1 comments/  45365 views/  4 favorites

1,001 Nights

By: the brothers cum



All his life, August White had dreamt of living happily ever after. When he was a little boy and his great aunt Mother Loose would told him bed time stories, he was never able to sleep until she said those magic words: "and then they lived happily ever after." Only then would he be able to close his eyes and drift to sleep. When August turned twenty four he became king of the White Kingdom and two years later married a duchess. His chances at living happily ever were spoilt when his wife died in childbirth. August was left to bring up their little daughter alone. The next eighteen years were hard for him. He dedicated his life to being a good father but frequently August was lonely -- lonely and horny. Sex slipped into his mind at the most inconvenient times. He might be taking a leisurely stroll on the palace grounds and find that he had a raging hard on. He might be giving a speech and realize he had forgotten what he was meant to be saying and instead was imagining a naked, nubile woman.

He never expected to fall in love again but then Goldicocks walked into his life. Beautiful, passionate, golden haired, big breasted, curvaceous, witty, talkative, compassionate, unpredictable, amazing Goldicocks. When she accepted his proposal, he thought to himself, "this time I’ll definitely live happily ever after." 

But things are rarely that easy.

August and Goldicocks were married in a huge wedding. After the reception, the king and queen dashed to the royal bedroom and began tearing off their clothes. They had only had sex once before getting married and they were both desperate for each other.

“I can’t wait to make love to you,” declared August.

“I need your dick inside me,” replied Goldicocks.

“You’re perfect.” 

“Fuck me right now.” Goldicocks replied. She ripped off her corset and her full breasts swung free. She smiled at the bulge she saw under new husband's trousers. But then she made a terrible mistake. Instead of just leaping on him, she offered him one last compliment. “Of all the men I’ve fucked, you were the most amazing.” 

August’s body tensed. “How many men is that?”

“You know,” she replied, “I’ve never thought to count. I think it was... a few hundred.”

“What?” 

“You’re right,” she realized. She had been looking for a dick that would fit her perfectly for a long time. “It’s probably closer to a thousand.” 

It was only now that Goldicocks noticed the horrified expression on August’s face. “Don’t worry my love,” she reassured, “you may be, number one thousand and one, but you are the only man who has given me an orgasm...” Goldicocks crawled across the bed towards him. “...and you can give me another one right now.”

When Goldicocks reached the edge of the bed and reached under August’s breeches, she discovered his penis was no longer erect. It had deflated like a ruptured balloon. “One thousand, one thousand, one thousand,” he muttered like a monk chanting a mantra.

Goldicocks put her lips around August’s lifeless member. She twirled her tongue about the inert head and bathed it in saliva. She cupped his scrotum and squeezed gently with her fingers. It made no difference. August was still mumbling “one thousand, one thousand, one thousand.” Mentally, he was vividly imagining his darling queen having sex. He envisioned her writhing, panting, and gasping in other men’s arms. He thought of her legs entwined about other men’s waists, her body pistoning against other men’s hips, her pussy tight around other men’s dicks. A thousand other men. A thousand. A thousand. A thousand.

Goldicocks pleaded with August. “What does it matter if it was one or one thousand? None of them were as amazing as you.” 

His only answer was, “one thousand”.

August and Goldicocks did not have sex on their wedding night. She was extremely disappointed but she controlled her anger because she hoped he would get over it. 

In going about his royal duties that morning, August was different. When his economic advisor asked how much the taxes per province should be increased, he replied “one thousand.” 

“You can’t mean that,” objected the advisor. “That much would cripple the peasants in their provinces.” 

“One thousand,” August said again.

When he was asked how many whip lashes should be given to a man who had been caught stealing, again the answer was “one thousand”.

“For stealing bread!” objected the royal whip holder. “He might not survive.”

“One thousand,” repeated August.

That night Goldicocks met her husband dressed in a thin silk negligee. She pounced on him ferociously but she could not get him hard.

“I’m sorry my queen.” 

“This is ridiculous.”

“I just can’t get that number out of my mind.”

“Don’t you want me?” Goldicocks asked. She stretched out in front of him and licked her the tip of her middle finger. She smiled as she saw his eyes transfixed on what she was doing. She spread her legs and brought the finger over her clitoris. She massaged the stiff bud and moaned deeply. With her index and forefinger she spread apart the inner folds. Her middle finger descended into the her moist cavern. It slipped in without resistance. “You make me so wet,” she declared as she thrust the finger in and out. She swiped her tongue over her lips sensually. “Wouldn’t you love to be inside me right now: torturing me, making me scream, making me want to cum. Wouldn’t you like to take your robes off right now and fuck me.”

Even as he watched this sumptuous spectacle, August’s dick did not get hard. “I do want you,” he mumbled. “But...”

“I know,” Goldicocks shrieked. “One thousand!”

For the next week Goldicocks used every trick she could imagine. She wore a black leather cat suit, she woke August up with a blow job, she tied him up and teased him for an hour, she poured scented oils on her breasts and danced for him. She then sandwiched his penis between her slippery mammaries and massaged it slowly. Nothing worked. Finally, she realized drastic measures were necessary.

“August,” she said. “I think you’re having problems with my past because you only slept with one woman before me. If you had been with a few other women I doubt it would bother you so much. What we need to do is find a way for you to catch up with me.”

“You want me to sleep with other women?” The notion horrified August.

“You really are such a prude. It would not bother me at all.”

“I don’t know if I could.”

“I think when you are faced with a few naked women who want to sandwich you between their bodies you will find the ability.”   

“Many women at one time?” The idea had never even occurred to him.

“I think that we should hold an orgy. The largest orgy that there has ever been. We can invite every noble of note and the rulers of neighboring lands. It can be a diplomatic event too. Perhaps we can create a lasting peace through uninhibited fucking.”

“But...” August objected.

“Trust me. You’ll like it,” she said firmly. 

And so it was decided. 

Goldicocks sent out messengers to every corner of fairyland the same day. The messengers carried letters which invited every ruler, prince, princess, lord and lady in fairyland to the orgy. Goldicocks began preparations. She had the palace’s great hall (usually used for banquets) cleared out and filled with beds. She commandeered crates of accessories like grapes and wine. She had scented candles installed in the chandeliers and hired an orchestra to play romantic music. She ordered the walls of the great hall to be covered in finely patterned silks and had the paintings of August’s ancestors replaced by erotic illustrations.

The palace preparations took two weeks. In this period August was still impotent but Goldicocks was no longer distressed. She was confident her idea would work. 

She woke up bursting with excitement on the scheduled day. She glanced at August’s flaccid member and smiled. “Not for much longer,” she whispered.

That morning she rushed through the palace making sure everything was in order. The guests began to arrive early in the evening. They were all led to the great hall and given their places (seating was alphabetical).

Hor’s d’oeurves were served and people chit chatted. They talked about the weather and recent gossip. Their was tension throughout the room. Goldicocks and August lay on the largest bed in the great hall. 

“I think they’re all nervous,” Goldicocks observed. “I think you should break the ice.”

“What do you mean?” 

“They know they came here for an orgy, but they don’t really know how to start. Look at the king of Oz for example. He so hard he can’t even sit straight. Look, he’s looking straight down the Queen of Neverland’s dress. Bet he’s imagining taking it off. By the look in her eye I can tell she wants him to, but neither of them wants to take the initiative.”

