a swirl of long skirts. :. A quarter-hour later saw him exiting the notorious Maul, with its attendant population of cut-throats, purse-snatchers, forgers, and whores. Leaving behind the rabble and streets of garbage-strewn squalor, his well-traveled and battered satchel strapped over one shoulder, and his chain-mesh lined cloak about his head and body as a cowl and cape, Z'mbutu entered Narlenyss' famous riverside Garden District, where dwelt the wealthy of the prosperous principality.

Lacking any entrée to the local social upper-crust, Z'mbutu hadn't much occasion to visit the renowned district, on the river's Left Bank. However, he had been there once before, the night he'd tracked the mystery of Narlenyss perfume to its source. To the house of Lord Chenei, a rich recluse who hadn't been seen in public in the memory of the city's oldest citizen. And it was to that man's mansion that he now ventured, for the right good Lord Chenei was at the heart of the mystery. 

The beguiling perfumes of Narlenyss all came from one perfumery which held the monopoly, Bluzo's. Z'mbutu had brought the establishment under extended observation and had determined that the base, the musk used in the perfumes, was delivered to the perfumery by Chenei's manservant, Belarthor.

One night he'd followed the man back to the severely neglected manse grounds of Chenei. The next day Z'mbutu had a messenger deliver a letter to the manor, advising its owner that he was on to the secret of the perfume, thus, if his Lordship had any great desire to keep his secret it would be in his best interest to meet with the alchemist. The aristocrat had obliged the request by return messenger. It was the Z'mbutu's hope that the meeting would be profitable, both in the academic and economical senses.  

Under the moonlight, the steel shod tip of his walking staff flashed as it tapped against the finely masoned and scoured clean stone walkways of the scenic neighborhood. Ages before, the banks of the Isane River had been encased in white granite during a building surge, brought on by some long forgotten king. Walkways had been laid-out before the fine houses of the nobles. Z'mbutu admired the expert ancient masonry of the lain stone, which shone a whitish gray under the light of the Moon. Not even the rightfully renowned stone-artisans of Saweza could have wrought better.

Through the centuries, large sections of the banks had also been walled, to prevent accidental drownings, but more importantly, to discourage house thieves from using the river as an avenue of convenience. Private jetties, both covered and open, stuck out into the river current. They were the sheltered piers of the wealthy, with fabulously outfitted gondolas moored to them, and secure gates at the land end of the boardwalks. 

A wind came up, but Z'mbutu's cloak, with its unique lining, hardly stirred. The trees, however, were losing their dried and dead leaves in the autumn night wind. The cast-off leaves blew down the stone walks with the faint rattle of old bones. It didn't take an alchemist to know that winter was only a matter of weeks away. The world had lost its summer vitality. In the countryside, beyond the city, the last of the harvest was being tucked into barns, silos, and sheds. Z'mbutu pulled his great cloak tighter about him and lowered his head against the stiffening wind.

As he passed by one of the many small garden parks in the district, a mugger detached from the shadows of the night shrouded garden, his bare feet almost completely silent against the cold granite as he tailed the cloaked alchemist. Z'mbutu's staff continued to tap the walk, a lonely sound in the night. Most of the shutters of the houses had been closed for the night. No welcome mellow glow of candle or lamp shown along the way, except for the dancing flames of the street torch-lamps sparsely spaced along the riverside. 

"Stand, traveler. And deliver!"

The robber had stolen quietly upon his intended victim, knife drawn, but the torch-flames of the streetlamps had betrayed the would-be accoster, casting his skulking shadow before him. Z'mbutu had seen it and was prepared. He spun around at the sound of the barked command, thrusting his walking stick out toward the mugger, a seemingly natural enough reaction. The man caught the end of the long cane, pulling it to one side and back, in an attempt to relieve it of Z'mbutu's grip. At first, he seemed to have succeeded, the wooden stick came back with his hand. But it was only the end of the staff which pulled free, exposing a near foot-long gleaming steel knife.

Z'mbutu, his expression grim, thrust the blade to the hollow of the bandit's throat. "You were saying?"

The robber groaned in fright, raising his grimy hands, dropping both the cane's end and his own nicked edge skewer.

"What sort of impression do you suppose an act of villainy such as this makes upon a person? I would be in my rights to kill you in self-defense. Slice open your throat, like so much roast beef. Right here, right now." 

He applied enough pressure so that the tip of the staff-knife pierced the robber's skin. Under the light of the Moon the mugger's blood ran in black drops from the prick wound. The frightened man whimpered and began to weep as he wet his trousers, his water running down his right foot.

"My cane-end, please." Z'mbutu hand out his long fingered dark hand.

The mugger, trembling violently, and grimacing at the sting of the wound, carefully and slowly bent down, retrieved, and handed back the alchemist's property.

Z'mbutu grunted and pulled the knife from his accoster's throat. "Now, begone, before I call the guard. But first, I'll relieve you of the weight of your purse, if you please."

With hands that shook almost uncontrollably, the humiliated robber gave his worn and nearly empty purse over.

"Apply yourself to an honest profession," Z'mbutu admonished, then pulled the tip of the point from the robber's throat. "Go."

The man went. :. A mason wall, twelve feet high and topped with two-foot long wrought iron spears, surrounded the brooding two-story structure. The valet, Belarthor, stood by the open ornate wrought-iron gate. The man was of average height but he was wide, giving the deceptive appearance of being squat. His clothes, although of fine cloth and expert weave, were far removed from current fashion. His large head was hairless and his skin of a vellum complexion. His somewhat hooded eyes were gray. 

"Master Professor, if you please." He gestured, indicating Z'mbutu should enter.

Z'mbutu nodded beneath his cowl and walked through the gate just as a strong gust caught and threw a pile of leaves up into the air. The litter mobbed around him in a maelstrom, before the breeze snatched the riot of leaves away toward the flowing waters of the river. The half-rusted hinges of the gate groaned irritably as the valet closed it. He secured it with a large steel-banded wooden lock. 

"This way," Belarthor said. He proceded the visitor up the front path. Z'mbutu noted the stone of the path was spider-webbed with cracks, fine and bold, from which turfed weeds sprang up, turned brown and gray with autumn chill. 

The groundskeeper is lax, the alchemist thought. Or nonexistent.

Evading the stairs which led up to the columned porch of the manse, the valet led Z'mbutu along the path which branched off to the side of the house and to a closed wooden gate. Belarthor pushed open the portal, which screeched of rusty hinges as well, and the men went through. They found themselves in a side-yard which hosted bare-branched fruit trees in wooden half-barrels, weed-choked overgrown flower-beds with unclipped deadheads nodding into the dirt, there was weather-stained statuary and stone benches covered with moss.

Everything about this place reeks of neglect, Z'mbutu thought.

Belarthor pushed open a door in the side of the house and the pewter light of the Moon was washed out by the strong yellow light of lanterns. "Come, enter. And welcome to my master's house. Dinner is waiting."

Z'mbutu nodded and ducked in through the doorway. :. The cook was a woman of middle years, a full-curved matron who'd retained much of the fiery beauty of her youth. Her name was Hana. Her dark hair was highlighted with bronze-red streaks caused by rinsed henna. Her unbound bosom strained nicely at her blouse, the nipples unashamedly prominent, as she set a place for Z'mbutu at a long table in the dining room. She wore no perfume and the alchemist could smell her genuine chore woman's scent. 

Hana saw Z'mbutu appraising her and she gave him a bold glance of her own, before sashaying back through the kitchen door, bumping it open with her wide hip.




By the Sweat of the Succubus' Brow



Belarthor cleared his throat. "It'd been my master's intention to dine with you this evening, Professor. But he has met with a minor accident and must beg off. He'll meet you in the morning."

"An accident?"

"Nothing, really. As I said, the two of you will meet in the morning. Meanwhile, please accept his hospitality. Eat your fill. Cook will show you to a room."

"I hadn't planned to spend the night."

"Please consider it," he said, with valet's professional smile. "Staying would make matters simpler all around, wouldn't you agree?"

A deep instinct urged him to refuse. Z'mbutu felt that there was something fundamentally wrong about the situation. Yet, he found himself shrugging. "Why not? I generally prefer a hot meal, wine, and a warm bed to the cold and dark of night."

"Then it's settled. See you in the morning." Belarthor left the room.

Z'mbutu sat down. He saw that the heavy crystal was scratched and clouded with age. The plate was well-crafted enough, wrought of porcelain, with an artistically rendered vine pattern around the edge. The silverware was of an antique design. The linen napkin, although fine, was yellow with age. The bread on its cutting board and the beeswax candles in their silver holders seemed the only things new on the table.

Hana, the cook, came back through the swinging door, using her ample hip to knock the panel open again because her hands were full with the wooden platter she carried. The trencher was loaded down with a steaming mincemeat pie, a bowl of stewed potatoes, and a small earthen jar of wine, cool and beading sweat from the cellar. The woman put the platter on the table, nodded her head at the guest and prepared to withdraw.