“You’re right,” August admitted.

“There are all shy. They need a little help and since you’re the host, it’s your responsibility.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Stand up, and say, ‘let the fucking commence’”

“I can’t say that.”

“It needs to be said.” 

“All right, all right.” August rose. He had made a thousand speeches in his life but he had never felt the butterflies he felt at this moment. “Let the... Let the...” He stammered. Goldicocks smiled up at him, urging him on. He cleared his throat and spoke again, louder now. “Let fucking begin.”

The reaction was immediate. Hundred’s of horny nobles sprung into action. Clothes were torn, chests were fondled, lips met hungrily, tongues dragged across flesh, nails scratched backs. August’s head reeled. He had never seen anything like the wild romp that had erupted before him. 

“Let’s join in,” Goldicocks said, standing up beside her husband.

1  He nodded. His throat was dry and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. 

“Relax,” she reassured. She unbuckled his belt and pulled out his penis. It was still not erect. August was so uncomfortable with all the sexual acts all around the room that it didn’t seem likely this would change.

Goldicocks got an idea. She walked to a nearby bed on which four women were rubbing their bodies against each other in a sapphic celebration. She walked up and touched one of them on the shoulder. She looked up from the succulent breast she had been nibbling lovingly. “What is it Queen Goldicocks?” The woman asked.

Goldicocks recognized the four women as the elemental fairy’s. The one who Goldicocks had tapped was the fairy of fire. She had ebony black skin that gleamed with sweat and short curly hair. She was almost flat-chested and her muscular body rippled with her every movement and. The fairy whose tits she had been dining on was the brown haired fairy of earth. Her skin was the golden brown of autumn leaves and she had a fuller, rounder body. Her breasts were large, pendulous, and topped with dark nipples. They heaved with her every exhalation. The fairy of wind was a petite oriental and her black hair moved on its own as though she were outside in the middle of a gale. The fourth fairy was the blonde haired, pale skinned, sea-blue eyed, fairy of water. The rumor was that whenever a ship was lost at sea, the fairy of water would add the drowning sailors to her harem.

“I know you four are having fun,” Goldicocks said to the fairies. “But I wonder if you might help me with my husband.

“We would love to,” the four replied simultaneously.

“Lie down here my king,” Goldicocks said.

The fairies moved aside to create space on their mattress. August lay down and the fairies of water and fire ran their fingers up and down his chest. The earth and wind fairies grabbed Goldicocks. 

“Not me,” she protested. “I’m not really into women. I’ve only been with one, and that was under special...”

“Don’t fight us,” the fairy of earth said wrestling Goldicocks down onto a mound of cushions. The fairy of wind pulled out one of Goldicocks breasts and blew on it. Her breath was the chilly midwinter breeze. The nipple responded, lengthening and becoming rock hard.

“It’ll turn your hubby on to watch us,” the fairy of earth said.

Goldicocks stopped fighting. She met the fairy of earth in a kiss. Her mouth tasted like fresh strawberries. The fairy purred in her mouth. The fairy’s lips descended to Goldicocks neck. With her tongue, the fairy of wind’s began trailing a line from Goldicocks chest down her belly. Goldicocks body raised with goose bumps. 

Meanwhile, the fairy of water and the fairy of fire were licking and sucking every inch of August’s dick. Watching his wife’s lesbian antics, and the simultaneous efforts of the two nymphomaniacs giving him a blow job, succeeded in distracting August from his wife’s one thousand past lovers. His penis become a rigid flagpole. 

“Good job girls,” Goldicocks said with glee and reached for it. 

The fairy of water batted her hand away like a pesky insect. “Let me fuck him first.”

Goldicocks supposed it was only fair. “All right.” 

The fairy mounted August and began riding him intently. Goldicocks smiled as the two fairies serving her pulled apart her legs. The wind fairy stuck her cool tongue up Goldicocks cunt and thrust it as far as it would go. Goldicocks murmured appreciatively. She imagined the tongue was her husband’s perfect dick. Every time the water fairy’s pussy descended on her husband’s cock, Goldicocks shuddered as though she could feel him inside her. This continued for seven minutes at which point the water fairy began gasping and shaking frenetically. Her body was dripping with sweat. She screamed as she came and climbed off August’s dick.

Goldicocks reached out for her husband’s dick again. Again her hand was batted away. “Me next, me next” the fairy of fire said. 

“And them me,” said the fairy of earth.

“And then I suppose you want a go?” Goldicocks asked the wind fairy who was still licking intently.

“Of course.” .

Goldicocks sighed and nodded acquiescence. The purpose of the orgy was, after all, to increase August’s sexual experience. She shouldn’t be impatient. After tonight, August would not have an impotence problem any more and she could fuck him as much as she wanted. She politely stepped aside and allowed each of the fairies to fuck her husband in turn. They came one by one over the course of the next forty minutes and she marveled at his stamina.

Not only is he the perfect fit, she realized, but he has perfect stamina. She couldn’t wait until she could be the one fucking him. She needed that cock inside her right now. She needed it’s hard length pushing into her, tearing at her flesh, ramming in and out. She needed to press herself against August's hard body. She wanted him to fuck her mercilessly, to punish her, violate her, ravish her. She shivered.

She looked around the hall deliriously. There were so many cocks around her and she supposed she could go play with any one of them. But while that would be enjoyable, none of them would give her what she craved. What her body demanded. Another orgasm! So she just watched her husband. She watched him and touched herself. 

August was lost within a temple of flesh at that moment. The fairies were all holding him and teasing him while watching him fuck the one whose ‘turn’ it was. He looked at his queen nervously. 

“Don’t worry,” she reassured. “It’s turning me on. See.”

He smiled at how wet she was. “Come and make love to me now,” he mumbled. 

“What about me?” The earth fairy, the only one who hadn’t come yet, asked.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe the other fairies can bring you to orgasm. I need my wife right now.”

The fairy nodded with understanding. She dismounted and stepped aside. Goldicocks prepared to climb on. Her blood rushed in a violent torrent. She wrapped the base of August’s cock with her fingers. She felt it pulsate in her hand. She rejoiced. She spread her legs and guided the engorged purple head of his solid penis between her reddening pussy lips. Waves of lust crashed over August and Goldicocks. August felt her drenched cavern cling to his shaft and her vaginal walls burnt. They lost all connection to the rest of the room. It was just the two of them lost in a plane of pleasure. 

August fucked Goldicocks leisurely at first. He moved his hips slowly, pushing into her gently, teasing them both with his motions. She tried to move more rapidly but he grabbed hold of her sides and slowed her down. He wanted the amazing sensations to last as long as they could. He savored them. The pressure built in both their bodies and they moved in synch. In, out, in, out. Over and over and over again. Their desperation increased and August began fucking her harder, pummeling her. Her body rocked like a frenzied pendulum. Her head flailed and her fingers clenched Augusts shoulders tightly. She could hardly wait for his sperm to spurt inside her. She wanted to feel him flood her. As she had this thought she felt him gush and this pushed her over the edge. Her body quaked. A torrent of heat coursed through her and she screamed in her orgasm. Her blood felt like it was boiling. Her vision blurred. 

She was still trembling a minute later. August looked over at her lying beside him and said, “I think that we might live happily ever after.”

Goldicocks laughed. “I don’t know about that. But we’ll definitely have a great sex life.”      

AUTHOR'S NOTE

'1,001 Nights' is an episode in a series of interconnected fairy tales which tell the tale of Goldicocks. The prequel to this story is 'The Legend of Goldicocks'.

1,001 Nights: Day 01



Friday morning flew past, the daily routine an invisible blur streaming around Sara as she contemplated the single thing on her mind: today is Day One.

Her plan, her scheme, her strategy... she didn't know what to call it, but it began today. She felt almost fearful when she awoke this morning, filled with anticipation and apprehension. She hadn't slept well, had tossed and turned all night, waking every couple hours, once going to the bathroom, once getting a drink, mostly lying naked beneath her sheets staring at the ceiling. One thousand and one nights of sex, she had thought over and over, and it starts tomorrow.

Now it was tomorrow, it was Day One, and she was so preoccupied with the idea that couldn't concentrate on anything at work. She had almost called in sick when the butterflies in her stomach wouldn't calm themselves. She thought again about leaving early, claiming she wasn't feeling well and heading home, but what would she do? Sit home and feel just as nervous as I do now, she thought. Is it nerves, or is it excitement? I haven't felt like this since... since... I don't know if I've ever felt like this. She was filled with tension, but strangely stimulated, as if the anxiety somehow heightened the sense of arousal she felt every time she thought about it.

She stared at the wall opposite her desk, her mind skating from topic to topic like a water bug skimming the surface of a pond. The door was shut and the mini-blinds were closed on the window that usually allowed her a view of the hall. A painting hung next to the window, an impressionist print she had loved when she picked it out, in the depths of which she usually found a sense of serenity. Today she didn't even see the canvas. What if I don't find someone tonight? What if my plan falls through on the first day? Should I risk waiting until I hit the bars tonight?

She thought about it and decided that she was too keyed up, too eager to start her project to wait until tonight. The fear of having her plan compromised forced her to action like a gun to her head. She knew she couldn't take any chances; once set in motion, her plan would develop a momentum of its' own, but she would need to kick start it. I need to start now. But where, and with whom?

She began mentally cataloging the men in her office. Ben in sales – hopelessly devoted to his fat wife. Carl in Engineering – too much like a father. Shaun in shipping – there was no way he could it to himself. Mick, in quality control, the tall shy one...yes! Shy was what she needed. Maybe Mick would fit the bill. Or better yet, Andy upstairs in accounting; he might be geeky, but he fell all over himself whenever she needed anything. Andy could keep a secret. Andy had always helped her, had gone out of his way for her on countless occasions.

Well, Andy, she thought, today the nice guy gets his.

Sara hung up the phone and a smile stretched her lips. Some things were too easy. Andy had been so quick to agree to help her with her supply problem that she almost felt bad for duping him. It's not like he hasn't wanted me for years, she thought. He was going to help her verify some sort of discrepancy with an order of office supplies or something, she had already forgotten what she told him, and to do so they were meeting in the supply closet in ten minutes. She decided to check her makeup and hair before meeting Andy, and strode from her office with purpose towards the ladies room.

Ben approached her in the hall. He held a stack of pink order forms in one hand; his other hand held his cell phone to his ear. As soon as he saw her, he muttered a quick "hang on" into the phone and touched her arm to get her attention.

"Sara, we need to change these shipping dates you gave Turner & Company, it's going to totally screw up my BHI project." He stared at her, expecting a quick response.

Sara drew her arm out of his reach as she continued down the hall. "It'll have to wait, I'm right in the middle of something," she said over her shoulder.

She made it to the restroom, touched up her makeup and brushed her hair. She gave herself a long, appraising look in the mirror. She was beautiful, desirable and, as always, dressed to the tee. She considered her reflection, imaging how a stranger would see her.

Her image in the full length mirror was hazy through the unclean surface, but gave her a general idea of how she looked. She glanced down at her favorite black, strappy heels, turned her ankle to see how they emphasized the length of her tanned legs, which were bare to mid thigh, her tight, black skirt daringly short. The white blouse was tucked into the top of her skirt and covered by a tailored black blazer that hugged her tiny waistline. Her blouse was unbuttoned low, almost revealing the lacy black bra that pushed her breasts together and made them look larger, her cleavage more pronounced. A choker of black satin was wrapped tightly around her neck, a black opal dangling from it in the hollow of her neck. Her long blonde hair hung straight back, shining in the fluorescent lights.

On an impulse, she reached up under her skirt and pulled her black panties off, down over her shoes, then tucked them into her purse. She smoothed her skirt back into place, and tried to imagine what she would look like to Andy, how he would see her, if he would be daring enough to risk the encounter she planned. You're hot, she told herself as she glanced in the mirror one last time. There's no way he'll be able to resist.

Sara beat Andy to the supply closet, a room too small to be used for anything else. One wall was concealed by blue industrial shelving piled high with office supplies. Boxes of pens, highlighters, pencils, and markers stacked neatly next to mountains of notepads, manila folders, pre-printed order forms overflowing from their boxes, letterhead in neat blue wrap, and a small stock of nearly everything anyone in an office would ever need. A few spare office chairs were pushed into one corner, one straight-backed chair stacked upside down atop another, and a couple filing cabinets were shoved sideways against the wall.

Sara took one straight chair and pushed it next to the door; later she could jam it under the doorknob. Only a few people had keys, but at least it would prevent them from interrupting anything. She pulled a box of pens from the shelf, wondering what she was going to say to even get Andy past the doorway. Did I say pens, or paper? She couldn't remember the bad excuse she had given Andy, and her mind raced through possible opening lines.

The door opened and she flinched, startled, turning her head like the crack of a whip to see who was there. It was Andy in his starched white shirt and black slacks, a red tie cinched tight around his neck with a perfect knot. He strode directly to where Sara was standing, and set a clipboard on the shelf as the door swung shut behind him.

"What's the problem with the last order?" he asked, all business.

"Well, Andy, it's like this," Sara said, moving past him towards the door. She picked up the chair and wedge it tight under the doorknob, effectively blocking the door for anyone outside. She turned back towards him, looking him directly in the eyes. "I lured you here under false pretenses."

"You what?" He moved towards her. "Is something wrong?"

Sara said nothing. She moved close to Andy, closer than she would normally stand to anyone in the office, close enough to make him hesitate.

"What is it?" A note of concern, charming in its' naiveté, touched his voice.

The compassionate look on his face stabbed guilt into the pit of her stomach like biting down on hard candy with an undiscovered cavity; a sudden pang of shame and remorse grew within her at the thought of deceiving and using him. She had to push forward, move past it.

"Andy," she began, placing her hand on his chest, "I need to tell you something." She'd never actually tried to seduce someone, and her guilty conscience was making it difficult. Things had just happened naturally; usually existing feelings, alcohol or other mitigating circumstances created a moment, the pause in conversation, the long look into each others' eyes that led to a kiss then beyond. Trying to make it happen felt forced, wrong, as if it were a game or a contest.

Andy took a step back, moving in a stilting manner as if he were having difficulty mastering his limbs. Sara moved with him, keeping her hand on his chest, her face close to his.