"Oh, come now, stay. Sit, sit," Z'mbutu said, gesturing to a chair across the table from him. "Enhance my supper."

"No, sir, please," Hana said, suppressing a surprised smile. "You're a guest of the master. It wouldn't be proper."

"Proper? You'll find I'm not a great one for propriety," he said with a grin. "Besides, wine should be shared. Why stand on ceremony when we're alone?" And his grin spread into a slow charming smile.

"If you insist, then." She blushed, unaccountably, and sat down, allowing him to pour her a glass.

Hana looked at him over the rim of the crystal as she drank in deep swallows. She emptied the glass and thudded it down on the table. He poured it full again. "My thanks. You're brown."

Z'mbutu chuckled. "You're welcome. And, aye, that I am. As you are pink."

"I've only seen one other brown man in my life. He was a sailor on a river-boat. You're a far way from home. The lands of the Brown and Black peoples lie a long way to the south, I'm told."

"That's true too." 

He swept her with another frank gaze, showing his interest, and watched as Hana responded, her breasts slightly jutting more outward as her back arched. "Are the women of Narlenyss like the women where you hail from?"

"In some ways, no. But, in all the ways that count they are."

She laughed and sipped from her crystal, looking at him from under girlish lashes. "What is your business with the master of this house?"

"That, I'm afraid, is the business of the master of this house and myself."

"Fair enough." The light in her dark eyes danced. She drank from her glass again, taking his measure, before she reached across the table and tore a piece of bread from the loaf. She manipulated the crust between her work-toughened fingers and brought it to her mouth.

Z'mbutu watched her chew. He knew her kind. An unpretentious, natural, earthy woman. He liked women, generally, he liked earthy women, in particular. "Have you a name? Or did your folks dub you Cook at birth?"

Her smile widened. "No. It's Hana. Like the queen."

"Ah." Hanazeltha had been a legendary monarch during the Third Epoch. It was a very common name in the city. "I'm called Z'mbutu."

She inclined her head. "Master Z'mbutu. Thank you for sharing your wine with me," she smiled.

"My pleasure," he said. Their glances were locked over the table and they stared at one another, man and woman, through the steam of the hot mincemeat pie. :. In the night, he heard the quiet creak of the bedchamber door's neglected hinges. He wasn't altogether surprised. 

There followed the sound of feet lightly padding across the cold stone tile of the floor. He caught a glimpse of her form as the housekeeper passed in front of the fireplace with its maw full of black and orange dying embers, before she climbed into bed, slipping under the covers with him.

"You seem to be lost, lass."

Hana chuckled softly, liking being called a lass, feeling like a maiden in her boldness. "Not at all. I came to see if you required any more of my services, before sleeping." She wiggled her hips against him, warming herself. Her pronounced ass was soft and smooth cushions which instantly hardened him.

"P'raps."

"Only, p'raps?" Her fingers, cool from exposure to the night's chill, moved over his thigh. She grasped his manhood, giving him a long stroke.

"It's just that I have no knowledge of your skills," he said, with a smile in his voice. "I wouldn't want either of us to waste good sleep time."

She squeezed down hard on his cock. He grunted and sought out her nipple with his fingers, then pinched it. She giggled and squealed, the wine and arousal washing away her normal reserve. He turned her around in his arms and pulled her to him, her hard nipples pressing into his chest. Her blunt chore woman nails dug shallowly into his biceps. He released one of her arms and put his big hand to the back of her head, pressing her mouth to his, forcing her to accept the demanding kiss. After some initial resistance, Hana submitted, parting her lush lips and accepting his probing tongue into her mouth.

The kiss was long and intimate. As they explored one another's mouths, Z'mbutu's free hand stole to her ass, squeezing the fleshy cheeks. She moaned when the kiss was broken. He rolled her on her back and kneed apart her damp thighs, positioning himself above her.

"Put me in, woman," he grunted.

She obeyed. Mopping the unusually large head up and down her drenched slit a few times to wet it, Hana cried out as the tremendous wedge of the head stretched her wide. She bit her lower lip down on a louder scream, not wishing to disturb the house. Above her, Z'mbutu chuckled softly, feeding her tumultuous cunt inch after fat inch of his cock.

It was staggering. 

Hana hadn't felt a man in her for years. She began to climax in shuddering waves as the dark visitor packed her full. Finally, the thick long cock ground completely into her. His heavy sac slapping her ass. She bit into a pillow as she moaned, more and more shrilly as the intensity of her releases built. It was only a few minutes into the fuck before she began to spasm under him again. Her mouth grimaced open and the cords in her neck strained. Her cunt clamped around him as a damn broke and she was swamped in a mind-shattering multi-orgasmic string. She screamed gibberish and curses as she humped upwards, her body slick with sweat as the climax tossed and slammed her.

Z'mbutu rode her easy, letting her violent movements stroke his cock. He felt her gush scalding juices around his buried phallus and he chuckled. Without dislodging himself, he flipped them around, so that the panting housekeeper now lie wet and trembling atop him.

He slapped her ass, hard enough to make it feel bee stung. "Fuck me, slut."

She sighed as she slowly slid down his huge pole, her cunt forcibly lodged wide by the great cockhead which speared open her clutching walls. She had delivered two babies and still he filled her, stretched her taut, as if she were still a long-haired maiden. He began to curse again, snarling out obscenities as she lewdly rode him. Gyrating her hips, grinding her cunt down around his commanding cock.

She felt him grow larger, his movements less controlled and Hana knew he was cumming. 

Z'mbutu shouted as he came, unmindful of the house's sleeping tenants. He came strong in the wanton vixen. He felt his cum rushing into her, filling her, until it backwashed along his shaft and drooled from her quivering pussy mouth. She slumped down against his chest. Satiated and spent. :. "I was a soldier's woman," she said in the dark, as he held her in his arms. "He was an officer in the city guard, the leader of a cohort. Then, one noontime, I found him with his cheap whore. They say I killed them both with his sword but I don't remember doing it. I don't remember anything after I opened the door and saw him between the slut's spread thighs. I was to hang, but was paroled to Master Chenei. I've been his cook ever since."

"Only his cook? Surely your master has other appetites."

Hana laughed. "Oh yes, he has a particular taste, indeed. But not for me."

"What do you mean."

"Linger here long enough and you'll find out. As you say, that's business to discuss with the lord of this house. You're worn me out, my black stallion. Its sleep for me." :. He awoke to the thunderous beat of the manse's heart, throbbing in the night, propagating through the stone of the walls and the floor. At first he thought he must still be sleeping, caught in a gripping and vivid dream, then he felt Hana's fingers on his naked shoulder.

"Z'mbutu, do you feel it?" Her voice came from close to his ear in the dark.

"Aye."

Her breath was hot and moist on his earlobe, her luscious body pressed against him from behind. "I knew it. I knew I wasn't imagining it. That's what Belarthor always says."

"What is it?"

"I don't know, but it happens under every full Moon. I think it has something to do with the thing in the dungeon."

"What thing?"

"The thing. The demon Chenei keeps imprisoned."

"What'd you mean, demon?"

"It's what I said. A demon. That's what Belarthor calls it, anyway, letting it slip his lips, when he's drunk. I've never seen it with mine own eyes."

Z'mbutu's scholarly curiosity was immediately piqued. A demon? As a man of science, the alchemist was not a superstitious man. But, although true magic had nearly been rendered extinct, isolated residue of the Ancient Art remained across the land. While rare, creatures of magic did yet dwell in the world.

He threw back the quilts and sprang from the bed, hastening into his pantaloons and stamping on his boots in the cold chamber.

"What're you doing?" Hana asked, with real concern in her voice. "Come back to bed."

He chuckled. "As lovely as is your embrace, my girl, I've never seen a demon."

"Then Fortune has favored you," she shot back. "It's foolish to tempt Fate."

"P'raps, sweet Hana, you've been sleeping with a fool this night." He smiled in the faint orange light of the fire's embers, kissed her furrowed brow, and left the room. :. Belarthor's forehead bled as he leaned against the stone of the cellar's wall, catching his wind. But, the man Z'mbutu assumed to be the master of the house was in somewhat worse shape than his manservant. Chenei lie dazed, on his back, and moaning on the dirty floor.

Shadows jumped and stuttered across the block and mortar walls, created by the flickering light of several torches set in iron wall-brackets. Z'mbutu cautiously descended the stairs down into the subterranean vault. He gripped his walking staff tightly in his left hand. A lit oil-lamp was in his right. He saw the two wounded men and pulled the cap from the end of the staff, exposing the long blade, before he started forward across the basement floor. His overexcited nerves bade him try to look everywhere at once as he proceeded.