"I need your help." She spoke inches from his face, her mouth close to his as if she was about to kiss him.

Andy was at a loss for words. He tried to step back again, but his foot hit the shelf behind him. Sara took the opportunity to close the distance between them. She moved right up to him, the edge of her jacket brushing against his shirt, so close now that she imagined she could feel his body heat rising off of him.

She leaned in close and whispered directly in his ear, "I need you, Andy." Her lips brushed his earlobe and his body trembled.

"We can't..." He placed his hand on her shoulders as if to push her away, but he had no strength to do so.

Sara pressed herself against him and felt his erection through his pants; the intensity of it pressing against her aroused her. He was holding his breath, his entire body rigid. She kissed his earlobe, then his neck, the smell of aftershave strong on his smooth skin. She moved again so that she was staring directly into his eyes, her mouth inches from his, his breath warm against her face. Her hands moved down his torso, over his ribcage, then his stomach. I'm actually seducing him, she thought. She couldn't believe how easy it was. One hand circled behind him, moving across his back, holding him tightly to her; the other hand slid down over his pants, pressing against his erection, rubbing between their bodies.

Andys' hands were still on her shoulders, their eyes locked together, not a word spoken between them as his resistance flagged, then faltered altogether. His hands move around her body, embracing her, exploring her curves, his lips pressed against hers, their tongues entwined as he gave himself wholly to the moment. Sara felt heat rise in her as his hands roamed over her ass, grasping, caressing, and she lifted one leg and rubbed herself against him, trying to mount him right there on the shelf, desire taking over, no longer tense from the attempt at seduction now that they were getting into it.

She pulled back from him, one hand still pressed to his pants, and smiled as enticingly as she could. The heat of the moment filled her. Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she grabbed his tie and pulled him across the room towards her, spun him around and pushed him back towards a chair. He sat down hard, unexpectedly, his eyes wide, surprised. She felt a strange excitement grow as she controlled the situation, as if she had power over his every move.

She bent down smoothly before he could rise and began to unbuckle his belt. He stared down at her, a mixture of yearning and awe in his eyes. Her hands worked quickly, the button on his slacks was undone, the zipper pulled down. She reached inside his underwear and felt him warm and hard and ready, which only made her more excited. She pulled out his cock; it sprang forth and stood at attention. It wasn't huge or very impressive, curving to one side and looking oddly discolored, but at that moment it was enough to set her pulse racing. She leaned her face close to his erect penis and looked up at him, their eyes locking.

"One time," she whispered. She hovered above his cock, one hand wrapped around its' base, the other rubbing his thigh, her lips close, eyes locked on his. "Can you handle just once, Andy?" She felt a need to clarify. He was so kind she was afraid he'd misinterpret this as the beginnings of a relationship.

"Yes." His response was barely audible, his breathing rapid and irregular.

"No strings." Her voice was soft as she slowly ran her hand up, then back down his length. "Can you handle that," again she stroked his cock, slow and purposefully, "or should we stop?"

"Don't stop." His eyes were filled with lust, entreating her to keep going.

She smiled at him, then moved closer to his cock, her breath warm on his head, teasing with her hand, then finally wrapping her lips firmly around him. He was hot and tasted almost salty in her mouth and she slid up and down, her tongue circling his head, adding more sensation. She bobbed her head up and down in his lap, sucking his shaft in and out of her mouth as she moved. His hands touched the sides of her head, gripped tight in her hair and pulled her down onto him, forcing her up and down faster, hips bucking to meet her mouth, his movements harsh and insistent.

She pulled away; she wanted control of this encounter, not him. His hands tugged lightly to return her mouth to his penis, but she drew back. Her hand moved up and down, keeping him excited, her own excitement growing at the power she held over him. Every second she controlled the situation, she felt herself grow wetter, more aroused.

Sara stood, straddling Andy on the chair. With the fingers of one hand still wrapped around him, she moved down toward him, guiding him, sliding his head over her lips, pressing the tip of his cock against her swollen clitoris, moving it in small circles that shivered ecstasy throughout her. Finally, she moved him back to her entrance and lowered herself onto him, felt him slide slowly inside, just a bit, just parting her lips, then his head was inside. He suddenly grasped her waist with both hands and pulled her down hard, stretching her, forcing himself inside. She gasped, feeling him stiff and hot within her. She stayed pressed tightly against him, his cock buried inside her. His hands gripped her ass trying to push her back up off of him so he could pound into her again.

She didn't rise up off of him; she was in charge. Instead she pulled his hands off of her, bent his arms up over his head, slight resistance giving way as he caved to her will, and pinned them to the top of the chair. Holding him down, she began to slowly move her hips forward and back, keeping him deep inside her, feeling his rigidity pressing against her inner recesses, close to the secret spot at the top of her vaginal wall that only her vibrator seemed capable of finding. She moved back and forth, not allowing any movement up and down, only pushing to and fro, the sensation rippling through her entire body from deep within, spreading through her nervous system like electricity. He tried to thrust into her deeper, to pull out so he could drive himself into her with more force, but she had him pinned to the chair, purposely limiting his movements, his hips restrained enough that all his gyrations barely moved him in or out.

Finally she raised herself up until he almost slid out of her, then back down, slowly at first, then picking up the pace. She kept his hands pinned to the chair behind his head as his hips tried to increase the strength of the thrusts, but atop him, she was in command. She bounced on his lap faster, slamming onto his cock, getting closer and closer, her inner walls clenching him inside her, squeezing her pleasure from him, coming closer to climax as she rode him fervently. 

She felt him tense up, his fingers clutching at her forearms almost violently, and she was sure he was going to come soon. She rose up off of him, felt him slide out, her hands immediately moving to his cock, now slick with her fluids. Inside she was electrified, sensations rolled through her uninhibited. She felt herself clenching at the emptiness within her; she had come so close to orgasm. She stroked him vigorously, wanting him to come, watching the tip of his penis for the sudden eruption that she expected.

He came silently, the same silence they had maintained during the entire session, his face contorted in an expression that could have been pain. Small spurts of semen jetted out, the first burst out almost straight at her face, just missing her, the next squirting onto the floor, one hit his own knee, the rest dribbled onto his pants or dripped down onto her hand. She slowed her hand until he seemed relaxed and then removed it. All she could smell was cum and her own musk.

Sara stood slowly and looked down at Andy, his body slumped in the chair, reason returning to him. His expression was a mixture of satisfaction, wonder, shock, and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. She hoped disappointment didn't show on her face as clearly as contentment showed on his. She had hoped to reach orgasm; she had been close, but didn't quite make it before he exploded. She tingled inside; she wanted it again, yearned for her release, but couldn't bring herself to prolong this already perilous interlude.

She grabbed a box of tissue from the shelf and ripped it open, wiping her hands off with a wad she then discarded on the floor. She pulled another wad of tissue from the box and wiped at her inner thighs, then between her legs, her scent heavy in the air as she tossed that tissue on the floor as well. She glanced down at herself, made sure that everything was as clean as she could get it, smoothed her skirt down, adjusted her blazer and moved towards the door.

Andy was wiping himself off when Sara pulled the chair away from the door. His head jerked up to see her hand on the doorknob. He zipped himself up as fast as he could, buckling his belt as Sara turned the knob. He bent down to pick up her discarded tissues, wanting no evidence left behind as she opened the door. He looked up, afraid someone would be in the hall listening through the door, or waiting for him outside. As she walked out of the storage room, she turned to look back at Andy, his eyes wide, something approaching terror on his face at the prospect of being caught.

"Can you get me the actual quantities before the end of the day?" Sara asked.

"Yeah, uh... yeah, sure. By the end of the day." Andy was flustered. He had obviously been totally unprepared for the entire episode.

"Great! Thanks a lot, Andy. You really came through for me." Sara winked at him, then let the door close behind her before she could see his reaction and headed directly to the ladies room. 

Back in her office, arousal and guilt warred within Sara and she settled into her chair, leaning back behind the large oaken desk. She stared at the ceiling, head back, arms splayed out to her sides. She had come so close to orgasm, but felt completely unsatisfied. Her reaction to his persistent attempts to have power over her had caught her by surprise; the excitement of controlling the entire encounter was unexpected. She thought about what specifically had made her so excited.

Was it that I was in control? No, that wasn't really it, because I wasn't actually in total control. He took me, pulled me down, impaled me on him. That more than anything had excited her. Maybe it was the vision of him submissive to her desires, maybe it was imagining herself in his position. That had excited her. She thought back to how she had originally imagined the episode playing out.

She had imagined him coming into the supply room, seeing her leaning against the shelf and moving right up behind her, his hands instantly upon her, exploring, caressing, running over her body. She pictured his hands on her breasts, fingers unbuttoning her jacket, moving up under her shirt, rubbing her hardening nipples though the thin material of her bra. She felt his erection pressing against her from behind, grinding into her, his need so apparent, evidence of his desire urgent. She could feel his hands yanking her skirt up, his entire length driving inside her from behind, larger in her fantasy than in reality. There was no foreplay, no warning, his weight and the force of his thrusts pinning her to the shelf as he took her.




1,001 Nights: Day 01



As her mind's eye wandered, so did her fingers, running up under her skirt, finding nothing to hinder them, her panties still wadded inside her purse. Her fingered played, slowly exploring the most familiar and intimate of terrain, imagining it was a much more aggressive Andy, a more dominating man that would take her and fuck her like she wanted, leaving her no escape, no power to stop him, taking his pleasure within her, using her pussy for his own satisfaction. Her fingers worked fervently; in her mind it was no longer him, but some mystery lover fucking her, harder and faster, stimulation building to the breaking point as she came in waves, her release the final liberation she had anticipated from the brief and disappointing incident moments before.

She slowed her fingers now as she came down from the heights of ecstasy. She leaned back in her chair, the after effects still clinging to her nervous system, waves of pleasure rolling slowly through her, wishing she could come take the time to do it again. 

A knock at the door brought her hands immediately up over the surface of her desk. She wiped her fingers on a tissue she extracted from the drawer as she called out, "Come in." At least now she'd be able to concentrate on work. 

Sara drove home in silence, stereo off, windows rolled up, hands tight on the steering wheel. She stared straight ahead, trying to wriggle free from the thin film of guilt coating her soul over having deceived Andy. Why did I have to be in such a hurry? Why couldn't I have waited? There's a thousand guys out every Friday night looking for nothing more than a quick fuck; why couldn't I have used one of them? Trying to distance herself from her thoughts, she pressed the gas pedal to the floor and sped home.

Rebecca greeted her as soon as she opened the door.

"So are you ready to start your little project?" Rebecca grinned at Sara and leaned back on the couch, the giant cushions swallowing her.

Sara said nothing, tossing her keys on the tiny table in the entry way and bending to unfasten her heels. Rising, she stepped out of the shoes and shoved them under the table with one foot.

"Well? Where are you going to find Fuckmate Number One?" Rebecca was in a good mood, her eyes sparkled as she teased Sara.

"I already checked number one off my list." Sara dropped her purse on the coffee table and plopped down in the oversized chair opposite Rebecca. She shot a smug look over the table.

"What? You've only been out of work for twenty minutes."

Sara just smiled.

"Details," Rebecca said, leaning forward on the couch, eager for information.

Sara recounted the event briefly, filling in particulars only when asked. When she had finished, Rebecca leaned back and clapped her hands together and laughed.

"...in the supply room?" Rebecca laughed again. "You dirty little slut."

"It wasn't really that good." Sara sighed.

"Well, what did you expect? You grab the geekiest guy in your office and you're surprised the sex sucks?"

"It didn't suck, it just wasn't..." Sara tried to find a better word, but settled on, "good."

"It sucked." Rebecca chuckled. "See what happens when you're impatient?"

"I couldn't wait."

"Why didn't you fuck Ben, or that hottie I met at happy hour last week? What was his name? The tall one with the tattoo. God, I'd fuck him."

"I shouldn't have fucked any of them."

"You should have fucked Tall Dark and Tattooed."

"Okay, fine. I fucked up."

"I'll say."

Sara rose from the chair and moved around the coffee table to sit beside Rebecca on the couch. She grabbed her purse off the coffee table and removed a small notebook from it, leaning closer to Rebecca.

"Look, here's my notes," she said, flipping open the notebook.

"You took notes? It must have worse than I thought."

"My notes on the thousand and one nights." She glanced sideways at Rebecca, annoyed. "I've got the rules, the start date, my list of ideas..." She flipped through the pages, Rebecca leaning closer, peering over her shoulder.

"Lemme see that." Rebecca took the notebook from Saras' hand and flipped back to the first page. Skimming through the writing she read bits aloud. "...something different every time... partners, locations, positions... bondage? S&M? Kinky."

Flipping to the next page, Rebecca skimmed a list of names. "Jesus, you've got every guy we know on here."

"As possibilities."

"Trevor? I thought you two weren't talking."

Sara remained silent.

Rebecca read further, "Who the fuck are Kevin and Amanda? Not your cousin Amanda?"

"No, they're swingers.'

Rebecca looked up from the page before her. "How do you know they're swingers?"

"They're pretty open about it."

"Where did you meet swingers?"

"Tom's."

"Of course. Tom's." Rebecca flipped to the next page and continued reading. She pointed to a line on the page. "Is that me?"

Sara held her hands in her lap. "Yes. I thought... well, you know."

"Jesus, I'm on the list?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, if we... well, it'd count."

Rebecca tossed the notebook in Sara's lap and rose from the couch. "I'm not part of your experiment." She tore across the room and slipped on her shoes, grabbing her purse from the table in the hall.

"Rebecca, it's not like that." Sara rose from the couch and started across the room.

"I'm going out." Rebecca jerked the door open and stepped through.

"Wait..." Sara was almost to the door.

"We're done talking about this." Rebecca slammed the door.

Sara stood just inside the door, wanting to open it and go after Rebecca. She didn't want to leave things like this, but she also knew that trying to talk know would only exacerbate the situation. Rebecca would need time to calm down before they could talk. Reluctantly, she moved back into the living room and slumped on the couch.

Christ, why does she have to be this way? Nothing can be easy with her. She tried to think of what she'd say to Rebecca the next time they spoke, but knew it would all depend on Rebecca's mood. Why doesn't she understand? Sara tried to come up with some sort of approach to take when Rebecca returned, but with the way her moods could turn, predicting her mood was next to impossible. I wish I knew what she was thinking. Is she jealous? I just can't see it. Is she worried? Possibly. What could have set her off so bad? Wednesday night she had seemed to understand, moments ago she was all excited about details. She's so damned unpredictable.