The cellar was at least ten foot wide but it was four times as long, giving the long stonewalled space an illusion of narrowness. The jumpy light added a somewhat claustrophobic effect. There were four strong-rooms in the mansion's basement, which could be used for dual purposes, as safe-depositories for precious objects or as gaol-cells for prisoners. All of the chambers' thick iron doors stood open, faces swung flat to the wall. The first three were empty, and to Z'mbutu's eyes seemed long unused. The lone occupied cell was between him and the two men. As he approached it, the alchemist looked through the doorway, as he'd done with the others. 

Unlike the others, it was a room sheathed in iron, the walls, the ceiling, and floor. The metal was streaked with orange where the iron surface had oxidized over time. The thing that vaguely resembled a woman lie naked and chained to the black iron frame of the cell's narrow cot. Her, or Its, skin was a chalky gray color and it clung tight to her skeleton without benefit of padding fat. Silver hair, dirty and greased, lie flat around her bulbous head and clung pasted to her knobby shoulders. Her overlarge eyes were blood-red, livid, and unwholesome. A strong odor wafted out of the chamber into the cellar. Z'mbutu found it offensive. There was a bitterness to the smell. 

Succuba, he thought. Or, more commonly referred to as Succubus. I'm looking at monster. A real demon.

And she looked back.

The scarlet gaze which Z'mbutu had found so off-putting, only moments before, seemed to soften and become truly beguiling as he stepped to the threshold of the cell. Indeed, the odor cast off by the creature too had lost its repugnance, becoming more and more altogether agreeable to his senses. 

He took a step through the doorway and into the gaol and the succubus stirred in her chains, the jangling links echoing against the rusted metal walls. The creature gazed at him intently, never blinking, never breaking eye-contact. Utterly mesmerized, he took another step into the room. 

The succubus sat up on her cot, her shrunken and wrinkled thighs opened, refreshing her strong scent which again assaulted the alchemist's nostrils. He thought it the sweetest fragrance he'd ever chanced upon, full of primal and lusty promise. He found the countenance of the creature the most beatific sight he'd ever seen. He took another step, his lips bent into an open smile, as he would greet a long-lost beloved.

The chained thing returned the smile, pulling back thin lips and exposing teeth green with age and rotted at the gums with neglect. The expression on the monster's intensely wrinkled face seemed one more of victory than joy. Z'mbutu only saw loveliness, the object of his affection returning his ardor. His heart picked up the pace and he felt an erection growing. He took another step toward the creature, completely smitten, thoroughly aroused. His hand relaxed, his bladed staff clattered unnoticed to the iron-shod floor. The lamp slipped from careless fingers and crashed against the metal, spilling oil and spreading a thin fire.

The creature hissed, her sight momentarily drawn to the dancing flames on the iron floor.

Z'mbutu was brought back to the moment by the meaty hand of Belarthor slapping onto his right shoulder. 

The alchemist snarled, for a flashing second he was completely enraged that he'd been drawn from the gaze of those expressive and lovely eyes. He wanted to kill the valet for daring to intrude on such an intimate moment, and if he'd still held his staff he might've done so. Then he felt the wet cloth Belarthor slapped across his broad nose and mouth. He took an abrupt intake of breath and was assaulted once more with a highly disagreeable smell. It was as bracing as a hard slap. His senses began to clear immediately and he looked around, surprised to find himself in the cell. And almost within arm's distance of the monster.

Instinctively, he backed away, as his flesh crawled and pebbled.

"Keep it to your nose and your lips shut." Belarthor told Z'mbutu, pulling him by the arm out of the room, accompanied by the snarling hiss of the frustrated succubus. She made as if to leap forward, but the licking flames made her give it second thought. 

"You're in the thrall of the bitch-demon's redolence," the manservant informed Z'mbutu. "The cloth has been soaked in the antidote."

Dumbly, the alchemist nodded, keeping the cloth to his mouth and nose. The fog which had so quickly and completely gripped his mind upon entering the cell began to disperse, as he stood in the cellar beyond the gaol, and watched the manservant clank shut it's heavy door. With the slamming of the heavy panel, the succubus' angry and frustrated hiss was cut off knife-sharp. But, her pounding against the iron walls could be felt as vibrations through the floor stones, the same muted pounding which had originally awakened Z'mbutu.

"What is this antidote?" He asked through the rag, ever the investigator.

"Skunk extract."

Z'mbutu's eyes widened in disgust, but he bore with his revulsion, not wanting to chance being enthralled again. "Why're you unaffected?"

The man shrugged. "I've always been immune to all the demon's wiles," Belarthor said with some fierce pride. 

"I'm in your debt."

"No man deserves to succumb to that creature's evil touch," he said, with an expression of abhorrence. "Come, help me with my master."

Z'mbutu followed Belarthor to the fallen Chenei. "What happened to you two?"

"I tried to pull him from the room after the she-thing ripped the cloth from his face. He hit me, but I managed to knock him senseless and drag him from the cell. It was the only way to save him. He, like you, had become enthralled and had nearly let that monstrosity embrace him, which would've been his end. Although her legs are still chained, she's managed to break her wrist manacles again. You may take the cloth away now, you should be safe with the door shut. Whatever trace lingers will be too weak to rob you of your mind. If you'll grab his feet I'll take his arms."

Z'mbutu complied and the two of them carried the dazed Chenei up out of the cellar. :. They carried Chenei to the house's library, it being near to the cellar door. Belarthor arranged his master comfortably on a couch and stood over him, a concerned scowl on his blunt face until Chenei began to stir. Shaking his bald head, Chenei grunted loudly and seemed to gain his wits. He looked about himself, finally seeing Z'mbutu.

"Ah, the alchemist."

"Yes."

Chenei glanced to his servant. "Pour us the good port."

"Yes, master."

Belarthor hastily poured two glasses, handing one to Chenei the other to Z'mbutu. Then, at his master's hoarse command, Belarthor left the library, closing the door behind him. 

Z'mbutu sat in a high-backed black velvet chair which smelled strongly of dust. Chenei slowly sat up on a equally dusty and velvet couch across from him. Obviously once a robust man, the aristocrat was in obvious decline. His big shoulders slumped forward, his barrel-chest now rose above a large round belly, and there was a slight but noticeable tremor to his hands.

Seeing his guest take stock of him, Chenei said, "Congress with the demoness is draining. Of body and soul, I'm afraid. Add to that Belarthor's well-meant, if painful intervention, and a man's bound to look the worse for wear."

Z'mbutu smiled politely as he sipped the port, feeling his own wits slowly gather more firmly around him. "Why then do you elect to expose yourself to such rigors?"

Chenei stared into his glass. "Even at the great price she exacts, it's worth it. As I'm sure you've surmised by now, she's the source of the essence of the city's famous perfumes. Her sweat, and other secretions, to put it delicately, are both the fount of my wealth and the base for the fragrances."

"But the legends of the women of Narlenyss stretches back for thousands of years."

Chenei gave him a level gaze. "Yes."

"I must then assume that you inherited the Succubus. Or stole her."

"Neither. I was the one who brought her here. Nearly six thousand years ago, when the city was nothing more than a remote town on the rugged banks of the untamed river. It was a safe retreat. I've watched the metropolis grow up around me, down through the ages."




By the Sweat of the Succubus' Brow



Z'mbutu leaned forward in his chair, obviously disbelieving and suspicious. If what he'd just heard was true, which seemed unlikely in the extreme, why would the man admit it so readily to a stranger. It couldn't be simply from gratitude, of helping to carry him up from the basement. "How old are you?"

"I was born in Khachos, more than eight thousand years ago, well before the Great Plague burned across the world. Every seventy years or so I arrange my death and a relative comes to take the house. I'm always the relative, of course."

The alchemist lifted a skeptical brow. "And no one ever catches on?"

"On to what? A family with a penchant for reclusiveness? I'm generous to the charities and support the popular causes and, thus, I'm left alone."

Z'mbutu nodded. Not entirely convinced the tale was true, but the reality of the thing in the cellar was hard to ignore. 

Chenei emptied half his glass before speaking again. "Do you know of Khachos?"

"One of the ancient desert kingdoms," Z'mbutu answered, he looked off into space as he searched his memory. "It was on one of the far eastern Sand Islands, if I remember aright." 

"Actually, at her height, Khachos was an empire. Her influence was felt across half the world. Our armies invoked rightful fear and respect in our enemies hearts. We were a glorious people. Tell me, Professor, have you ever had occasion to kill someone?"

"Yes," Z'mbutu answered, honestly. "On more occasions than I'm comfortable remembering."

"Ah. Ever kill in war?"

"No."

"Ah. I've killed men in war," he said, his gaze growing softer, somewhat unfocused. "It's a gruesome matter, nothing more than mutual wholesale slaughter. Nothing like the slaying from personal passion or honor. War is the only true sin I know. I was a priest then. A true-believer. A fool." Chenei paused, flexing his injured hand. 

Z'mbutu could see that the scratches had already begun to scab over. He tried not to shudder. "Why a fool?"

"Because," Chenei said, in the tone of a man stating the patently obvious, "there are no independent gods. No self-realized devils, but those what we create for ourselves. A priest is ultimately a parasite."

"If that's true, then how do you explain the thing dwelling in your dungeon?"

Chenei shrugged, a slight frown on his face. "How should I explain the fall of a dust-mote on a rose petal or the devastating ground quake. What is the why of a Spring shower or the typhoon's fierce tempest, the surf suds sizzling into beach sand or the horrific pounding of the destructive harbor wave? Surely, I don't have to remind you, a man of letters and learning, that Nature oscillates between the extraordinarily fragile and the adamantine powerful. All of Existence is merely the territory stretched twix the two. The Succubus is no god nor demon. She's merely of a race stronger than Man, as Humanity is stronger than the common ape. How is the port?"

It took Z'mbutu a moment to make sense of the question. "It's good. Excellent, in truth."

The master of the house nodded. "The finest to be had in this miserable city. A pity to drink it, really. But, if not drunk, Time itself will ruin it, cast it into tasteless waste. It is said that the Society of Alchemists are responsible for ending the Plague. Is that true?"

"Aye."

It was historical fact that alchemists had come up with the cure for the disease which had swept over the world more than five hundred years in the past. Z'mbutu had read the contemporary accounts directly from the archives of the Society. The solution to the scourge was called the Scratch-Cure. Exposed victims would have their sores scratched, and a diluted solution of the pus scratched onto the skin of those as yet unstricken. It had worked and because of that accomplishment, for centuries, until just recently, alchemists had been welcome wherever they went across the land.

Chenei stood from the couch, testing his leg. He limped a bit when he walked to a shuttered window but was plainly in no great physical distress.

"As I said, I was a fool. Fool enough to become Chief Priest, in the fullness of time. It was because of that position, when the awesome empire of Kumbia was sacked, that I gained knowledge of the Succubus. It was in their great temple. Another cult of fools. Among their priest-class they worshipped a god they didn't share with the general populace. They worshipped She Who Ever Lived. The myth intrigued me from the first I heard it. Then I began to believe, after so many of the tortured priests said the same thing. 

"I sought out the demoness, through years and trials beyond the imagining of normal men. How to reduce the search for the miraculous into woefully inadequate words? You and I might sit for a thousand days and nights and you'd not hear half the tale, not know the high adventures and heartbreaking defeats I encountered. Suffice to say that I did unravel the riddle. I finally found her in a crumbling and forgotten Kumbian pyramid and have possessed her since. 

"She was the guardian of the Elixir, which has extended my life magnitudes beyond its natural portion of years. I believe she was the one who made it. But the slut doesn't speak and I can't confirm the conjecture." He sipped his drink. "She's insane, of course. She was so when we found her beneath the pyramid and down through the millennia her madness has only deepened. She comes into heat with the light of the full moon, each full moon, and that is when I...when I collect the scent."

Z'mbutu kept an expression of disgust from his lips, but the alchemist swallowed hard, and chased the image from his mind of Chenei mating with the thing down in the cellar. "Why do you tell me this? Why reveal so much?"

He turned from the shuttered window and once more Chenei's gaze sharpened in intensity. "I want you to give me life."

He arched an eyebrow at that. "Come again?"

"The Elixir, its formula is long lost. I want you to re-discover it."

Z'mbutu's left eyebrow rose.

Chenei saw it. "You misbelieve me, eh? Even after what you've seen?"

"The existence of the Succubus does not necessitate the existence of the Elixir of Life. It's a myth."

"Perhaps the Elixir is a myth now. But, I'm living proof that a such elixir did once exist. As is Belarthor."

"Your manservant is an Immortal, as well?"

"Aye. Belarthor, a junior priest and ever the faithful servant, volunteered to take the first sip, there under the pyramid, lest it prove to be poison."

Chenei refilled their glasses, his strength obviously returned. "I'm proof that the elixir does exist. Or did. In the hidden crypt, where we finally tracked it down. The distressing irony is, unless you find me a cure, Belarthor will most likely survive me."

"Surely, the thought distresses him as well," the alchemist said, dryly.

"No doubt," Chenei agreed, without a trace of sarcasm. 

"Leave us get to the heart of the matter, Lord Chenei. How is it you expect that I can restore your immortality?"

"Because I have no great magic at my command, my only hope lies with alchemy. Cure me and you will never know want again. You'll be richer than a Ghilan senator. Succeed and you'll be allowed to research my library and I promise to a man like you that will be better than gold."

"And if I can't cure you?"

"Come now, Master Alchemist. Let's not be pessimists." Chenei smiled and pressed several protrusions along a bookshelf. A hidden desktop unfolded and he opened a recessed drawer, taking out a iron strong box. "Suffice it to say that I'm willing to extend the hospitality of my home to you for as long as it takes. Now, let me show you the scrolls I believe most pertinent to the Elixir's formula." :. Chenei took three hours showing Z'mbutu the scrolls. It was just reaching the second hour after midnight, when the alchemist returned to bed.

He had come to the mansion seeking the answer to one riddle only to be presented with a more vexing one. Oh, not the problem of Chenei's declining health. The cause of his malady was plain enough. He should kill the Succubus before she sapped him completely. Obvious, except to Chenei. Whom, Z'mbutu suspected, had grown to love the mating of the demoness overmuch.

A man sees what he wishes to see and ignores the rest of the world thereafter, Z'mbutu thought, remembering the folk saying. Add to that, the master of the house obvious insanity. Z'mbutu was in danger, he knew that, but as long as he had access to his satchel he wasn't overly concerned of being held against his will. But he'd have to remind Belarthor to retrieve his knife-stick from the succubus' cell. 

With his dark brow creased in thought, he undressed once more and climbed back into bed with the sleeping Hana. :. Once more he heard the heartbeat of the house.

"Z'mbutu? What is it?" A sleepy voice came from the darkness.

"I think it's your master's pet making her presence known again."

"Umm," she muttered, heavy with sleep and unconcerned. Having grown accustomed to the sound through the years, Hana turned over under the blankets and finding a more comfortable position she dozed back off.

Z'mbutu, too, was also about to go back to sleep, it'd been an extremely long night, when the muffled heartbeat of the succubus pounding produced a more shattering sound. The was the distant sound of cold metal flexing, squealing and complaining, then a reverberating boom he could feel through the featherbed.

The alchemist sat up, the maid grumbling on the other side of the bed, then stood and quickly redressed. Stamping into his boots he grabbed an unlit lamp and went to the door. Once in the hallway he lit the lamp with a sulphurhead. A secondary pounding began as he moved down the shadow shifting corridor, the flame of the lamp dancing. This new pounding was less resounding than the previous, but no less insistent.

He reached the kitchen, there, by the cellar door, which rocked inward by the monster's blows, lie Chenei. A great gash opened his belly, his shiny innards were exposed. They seemed to crawl like fat greasy serpents within the gash beneath his hand. Z'mbutu's walking stick was on the floor nearby, fresh blood on the shiny blade. Obviously, Chenei had been stabbed with it.

When Chenei saw Z'mbutu, the dying lord spoke, but his words were lost to the blood which welled in his open mouth then drained down the sides of his jaw. He slumped in his servant's embrace. The immortal was dead.

The succubus banged at the cellar door again.

"We have to go," Z'mbutu shouted. "That door won't hold much longer."

Belarthor shook his bald head. "No. I'll not run from the great whore. She killed my master. Killed him with your cane knife when he went to quiet her. She used the blade to break her shackles open. I barely was able to slam the door shut, then I dragged Master up here. I'll have her head or she mine, I swear it." The servant lovingly lie his master to the kitchen floor before he picked up and hefted a two-headed axe in his meaty hands.

The alchemist didn't stay to argue the point. He snatched up his cane and ran, knowing it was for his life. Briefly, he thought of Chenei's library and the wealth of knowledge laying there under dust. But the room was at the other end of the house from his bedchamber. Despite his lust for knowledge he had to warn Hana, and at all costs he had to retrieve his satchel. :. Z'mbutu shouted as he slammed open the door of the bedchamber. "On your very life, woman, quit your bed this instant. We must flee." The pounding at the cellar door sent a maddening percussion banging throughout the house.

"Eh?" Hana threw the covers from her face, her hair tossed and wild about her head. Her expression quizzical in the lamp light. "What's amiss?"

Just then, off in the mansion there was the shattering sound of splintering wood-timbers and immediately thereafter followed by a bellowing, agonized scream from Belarthor.