Sara let out an exasperated sigh, then sat up straighter on the couch. She had some phone calls to make if she was going to line up Day Two, and Rebecca's mood swings would continue whether she tried to soothe her or not.



1,001 Nights: Day 02



No New Voice Mail.

The message flashed on the tiny screen of Saras' phone. She flipped it closed and set it on the coffee table, then stretched her legs out and rested her head on the arm of the sofa. She'd left messages with several people, and was waiting impatiently for any one of her calls to be returned. God, I'm horny. Why won't anyone call me back?

Last night she'd made a dozen or so calls, but everyone was going out to Surge, a new club that had just opened last weekend, and she wasn't in the mood to go out. She'd masturbated twice with Big Black, her favorite vibrator, a thick, black, twelve inch monstrosity. That might have counted towards her goal if it weren't still Day One. She still marked it in her notebook, wanting to make sure all her sexual activity was logged for whatever end product this project created.

It was eleven in the morning, and she lay on the couch in her sweat pants and a t-shirt. She was lazy, bored, and worried about Rebecca. She hadn't been home since she stormed out of the apartment last night. Sara had called her cell just to make sure everything was all right, but got no answer. She hadn't left a message. Well, when she wants to talk, she'll let me know.

She brought the notebook into her bedroom and sat at the desk, placing the notepad at a precise ninety degree angle next to her keyboard. The orderliness of her desk was a testament to her organization skills, a part of her personality that was incongruous with the haphazard way she arranged her personal affairs. Everything was placed in a pre-determined position, all of the items in exact locations, nothing out of place. Her entire room was conspicuously tidy; her attention to detail was enough to drive roommates crazy.

She tried to accept that not everyone could be that organized, but it was still a point of contention between Rebecca and her. She had always been regulated, everything in her life categorized to an exacting standard few could emulate. Rebecca tried, but was as naturally disorganized as Sara was systematic.

She logged into her PC and launched the database she had built last week. The database was populated with the names of all her potential partners, their contact information, including where she met them or what website they were from if she hadn't met them yet. There were separate tables for sexual positions, fetishes, scenarios, locations, toys, and more. It was far from exhaustive, but she had filled in as much data as she could think of off the top of her head, then populated additional fields with the results of a few quick Google searches. Though the thought of a sexual encounter database might have seemed obsessively logical to others, to Sara it was as natural as keeping phone numbers organized in her cell phone. 

She ran a report that spit out a list of the easiest marks, the ones she had flirted and joked with, those with whom she felt sexual tension, and the straight players that would put the moves on her every time she saw them, anyone who she could get in bed with little or no effort. She came up with a list of fifteen men and two women. These would be her backups, the people she would turn to if she were down to the last minute and in danger of missing her midnight deadline. She ran down the list with one finger on the screen and stopped at the last name, Trevor. 

Ah, Trevor. She had once thought he was the love of her life. They shared so much in common, talked for hours, enjoyed each others' company regardless of their surroundings, and seemed to fit together perfectly. She'd loved him, or at least she'd felt more for him than she ever had for any other man. They dated for six months, he proposed, she accepted, then he instantly cheated on her. She didn't mind an open relationship; she'd had plenty of them. But to propose marriage, to swear undying love and fidelity, then turn around and fuck someone else within a week... that was intolerable. She'd told him as much, raging at him in a rare, furious outburst. She didn't answer the door when he came over to talk, refused his calls, deleted his messages instantly upon hearing his voice, returned his letters unopened, deleted his emails unread, everything to avoid further contact with him. But she knew with one phone call he'd be back in her arms, in her life, in her bed. She didn't know how she'd handle that. He was the last ditch effort.

The phone rang, shattering her reverie. She ran to the living room, picked up her cell from the coffee table, and answered without looking at the name.

"Hello?"

"Sara?"

She immediately recognized the voice. "Josh! What's up?"

"We still on for lunch?"

Shit. She'd been so caught up in finding her mark for Day Two, she'd forgotten her lunch plans with Josh. "Oh my God, Josh, I forgot. Gimme forty-five minutes."

"No prob, I'm running late myself." The line clicked, a brief burst of static interrupted his voice. "...at one fifteen instead, ok?"

"One fifteen, see you then." Sara flipped the phone closed and ran to the shower.

. . .

Arriving later than planned, Sara checked herself in the rearview mirror before heading around the corner to meet Josh. She touched up her lipstick, and ran her fingers through her hair. Just before turning the corner where she would be within Josh's line of sight, she checked her reflection in the plate glass window of a tiny boutique.

She had thrown on her Corey Lynn Calter skirt, a knee-length white number with a swirling pattern of subtle blues and black that was snug at her hips and flowed loosely around her legs, and an aqua blue ribbed tank top she called her "boy beater" that hugged her body, accentuating her breasts, and showing off her thin, tanned arms. She wore 4 inch wedge sandals, tan straps wrapped several times around her ankle and calf and tied partway up her leg. Large silver hoop earrings and a silver necklace with a turquoise stone completed her outfit. Casual, yet sexy. I guess that's the best I can hope for.

Lunch with Josh was pretty much as she expected; they joked and poked fun at each other over chicken wraps at a sidewalk café on Park Ave. She always enjoyed Josh's company; he was genuine and naturally witty, and they could toss clever banter back and forth for hours without tiring of it. Finally, after the plates had been cleared away and they were each on their second beer, Sara decided to steer the conversation towards her project, or at least how Josh could help her with it.

"So, Josh, there's something I have to ask you." Sara took a swig of beer.

"No, I won't marry you." Josh stared at her, expressionless. "Like I tell all the ladies, I'm just not ready to settle down." He grinned then, making sure she knew he was joking.

"Ha, ha," Sara set her beer on the tiny paper napkin. "Seriously, I've been thinking about something you said a long time ago."

"If this is about my plans for world conquest..."

"Are you ever serious?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Can you try for just five minutes?"

"Man, you're pushing it." Josh swallowed the rest of his beer. "Ok, you've got 'Serious Josh' until she brings me another beer," he said, gesturing to the waitress two tables over.

Sara smiled. "Do you remember sitting over at Rob's place, drunk off our asses, talking about sex?"

"Pick a night." Josh smirked. "Why what'd I say?"

"We were talking about threesomes."

"Still not helping. We've had that conversation a few times."

"It was me, you, Rebecca, Rob, Tracy, Frank and James. Rob said he'd only do it with him and two girls."

"That's cause he's a homophobe." Josh grinned. "Sorry." His mouth snapped back to a somber line across his face, "Serious."

"You told him you'd do it with a girl and another guy as long as it was a friend of yours and you just fucked her and didn't touch each other."

"Ha! Yeah," Josh was grinning wider now. "Yeah, I said we'd high five over her back after we jizzed on her."

"That's a beautiful image," Sara knew Josh didn't mean anything by it; he tried to provoke people by being offensive. Once you got used to it and didn't let it bother you, it was kind of funny, in a twisted, sexist way. She waited a moment, not sure if she should just come out with it or try to build up to it.