"The monster is loose." Z'mbutu snarled as he rammed home the bedroom door's bolt, feeling cold sweat tickle suddenly at the back of his neck. He put on the mask containing the antidote, hoping enough essence was left to render him immune to the demoness' scent. 

Although the door would provide at least a momentary defense against the Succubus, it also meant he and Hana were trapped in the room. A decidedly unappetizing circumstance. Hurriedly, he located his bag in the flickering light of the lamp. Unstrapping and unlacing it, he began to search through the satchel's inner-pockets.

Better move with alacrity, a part of his mind urgently prompted Z'mbutu. "Eeh," he said, aloud, wholeheartedly agreeing with himself. His hands quickly searched for the items he sought.

Hana, after hearing Belarthor's scream, had jumped from the bed, standing naked in the middle of the room, sleep-tossed, scared, and confused. "What is it?"

"I've told you," Z'mbutu responded without looking from his satchel. "The monster is loose. It's already killed your master, and Belarthor too, from the sound of things. Dress, woman. We haven't much time."

But the housekeeper stood, scowling, as she watched him search.

Then they both heard a keening, shrill exclamation of celebration. The Succubus happy and exalting in her freedom. Both of them slapped their hands to their ears, the screech seeming to conduct across the bone of their skulls. It painfully affected their inner-ears. As they grimaced against the sharp cry, it grew closer. 

Hurry, Z'mbutu told himself again. Hurry. Hurry. His fingers, normally as nimble as a magician's, fumbled around in the pockets of the satchel, his nerves keen on edge. 

Suddenly, the door to the room was battered. Both Z'mbutu and the panic-stricken Hana felt the brutal strength of the blow as a violent concussion which whumped the air in the chamber. He heard Hana scream as his hand closed over the object of his frantic search. A small leather drawstring sack, containing black powder, a concoction of distant Cathay, embedded within a flammable tree-gum. Quickly, he went to the stone wall opposite the wall with the door, and began to pack the powdered gum into the cracks of the masonry.

Another blow at the door, another pressure wave rolled through the room.

Z'mbutu heard Hana scream again as the middle of the door began to bow inward with a loud splintering sound. The panel had been breached. It was only a matter of seconds now. He stuffed a shred of cloth to one end of the gummed powder and lit it with a sulphurhead wooden match. The alchemist then moved across the room, grabbed the crying Hana and drew about them both his cloak, with its lining of cloth-o-mesh. While the fine-mail wouldn't be very effective on a battlefield, it was more than adequate to turning a mugger's knife or jealous husband's rapier. He hoped it would also provide them some protection from shards of flying masonry.

The door groaned and cracked down the middle and was holed. Again the succubus gave forth a victory cry, her hideous features livid in the light of the lamp sat on a low table. The creature quickly glanced around the room as it pushed through the remains of the door. It spotted the trembling double lump under Z'mbutu's cloak and a demented grin split its face. It took another step into the room, bringing up its clawed hands.

The explosion, from such close range, was deafening. But Z'mbutu had been expecting the resulting noise, rumble, and violent shaking of the chamber. While he was rocked onto his side and felt a dull pain to the right side of his head, he was able to recover quickly enough. He threw back the cloak and saw the hole blown into the bedroom wall, revealing the star-strewn sky of night. A cool wind blew into the chamber. He also saw that the whole wall was in danger of collapsing at any moment. With a grunt he couldn't hear, he pushed the naked Hana into the hole. His other hand was on his satchel and cloak as he followed at her heels through the sifting dust.

Unlike the alchemist, the creature had been taken completely by surprise by the explosion. Never in its entire existence had it felt anything so powerful. The concussion of the explosion had knocked it back out into the hallway and against the opposite wall. Stunned, but only momentarily, it was now more enraged than ever. Shaking it gray head, the demoness let loose another banshee wail and on thin legs stalked back into the bedroom. With crimson eyes it could see by the light of the Moon that its prey was escaping. With another scream it dived for the hole, and the boots of Z'mbutu.

The alchemist had begun to think that after this night of horror, Fortune was once more smiling on him. Hana had been pushed clear of the foot thick wall and he was nearly out himself. He could hear the distinctive sound of stone block rubbing against stone block, and actually feel chips and larger pieces of the masonry falling down on the back of his neck. But he was almost clear and then it was just a matter of running across the lawn to safety and escape.

The talons of the creature reached out and grabbed the ankle of Z'mbutu's boot. It gave another cry of joy as it jerked hard, pulling him back into the hole toward it. The alchemist yelled, frantic, feeling the pull on his boot. Caught, his mind screamed, the anguish of captured prey. Caught. He kicked out, feeling his heel stomp against bone as tempered as steel.

Then he heard the clatter of rock as the stone wall gave way. :. The wall came down. It fell outward from the top, scattering blocks across the lawn and into the side garden, blowing down against the side fencing. It was only the bottom quarter or so of the wall which fell directly down. But even so small a portion of the wall was still a good deal of dead weight. One thing saved Z'mbutu's life, the monster itself. The Succubus had managed to pull him toward it and thrust itself into the hole deep enough to cover most of its hapless victim's body. Its intent was to snap the alchemist's neck as it raped him. But such was not to be. The wall came down. The body of the monster absorbing the impact of the blocks. 

Still, Z'mbutu had to struggle to push himself clear of the pile of rubble. He shoved the last brick from his leg and saw the gray hand of the monster still clutching at his trousers, a ring on one of its thin fingers. With an expression of extreme disgust he jerked his leg free of the death-grip. The antique silver of the Succubus' ornate ring dully bounced back the pewter light of the Moon.

Hana saw the hand, and with a silent scream distorting her features, she pushed up off the wet of the dead lawn and moved up the high fence with panic-stricken ease, a naked and pale ape in the frosty moonlight. She ran down the street, a hysteric, her loose hair trailing off her shoulders. Z'mbutu, rolling clear of the mound which had only seconds before been a wall, hoped the feisty cook would avoid the city-guard and the hangman's noose.

Z'mbutu used the hem of his cloak as protection when he tugged the ring from the dead demon's finger, before dropping it in his satchel. For a brief moment his mind played over the mass of accumulated knowledge in the late Chenei's library. Even an armful of volumes would prove priceless. But, as he hesitated, catching his breath, he saw flames climbing between the stones of the crumbled walls, crackling at the timbers and other flammables. The fire would spread quicker than he'd be able to get to the library. And so, it was with some regret that Z'mbutu turned from the mansion of Chenei.

He broke into the house's covered jetty and took the deceased lord's gondola, using the long wooden guide-pole to shove off down the center of the Isane River. And, Z'mbutu couldn't help but constantly cast an anxious glance over his shoulder as the current carried him away over the glassy moonlit black water.




By the Sweat of the Succubus' Brow



His head ached, his ears rang, and his hands trembled violently on the push-off pole, it had, after all, been a very near thing.

-the end-



By The Swimming Pool



A short collaboration with raiguy
Edited by Sienna



She laid face down to the side on the lounger by the side of the swimming pool with her new friend, Michael. She enjoyed his massages, and his soft sweet voice, almost in a whisper. She was still wearing bikini bottoms with an unfastened top, wondering if this new young friend was trying to seduce her. Amanda finally got her answer when he began to bite and kiss her smooth skin gently. It felt so nice, the whole of her body tingled with thousands upon thousands of goosebumps. 

He slowly let his hands trail down her back, his fingers probing her flesh, finding the muscles that were knotted up. "You need to relax," he said, while his lips slowly trailed after his fingers along her skin, sucking gently, and teeth lightly scraping against her. His fingers moved to Amanda's sides, running against her ribs, tickling the sides of her breasts, his lips making their way to the back of her neck, sucking and biting gently. Michael smiled as he saw the goosebumps form on her skin. He reached over to grab an ice cube out of the glass of water on the table beside the lounger. He ran the ice cube along her spine, and then licked the trail of water.

Suddenly she felt the coldness of the ice cube and melting water along with his licks and subtle kisses. "Turn over, let me see your breasts," he whispered. Amanda smiled and looked up at him. His pale green shorts could not hide what he was thinking. He was so hard and sticking upright within them, clearly letting her know what he wanted. She turned around, letting her bikini top fall away and exposing her almost flattened mounds, topped with pronounced hardened nipples, indicating how aroused she now was.

He noticed her smile as she noticed he was not hiding his intentions anymore. He reached up to her waist and slowly pulled her bikini bottoms down before pushing her legs open. He slid his exploring finger between her lips, watching as thin strands of slick wetness clung onto it. He then leaned down and licked through her lips with his exploring tongue, hearing her moan. "Pinch your nipples and slide your hips forward more," he said, watching has she followed his directions. Michael quickly licked through her outer lips, tasting her juices, and enjoying the natural flavour of her sex.