"Tracy went off on one of her feminist rants," Josh said. "God she's easy to get going." He was smiling again, probably remembering other times he got Tracy wound up and pissed off.

"So were you serious?"

"About what?"

"A threesome."

"Oh my God... Is this what Rebecca was talking about?" Josh's eyes were wide in disbelief as his gaze settled on Sara. "You want a menage-a-trios?" 

"What do you mean 'what Rebecca was talking about'?" Sara sat up straighter in her chair.

"Last night," Josh met Sara's eyes. "We were all out at Surge. Rebecca said you were getting freaky and wanted to fuck everybody or something."

"She told you that?"

"She told everybody. Sounded like she was pimping you out." Josh touched the waitress' arm as she passed near the table. "Another beer please? When you get a chance." The waitress nodded, glanced at Sara's nearly full beer, and went into the restaurant.

"She told everybody that I'm freaky? I want to fuck everybody?"

"I thought she was kidding, but..." Josh leaned back in his chair and glanced skyward. "I just said something I shouldn't have..."

Sara leaned forward, eyes narrowed, "Who did she tell?"

"Everybody. I don't know." Josh shrugged and spread his hands wide, moving his head from side to side, helpless before Sara's questions.

Sara was silent. Rebecca was either trying to help her with her project, which she doubted after last nights' outburst, or trying to make her plan that much more difficult. She realized she was staring off into space and looked back at Josh.

"I'm sorry." Sara took another sip of her beer. "I'm just shocked she'd say that."

"Look, I don't want to be in the middle of anything." Josh leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

"I don't want you to be," Sara was still shook up by what he had told her. 

"Good," Josh smiled again. "So let's talk about you in the middle of something. A threesome?" He paused, checking to see if she was still hung up on Rebecca's revelation. When she flashed a feeble smile at him, he continued. "Still want to talk about it?"

"I did, but I don't want you to think..."

"Thinking isn't high on my list right now." Josh stared straight at her. "But I'd be lying if I said the thought of you and I together hadn't crossed my mind."

"Josh," Sara looked him straight in the eye, "Don't get the wrong idea. I just want to try it once, with someone I feel safe with. I trust you and Rob." She steepled her fingers in front of her face. "So now that you think I'm a slut..."

"Will you relax?" Josh took her hands in his, moving them out of his line of sight. He looked intently at her. "Everybody has fantasies. Not everybody indulges them." He paused, forcing her to look into his eyes. "I don't think you're a slut." He maintained his eye contact, looking more serious than she'd ever seen him. "I wish I could be like you."

"Yeah, right..." Sara looked down, her hands still clasped between Josh's.

"Really. You took a chance saying that to me. What if I just ran around telling everyone? I couldn't just say something like that. That took balls." He rubbed her hands in his. "Or ovaries, as the case may be."

Sara smiled, weak and half-hearted, anxiety twisting her emotions, fear that he would think less of her gnawing at her confidence.

"I'm in." Josh smiled, letting his hands slide off of hers and back to his side of the table as he leaned back in his chair. "If you're serious, I am so in."

"It's just once, Josh." Sara looked across the table, trying to gauge his thoughts, her mind focused on ascertaining what was going on behind those blue eyes. "It won't mean anything; it's just one night. It's purely physical."

"Where have you been all my life? A woman who just wants something physical? You're what I've been looking for, babe." Josh grinned again as the waitress set a new beer before him. "I'll talk to Rob."

. . .

Sara drove, no destination in mind, just driving, Guns N' Roses blaring from the speakers, the path she took through the city emulating the aimless wandering of her mind.

Why was Rebecca suddenly so riled up? Why would she run around telling everyone that I want to fuck everybody? And why do I want it so much? Sitting across from Josh, his hands on hers, their eyes locked together, she began already imagining what it would be like, her thoughts drifting, imagining his touch on other parts of her body. Warmth and longing spreading through her body until she was sure her face was flush. He hadn't mentioned it, if he'd even noticed.

She brought her mind back to the present, fully aware of the road before her, the cars passing her left in a rush of wind. She had crossed the river and was on the northeast side of town, actually almost to the shore of Lake Ontario. She decided to head to Durand Eastman Park and sit in the sun to collect her thoughts, maybe make a few phone calls and enjoy the rare sunny day in Rochester.

. . .

Walking from the parking lot into the grass, she realized she'd worn the wrong shoes for a stroll in the park. She stopped and untied the leather bands from around her calf, unwrapping them from her ankles, and stepped out of the high wedges onto soft, springy grass. She curled her toes in the green blades, felt the ground yield beneath her feet. Lifting her sandals, twirling the straps in her fingers, she walked further into the field before her, enjoying the sensation of the tiny leaves between her toes.


As she walked she took in the beauty of the park, tree branches waving in the gentle breeze, sunlight streaming down onto the grass. Birdsong was everywhere yet seemed to come from no place in particular; the scent of new mown grass and the perfume of flowering blossoms drifted though the air. She was walking the perimeter of the field when she saw a path leading into the trees.

On a whim, she followed the path, stepping carefully in her bare feet to avoid branches and small rocks. She hiked into the woods, swinging her shoes at her side, enjoying the cool air in the deep shade of the overhanging branches. The thought of turning back had just entered her mind when she saw a small clearing off to one side of the trail, a narrow stream bubbling just beyond it. She moved slowly through the foliage into the clearing and looked about in wonder.

The trees stood backing a lopsided semicircle, leaving a wide swath of the greenest grass open to the sky above. Beyond the grassy patch, a slender thread of water trickled over grey, white and brown rocks, the tinkling noise almost musical. Sunlight shone through the opening in the branches above her, warming her neck, arms and back. She felt as if she had entered another world, like she had stepped through a portal into some fantastic land straight out of a J.R.R. Tolkien novel.

Stepping into the center of the glade, her bare sole came down on a pricker bush. She jumped, lifting her injured foot. Trying to step to the side to avoid landing back on the same thorny surface, she lost her balance, twisted her other ankle, then tumbled and landed hard on her rump. She sat still for a moment then rubbed her ankle. It throbbed as if she had sprained it. She stretched her leg back out in front of her and leaned back on her elbows. That was when she saw the man.

He was no more than twenty feet from her to her left, squatting down on his haunches, a green t-shirt and a head of shaggy hair was all she could make out above the undergrowth in which he sat. He seemed to be staring directly at her, and her heart leapt to her throat. He looked predatory, as if he were ready to pounce on her. As panic gripped her he slowly raised one finger to his lips as if to shush her, then unhurriedly extended his index finger, pointing into the trees off to her right. She followed his gaze in the direction of the tip of his finger, slowly turning her head.

Two deer, a buck with small antlers, and either a doe or fawn, were staring straight at her from just outside the circle of grass. They were upwind, but the sudden movement of her fall must have caught their attention. She remained motionless, holding her breath in an attempt to allay their fear. The doe turned her head, her ears swiveling towards Sara. The buck stood so motionless he might have been a statue.

The moment unfolded, seconds ticking by in her head as if each were an hour. It was as if time had stopped, none of the beings in or near the clearing stirred. Birdsong continued, the creek sang its' liquid song, the breeze blew soft and steady, and still they remained motionless. Finally the buck lowered his head to the ground. A few second later, the doe did the same. Sara watched them, the elegant forms moving so naturally, so relaxed, yet at the same time taut as a bowstring, ready to snap into action at the briefest hint of danger. She was entranced.