Amanda was not going to stop him from giving her oral sex. She squeezed and twisted her nipples, inducing the orgasms that were now building up within her sensorium. She was wet and he seemed to be enjoying himself. For a young man in his early twenties he was certainly very good at giving oral sex. Perhaps he was a spare time gigolo? She thought. 

He grinned as he slid further up her body, and then finally kissed her on the lips. "You taste very good," He said with a wink. Then his lips met with hers, pressing against them even more forcefully. Both their tongues glided along lips. His tongue sliding through hers, finally meeting her tongue. His hands slid around her slim body has they rolled over, pulling her on top of him as they fell from the lounger onto scattered towelling sheets. It did not matter because they had become indulged in a long wild passionate kiss. All they could feel was each other.

She could taste herself on both his lips and tongue, which made her even more sexually excited. Atleast she tasted good and exotic. She held him down to the ground, leaning on his shoulders once they had parted their lips and tongues. She looked down at his sexy eyes and could feel his hardness against her abdomen, pulsing against her skin as if he was making it jump. He gave her a wink and a cheeky smile. Amanda knew exactly what he was hinting. Besides, they were all alone at the isolated villa in the middle of nowhere.

Michael began to smile has he saw and felt the way she was grinding against him. He reached down to push his shorts down, releasing his hard throbbing cock for her gaze. He was larger than average and so continued to lower his hands, rubbing them against her clit. Then he slid her forward, her partially open pussy lips moving along the length of his cock, getting him nicely wet. His glans head slid into her wide open vagina, nudging deeper, with his hands resting on her hips.

Amanda realised that her new young friend had the most beautiful cock she had seen in a long time, although it was only a quick glance before he had entered her. She sat up on his thighs and nudged closer to him, both of them guiding his manhood against and inside of her comfortably.

Michel sent her a wink, enjoying the feeling of her tiny bud sliding against the head of his cock, has it slid in and out of her tight pussy. Their mixed juices created enough lubricant that he was sliding easily between her lips, enjoying the feeling as much as she was. Finally, he needed to be deep inside of her more than ever. He pushed up into her in one slow thrust, almost taking her breath away, with his hands firmly yet gently on her hips. 

Amanda realised just how hard Michael was, and not only hard, but wide has he slowly eased inside of her as deep as she could take him. The shape and ideal form of his glans touched every sensitive part within, making her contract and tighten around him. It had been a long time since she was made love to and it felt so good. She used her fingers on her swollen clit whilst getting into the nice steady rhythm of riding him. His manhood dragging out her creamy inner juices providing them with natural lubrication and the aromatic essence of sex to escape and sounds of wetness.

He could smell the essence and the feel of her sex, turned him on even more. Her accommodating vaginal walls started to rhythmically contract and loosen around his manhood. The feelings to him were amazing. Her walls were slick and velvety soft. They were still able to grip, holding him deep inside has she slowly rocked back and forth. Watching her play with her little nub, coating it in her juices, made him reach up and knead her breasts, squeezing them gently at first, and then getting harder. Her moans increased as the palms of his hands scraped across her nipples.

The wetness gave Amanda the power to edge her orgasms, one after the other with the help of her fingers. She leaned closer to him, her hands on each side of his shoulders, now riding the full rhythm, joining in harmony with soft moans that filled the swimming pool area, echoing off the stone walls of the villa, just enjoying every second. He cupped her swelling breasts and hard nipples even more, taking her closer to a huge climax. She wondered how long he could hold back before he too was going to cum. Amanda wanted to cum first and then finish him off, feeling his manhood deep inside of her throat.

Michael thrust up into her faster and faster, fully encasing his hardness inside of her. He wrapped his arms around her, and then rolled over on top of her. He started to use long, deep strokes. He tried to make sure that each thrust stimulated her clit as his mouth patched onto one of her nipples, sucking vigorously and biting gently. His other hand was rolling her nipple between two fingers, determined to make her reach her orgasm and watch the feeling of absolute pleasure take her as her moans got even louder and more frequent. 

His excited thrusts just sent them both over the edge and Amanda eventually began to climax, screaming out his name repeatedly. She began to release, cumming over his cock with each thrust he made. She began to scream even louder with pleasure, pushing against him, trying to let him know that she was in the throes of ecstasy.

Michael felt the walls of her vagina tightening down on him has she contracted her muscles. The next thing he felt after thrusting continually into her was his manhood getting soaked in her love juices. He groaned loudly, and hearing her screams and crying out his name sent him over the edge. One huge thrust into her deeply, and his cock erupted inside of her, filling her with his loads of man cum, warm and sticky. Their fluids mixed, slowly leaking out of her as he shuddered through his own powerful orgasm. This was just the beginning.

Amanda began to take long deep breaths, feeling the cool tiles beneath her. Inside of her was that gooey feeling of his cum and her juices. She began to relax pulling him closer towards her so that she could hold him tightly and push their lips together, entwined in a growing passionate kiss.

She whispered "thank you", because it had been a while since she had been fucked so hard. This new young friend had made her feel so happy and contented. She did not want to let go of his masculine form. She wanted to feel him closer than ever before and not let go.

He placed a cushion under her head, making things more comfortable, and they continued their passionate wild kissing for a while longer. The hardness of the tiles did not bother her because of the soft towelling sheets, now drenched in a huge wet patch of love juice. She rested her shoulders on his arms while his head lay on her breast, feeling him breathe gently upon one of her nipples. His manhood, still inside of her, turning flaccid. "I've not finished with you yet..." he whispered. And neither had she finished with him. She expected much more from this new young friend.

They had only met the night before. He was with two other student friends on vacation in Europe from the United States. Amanda sat at the bar, alone, drinking her favourite rum cocktail. She was on vacation with her twin daughters. She owned a holiday villa, where they were staying. she thought that the time out there would help her gain some solace after a busy few months, time to bond again with her children, but she found herself not only alone, but also in need of taking care of by a man.

One of the young men kept on noticing her more than the others. He would smile whilst drinking his Bud and eventually he came over to her and introduced himself as Michael. "How's it going?" he asked. That was where it all began. He abandoned his friends and joined her for the rest of the evening and they both began to get comfortable with each other, sharing information about each others lives. It had been a long time since she knew such a fit handsome student like him. His sexy smile was enough to make her juices flow by themselves as well has his sexy american accent. She just had to invite him to the villa the following day.

Michael rolled over, pulling her on top of him. She fit perfectly into his arms has he held her tightly. Her lips found his neck and she started placing little kisses all over has his hands roamed her back. The cool tiles and cushion felt nice. After the intense passion they both had shared, it still astounded Michael how much had happened from just a few drinks the night before.

He had gone to Europe on summer vacation after graduating. He was hoping to get into a graduate school in Europe, so my reasons for being there were two-fold. When the guys had asked him to go to a bar, he had reluctantly agreed. It wasn't really his scene, but he grabbed a Bud and sat watching the crowd of loungers, quiet groups of people in their own company. A woman constantly caught his eye, she was alone and every time their eyes met, Michael flashed a small smile in return just for her. There was something unique about her that drew his attention. 

Finally, he just had to make his way over to talk to her, and things had progressed from there. Now one day later almost, that beautiful woman was lying naked on top of him, kissing his neck, has his hands explored her body. His lips found her ear, gently nibbling along the edge before softly asking, "Would you like to move somewhere more comfortable?" His hands squeezing her small, perfect butt. 

Amanda stood up, astride his body on the ground. He looked up at her. "Well, would you like to show me your bedroom?" He leaned up on his elbows and she noticed his semi hard-on, already this stud was seemingly ready for more action. His eyes wandered from firm small breasts onto her blonde neatly trimmed pussy. Amanda could still feel him eating her in her wild imagination. In all, she was lucky to find such an amazing young man with all the energy to keep on going.

He stood up, his manhood becoming more erect after seeing her glistening sex. He wanted to taste her badly. He took her hand and moved through the villa towards the bedroom. She willingly followed him. As soon as they were there, he pushed her down onto the bed, diving between her legs, his fingers softly stroking her blonde locks and his tongue finally tasted her slick nectar, surprised by the muskiness, but also the sweet flavour that he was finding, and he could not get enough. His tongue delved between her lips, finding her aroused clit, trying to produce more of her delicious juices.

Michael offered her his sticky fingers to taste. Remnants of their sex from earlier lingered upon them until the taste had gone. He was consuming the whole of her juices the quicker she was making them. His tongue so beautifully agile began to send her crazy again with more orgasms nearing their edge. This time she was determined to hold back and enjoy his play. She grabbed the sheets tightly and gave out deep breaths. The more Amanda shown her excitement the wilder his oral action became. 

Her body started to jerk every time he would touch her clit, or glide his tongue across the wide opening of her vagina. She was close, and he could not get enough of her juices. His fingers finally moved away from her clit. His agile lips replaced them, tongue coaxing that little button out of its hiding place under her clitoral hood. And then he started to gently suck, feeling her hands move from the sheets on the bed to the back of his head. His sucking became more vigorous, tongue flicking across her clit. One of his hands started to squeeze and massage her breasts, taking turns with each. The other hand slid two fingers deep into her, gently but firmly finding her pleasure spots, and rubbing and caressing them. He was intent upon her imminent orgasm and the ensuing pleasure it would bring her.

Amanda began to tremble and arch releasing her warm liquid love, gushing them into his open mouth and face while she screamed out loud in pleasure. She did not want him to stop, but once she came he raised his head and smiled at her. "I have a confession," he told me. "You are the oldest woman I have had so far. The others were my age or younger." In the process of relaxing and recovering from his oral administrations, she began to think about what he was trying to tell her.

She didn't seem to understand that her age drove Michael even wilder. He tried to tell her, but it did get through. "What do you mean?" she asked, trying to catch her breath. 

"Let's just say that there will be more rounds than a championship boxing match," He said, tossing her a cheeky wink before diving back between her smooth damp thighs, sucking on her clit intensely, three fingers diving back into her tightness. He started searching for her g-spot, wanting to drive her wild once more and to taste and feel the warmth of her liquid love.

She let him continue, passing by his comments. He was giving her some amazing finger play, finding the g-spot and eventually massaging it. Her clitoris had grown somewhat numb, but her body still quaked uncontrollably with those orgasmic tingles and contractions. She just kept on cumming and he seemed to be enjoying flow of releasing love juices Not even her ex husband could make her feel or cum that way.

Michael quickly withdrew his fingers, greeted by a gasp from her. He looked down and then quickly rolled her onto her stomach, her head lolling to the side as she still tried to recover from her recent orgasm. He quickly slid his hard cock back into her vagina, sliding all the way in until their pelvises were grinding against each other. That seemed to bring her back to him, has he started thrusting into her, quicker and deeper. Soft moans escaped both their lips has his thrusts got more and more powerful, assisted by her slick juices and tightness.

She longed to taste his cum, hoping that he would pull out before she climaxed gain, so that she could taste and feel the warmth of his charge on her lips, tongue and skin. It had been a long time since she had swallowed cum; Amanda had almost forgotten its taste.

From the look in her eyes, Michael could tell she wanted something else. "What would you like?" he asked, feeling himself getting closer to his peak. Amanda managed to utter that she did not want him to cum inside of her and that meant only one thing to him. She told him about her need to taste his cum, and he just smiled. He too had wanted to let her taste the fruits of his orgasm, but had not known if she would like that or not.

She felt his hard throbbing manhood ease its way out of her vagina. Her wish was about to happen has she turned, letting him stroke close to her face. His moans getting louder indicated that he was about to cum. He held his breath and whispered with his eyes closed, "Oh fuck, yeah... yeah... take it..." A sure indication to open her mouth and let him cum, load after load upon her wanting lips and tongue. "Take it all, you dirty girl. Take it all, and you might get more later."

She stared up into his eyes, watching him purge his orgasmic release, talking dirty to her and making her enjoy it even more. Once her mouth was filled with his warm thick cum, she opened it wide, letting him see how much had been ejaculated. A mixture of saliva and his salty cum. Amanda closed her hungry mouth and swallowed every drop. He watched, letting go of his cock so that she could take it into her mouth and gently suck and lick it clean. The sensation sent amazing post orgasmic shivers through his whole body, wondering, what it was she wanted next.

Michael was sexually high and slipped down her body, his lips trailing wet kisses along her neck, until he was back to her breasts. The taste of her skin had now turned sweetly tangy because of the humidity and the heat of the moment. He had not paid them nearly enough attention to her beautifully formed nipples, raised and still aroused, and so meant to rectify that, has he started gently sucking on them in turn, using his fingers to pinch and tug them.

Amanda began to writhe and arch her body towards his lips and fingers, moaning softly. She did not want him to stop because it was one of her most enjoyed sexual advances any one could make. It sent wild tingles into her groin that just made more upon more of her love juices. It was not enough. She took his hand and pressed his fingers against her clitoris, hoping that he would get the message that she needed more orgasmic pleasure. She was in ecstasy, and did not want it to stop, atleast not at that moment.

She at the same time I felt his glans and his young veiny shaft, slightly limp and sticky, and youth was on his side. She was ready to make him hard again and again. She also wondered about his encounters with those younger women, reminding her of when she was atleast ten years younger and single, getting as much sex where possible. Inside, she was a whore, waiting to escape. A nymphomaniac at best description. 

His fingers started to rub and pinch her clit. Her moans turned into whimpers of pleasure. She opened her legs wider and his other hand made its way down her body, curling two, then three fingers inside of her quickly, finding her g-spot, playing her most sensitive spots like an instrument. Her body was trembling and humming with orgasmic energy. Her hands found his hair, then his back has she pulled him closer, nails raking against his skin. He could tell that her nails had drawn deep scars with the pain they left. It just drove him further into passion has his lips latched onto her nipple, sucking harder, while my fingers strummed her sex to a higher pitch, driving their symphony of passion faster and faster, taking her to the edge for the umpteenth time. She could hold back no longer, and she came in what seemed an endless gush of her liquid love. She seemed to tremble uncontrollably.




By The Swimming Pool



"Are you OK?" he asked. He was concerned. He had never experienced seeing a woman being taken to her ultimate limit before. All she wanted was to hold him in her arms has she began to return to normality in small jerks and shudders. Just feel him close for a little while. She had reached dehydration and felt so thirsty. There was refreshing cool white wine waiting for them in the refrigerator with some light seafood snacks. She intended to encourage him to stay for as long as she could. Not only for sex, but his much needed company.

Michael smiled at her and then held up a bottle of water from the bedside cabinet. They slowly let drank its contents thirstily. A grin spread across his face before he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him, through the villa and back out to the swimming pool.

They both dived in, splashing into the refreshing water playfully, dragging each others naked bodies beneath the water at the deep end. Eventually they found themselves silently staring into each others eyes. Amanda could not help notice his masculine beauty and that distinctive american look that reminded her of those movie stars that dominated the cinema and television shows. She was so happy she had invited him that afternoon and advancing evening. And she could not resist drawing her lips slowly closer to his.

They wrapped their arms around each other has their lips met. She seemed to melt against him. They slowly waded to the steps of the pool, sitting down on them. Amanda straddled his lap, her lips never leaving his as they slid closer against each other. Hands roamed her small body, enjoying how it fit in his arms. She pushed him back and looked at him. "If you keep kissing me like that, I'm not letting those lips leave," she said. Her accent made him want to kiss her even more.

"How about something to eat?" she asked, her fingernails teasing his shoulders, his back already scratched with such long manicured fingers. "I did invite you over for a snack this evening. Wine and a few nibbles..." she said teasingly and his eyes focused upon her still hard and aroused nipples with a grin across his lips. "Not those you naughty boy!" She held his lower jaw in her gentle grip, trying not to kiss him again. He waggled his tongue in a rude gesture, making her laugh, and somewhat turning her naughty boy statement around to show her that he really was a naughty boy and up for cunnilingus anytime. "If only it was just me," she almost whispered, thinking out loudly, yet wanting him to hear her say it. 

He smiled at hearing what she had said, then scooped her up in his arms and took her inside. She tried to fight for a little, giggling, then finally just wrapped her arms around him and smiled happily. He had always wanted to carry a woman princess style, and now he was. He just wished this was not the only time he would get to do this with her. He looked down at her and then took a deep breath. "I hope that this isn't just going to be a one off thing," he said, smiling. He was really becoming to enjoy her company, and not just for the sex, which was mind blowing to say the least.

His remark echoed in her mind; "one off thing". And yet within a few days they could be parted by hundreds if not thousands of miles. He watched her, still both of them naked, has she took out of the refrigerator the already prepared tray of seafood snacks and a bottle of white wine. His eyes could not look elsewhere but upon those neatly small yet well developed breasts. She was the mother of two children and yet, apart from a few almost invisible tight lines on her hips, she had the body of an untouched virgin. 

He looked at her and finally told her the truth. "I don't want it to be a one off thing because I'll be here for the next four years at least. I just found out that I got into the program I was hoping to get into," he said, his eyes leaving her perfect breasts and focusing on her face with a serious expression. She turned away from him, confusion in her eyes. He went up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her lean into him as he explained about the graduate program he was hoping to get into, and that he had gotten word of it soon after they had met, only hours ago.

With his arms around her once more, it sent pleasant tingles through her body. What he had just explained to her was neither good nor bad. The bad thing was she would have to go home and tend to her business. The good thing; he was going to be at the villa whenever she took a vacation there. She leaned her head back next to his. Thinking that the good aspects may have obvious faults. The town nearby was going to always have tempting senoritas for him to play with, even fall in love with. "Are you OK?" he asked, sensing her concerned thoughts.

He felt her nodding, and looked down. She was softly crying. He did not quite understand why, but tried to reassure her. He would be there whenever she was there. She was just trying to figure out how she could get her business to let her move out there. He looked at her and then sighed. "I wish you could join my program. It's supposed to help with business management, and will make your application stand out even more," he said, not knowing that was exactly what she needed, nor that she would have to talk to her bosses to get her into the program now. She had only one boss; her ex husband Tim. 

She seriously heard what he had to say, but did not wish to comment on what sounded like an ideal proposition. She noticed he also had food skills which surprised her. She was pretty hopeless at setting certain food trays. What goes where with other types of, in this case, seafood? "I used to work in my uncle's restaurant at weekends," he explained. "It's all about presentation and even the right kind of wine." He looked at the bottle and smiled. "Like this. Good choice, but not what my uncle would approve of." This young man was still a stranger she had shared an intimate time with. Her intentions were to enjoy each others company and now their feelings were becoming much deeper in such a short time. 

He smiled at her, and then set the snacks up, arranging them in a particular order known only to him. He still stayed behind her, popping the cork and pouring two glasses, before taking the platter as she took the glasses. He guided her to the table and sat down, pulling her down onto his lap. She smiled at that little intimate gesture. He was wondering just how deeply his feelings for her were starting to go, and he also wondered if they were the same as hers. He smiled at her and then held up one of the snacks. "Here comes the airplane!" he said, making little engine noises, getting her back for calling him a little boy, trying to keep the mood light. She took his free hand and squeezed it, not being able to thank him enough for doing that.

She chewed on the king prawn he had slipped into her mouth. Holding his hand she entwined her fingers between his. A gentle squeeze that had turned into a gesture that obviously meant a unity. A loving unity. She had been in those situations before many times. Her first lover, then her ex husband, who was only the second person she had fallen in love with. Since their divorce, there had been many other men that she only thought had loved her. Showing that hand in hand gesture, whilst in their lap, across a table or in some other intimate embrace, which only meant something else that deceived her. All they wanted was sex. She let go of his hand quickly. "You seem troubled since we made love. Did I do something wrong?" he asked.

His gaze met hers, and he could see that she was scared. She didn't want this to just be sex, but he was worried that it was just that. It terrified her that she already wanted something more with him. She did not know what it was, but these feelings were making her re-think things. "It's nothing. I'm just thinking," she said, brushing his question off casually. He smiled at her, letting it drop. He thought he knew what it was about, that she was worried about how fast this was moving. He smiled and pulled his hand back. He didn't know what to do.

They ate in silence for a while enjoying the food and wine. It was almost sunset and already the sound of the crickets became noticeable. "I love the tropics," he said, pouring out more wine in both their glasses. "Did you know that I'm half italian? Hence, why some of my family in the USA are involved in the restaurant business." She looked up at him and some of the mysterious physical things about him fell into place. His dark complexion, dark hair and those beautiful dark brown sexy eyes. She too was half Italian like him, but only on her mother's side. The reason she was more pale and blonde like her father. She had a weakness for latin men and their natural romantic nature. And it was true what they also said about them; amazingly sexy lovers.

He smiled, noticing more clearly her european heritage. He would never tell, but her gorgeous blue eyes enticed him more than she would know. He had always been attracted to smaller petite and older women. Amanda smiled as he looked her over, wondering what he could be thinking. She loved his dark brown eyes roaming her body, the fires in them telling her in no uncertain terms that he loved what he saw. "I'm actually half Italian as well," she said, blurting it out to get his smouldering orbs to lock into hers, immediately making her excited from the intensity.

"You are really something, you know that?" she told him. It was warm and humid outside and it looked like a storm was blowing in from the sea. Both still naked, they decided to into the yard and into the swimming pool. His hand perched upon her buttocks and very slowly his fingers found their way between them, touching her wet sticky lips. It was something of a habit of his, to enter a finger into a pussy and collect the fragrance of its honey on his fingers. It began to make him hard again along with the thoughts of making love in the pool. The wine had made them both more relaxed has she leaned back into his shoulder, their heads together, almost thinking the same thoughts. 

She groaned softly as his finger slipped inside of her again. He had it fully coated as he pulled it out of her, then teasingly sucked her juices off of it in front of her. She stopped, waiting for him, before they pulled each other under the cooling water. They came up splashing playfully before he swam over and trapped her against the edge of the pool. He looked down at her, a twinkle in his eye, as he leaned down and kissed her softly. "That was your punishment," he said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She looked at him, and then smiled; realising just how much watching him suck her juices off his finger had turned her on.

Once more they locked into a passionate deep kiss, her arms around his shoulders pulling him closer still. His hands moved smoothly over her buttocks and with each hand he raised and opened her thighs wide. She felt him hard, pushing against her inner lips and suddenly entering her wanting vagina. She gave a deep breath has he gave one hard push deeper inside. "I don't think I ever want to leave you to be honest," he told her in between kissing and the tongue play. "Already you are doing things to me in my head and I love it, it's like something I've never felt before." 

She smiled at his words, and then moaned as he started to thrust into her, steadily building up a rhythm. He continued to force his manhood deep inside her vagina, feeling her clenching against him has each time he withdrew. She was slick from wanting him. "I could get used to this feeling completely," he said between moans. She just moaned back, lost in the feeling. She realised she was growing attached to it and him as well. It worried her, but it was quickly driven from her mind as he slowly and steadily drove himself into her continuously, allowing her orgasm to build upon itself. Her mind soon became lost in the multiple orgasms he gave her, edging each one until she felt him getting closer to his release. She wanted them both to cum together so that they shared that loving moment of ecstasy. This was special and she carefully considered what he had told her, putting it at the back of her mind for now. And then their moans and thrusts grew quicker and louder. If anyone was listening nearby, those sounds would be exactly what they were. And, for Liam watching them from the leafy edge of the yard, it gave him great pleasure to watch them, un-noticed, spying on his friend and what he was up to with his mystery date.

Michael could see someone in the edge moving, whom looked like Liam. Trust Liam to be spying on his friends, he thought. He flipped Liam the bird and then kissed Amanda passionately. That one kiss caught her by surprise. The unbridled passion stole her breath as she screamed into his mouth, digging her nails into his back as she quivered on her climax. He felt her walls locking down on him and thrust into her harder still, lifting her up, as his own climax took him, spilling his seed deep inside of her.

Amanda felt that warm gush of his charge inside of her, cumming with him. He kissed her hard at that very moment and held her tight, feeling themselves both trembling in each others arms. But, one thing upset the whole smooth running for him; why was Liam hanging around? His friend knew that he had a date and he made it clear to him he did not need disturbing under any circumstances. She was oblivious to all of what was happening, growing contented on the soothing feelings of post orgasmic climax. Never before had she been made love to so many times in one single day.

Her hands found the back of his head, weakly lacing through his hair. She pulled his lips down to hers, kissing him softly. "Please don't leave," she said weakly, still trembling from the pleasure, but gradually coming back down. She realized what she had said and blushed slightly, but did not take the words back. He smiled and hugged her closer, enjoying the feeling of staying inside of her, as close as possible and slowly becoming flaccid with contentment.

In the distance she heard someone hooting. "Who is that?" She asked. He told her it was nothing to be concerned about; probably just a few party people strayed too far down the beach. She smiled, feeling secure in his arms. Now she was sure somehow that he was the right kind of company she needed, someone exactly like him, if not him. But, she still had that horrid fear deep inside. Men do change after a while. They get bored and stray to other lovers. It was her life's experience so far. 

He smiled as he held her. He could tell the partygoers were starting to wander around and looking for someplace to get frisky. He lifted her up from the pool, giving her a hand and they started walking towards the villa. "Privacy time," he said softly. He picked her up in his arms, kissed her softly and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom they had made love in previously. The bed sheets were still damp with the remnants of their passionate love making and at the same time he noticed she had almost contentedly fallen asleep in his arms. He did not want to disturb her, she looked so peaceful in her onset of slumber and he searched for another vacant room. There was a room with two single beds and children's nursery rhyme characters on the walls. 

He lay her down on one of the beds, making sure she was comfortable. It occurred to him that the room was where her children stayed whilst on vacation with her. He then realised that side of life living with a MILF. Her children would no doubt be in tow. He thought about her lifestyle. He realised they had little in common, but he wanted to be around her more often. He knew the age gap was not anything big. He just was not sure what her thoughts were? Even though there were two beds, he smiled and slid in behind her. 

Michael enjoyed how close they were now in the smaller childs bed. He wrapped his arms around her and smiled as she scooted back against him. She had effectively eliminated the space between them. "Goodnight, love" she murmured. He smiled and held her close as they fell asleep together.