She had no idea how long she sat there, just watching the deer eat, look up, then bend back to the leaves below. Eventually the buck moved towards the stream and drank; she could see his tiny tongue now that he had moved out of the trees. Suddenly the buck and doe jerked their heads up simultaneously, hesitated a fraction of a second, then bounded off into the woods.

Sara let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. In that moment, however long it had lasted, she had felt an incomparable connectedness with nature. It was overwhelming, and she felt it radiating around her as if she had maintained some part of it within her. Movement caught her eye, and she turned to see the stranger rising from his place of concealment in the undergrowth off to her left.

He was tall and his skin was either dark or severely tanned. Aside from the green t-shirt, he wore khaki cargo shorts and sandals. His shaggy black hair hung down into his eyes and curled around his ears and at the back of his neck. His body was lean and trim, not muscular, but well-toned. She was terrified as he strode purposefully towards her and stopped at her feet, looking down at her. She could read nothing in his expression, his eyes seemed to bore through her and see something else.

He knelt beside her and placed a hand on her ankle. She wanted to pull away; she had no idea what he intended. His callused fingers turned her ankle gently, as if he were holding a goblet of the finest crystal. He moved his fingers lightly around her ankle, probing, then began kneading at the spot where she had felt it wrench just before falling. She felt a sudden jab of pain, then it stopped. Her ankle no longer throbbed. He continued rubbing, both hands now on her as he worked some form of massage magic on her twisted limb.

His thumb worked behind the bump on her outer ankle, stroking the hollow with steady pressure. She felt heat rise into her face, felt a familiar longing tug at her senses as his massage continued. Oh my God, he's turning me on. I want him. What should I say? She sat up, her face now above his as he worked at her ankle. She stared at him, into his eyes, a radiant bluish-green.

His hands began to move upwards, caressing her calf, working their way up her leg, tracing over her skin like static electricity. Now one had was on each leg, moving up past her knees, under her designer skirt, pushing the skirt up her thighs as he explored further. His touch was unlike that of any other man Sara had ever been with; it sent shivers up her legs, straight between them, each small movement increasing her arousal. She opened her mouth to speak, but he moved like lightning, and pressed one fingertip to her lips, his eyes bright. He shook his head 'no'. She understood. Don't speak, you'll ruin the moment.




1,001 Nights: Day 02



She laid back on the grass, his hands working their way higher, his fingers pushing up under the waistband of her panties, wrapping in them. My God, I can't believe how badly I want him right now, she thought. She lifted her hips and he pulled her panties down her legs, off over her bare feet. Her mind was racing, yes, yes, take me now, and she felt herself growing more and more wet. He climbed atop her, his hands on the ground to either side of her, his chest hovering above her breasts, the weight of his lower body pressing her hips down into the grass, his legs between hers, his erection pressing against her. He stared down into her eyes, and something inside her liquefied under his scrutiny.

She pushed up against his hardness. Running her hands down his back she realized that his pants were undone as her fingers tracked over his bare buttocks. He lifted himself up slightly, moving her skirt from between their nakedness, then lowered himself back down and she felt the heat of his penis on her skin, rubbing over her mound. She was wet, soaked, wanting him to enter her, wanting to feel him inside her.

She reached one hand down and wrapped her fingers around his firmness, guiding him to her. He entered her tentatively, barely inside, pulling back a fraction, then sliding in further. He was scarcely within, only just parting her; expectation shivered through her entire body. Gradually he slipped further inside her, bit by bit he pressed slowly between her lips, unhurried, deliberately drawing out her anticipation. She wriggled against him, pressing towards him, trying to surround him, urging him onward.

A slight smile flickered at the corners of his mouth as he teased her. Sara felt him fill her and squeezed him within her walls. He gave her the last measure of his length with a decisive thrust, causing her to let out a tiny cry. He began to plunge slowly in and out, deep inside, then almost completely out. He varied the depth and pace of each drive as she writhed beneath him, fingers clawing at his back, eyes shut tight as he pumped into her.

She felt herself approaching the brink of orgasm. She stared directly into his eyes, her breath quickening, pulse racing, the tightening inside her priming her for her release. He just stared at her as if he knew exactly what she were thinking, never changing his rhythm, continuously thrusting, bringing her right to the edge and then watching her crash down over the precipice. Waves of pleasure washed through her body, every nerve ending seemed alive to the slightest touch, her entire being exploded in ecstasy.

She writhed beneath him as she came back from the limits of reality, his pumping slower now, her skin sensitive to his touch everywhere. She was panting, trying to catch her breath from her tempestuous thrashing of moments before. She realized he'd stopped. He hadn't come, he hadn't pulled out, he'd just stopped. She looked down their sweat slicked bodies; he was still on her, still in her. She met his eyes, and he flashed a peculiar half-smile.

He pulled out as he pushed up off of her, standing in one fluid movement. She propped herself up on her elbows, expecting to suck him to climax like all men wanted. When she looked up at him he was buckling his belt, his shadow lay across her pelvis and stomach as his body had moments before. She reached out to him, but he stepped back. She stood slowly, awkwardly adjusting her skirt. Her ankle no longer hurt, she put all of her weight on the one foot. Nothing. She looked up at him still towering over her even standing, and and placed one hand on his chest.

His lips parted, the first syllable of an unformed word nearly broke the silence, but Sara placed the tip of one finger over his lips and shook her head 'no', repeating his earlier message. Don't speak, you'll ruin the moment.

He smiled then. A beautiful smile, perfect white teeth bared between his full lips, delight showing clearly on his dark features. He pointed one finger off towards the far edge of the clearing.

Sara turned, her hand falling down from his chest, to see the two deer back at the edge of the stream. The buck sniffed the air, ears pivoting. She twisted back to look at the smiling man, but he was gone. She spun in a circle, startling the deer, looking for him everywhere, but saw no sign of him.

He had vanished.

. . .

Sara had laid back on the grass and watched the deer until they bolted, then stayed there for another hour or so. When she finally got back to her car, she checked her messages. Josh called to say that Rob was out of town visiting his mother until Tuesday. Amanda, one half of the swinging couple Tom had introduced her to, had called to firm up their plans to meet next Saturday. Frank called to see what she was doing tonight. Nothing from Rebecca, which Sara found unsettling.

She drove back home, thoughts of her mystery man and Rebecca warring for dominance in her mind. She passed a guy sitting by a rusted white van on the side of the road selling flowers with a big sign that said "Mother's Day." Shit. Tomorrow was Mother's Day. She pulled over and bought a bouquet of white Chrysanthemums. They'd always been her mothers' favorite, and once Sara learned that they symbolized truth, it seemed even more fitting.

It was six o'clock when she arrived home. She put the flowers in a vase with some water; she'd take them to her mother tomorrow. She took off her skirt and rubbed stain stick into the grass stains. She put on a pair of blue panties and a light blue camisole, then lay back on her bed, her thoughts again wandering to the mystery woodsman. How perfect that encounter had been, totally anonymous yet deeply personal. If only she could connect with people like that more often. He seemed to know exactly what she wanted, and asked for nothing in return. It was almost a dream. Was it a dream? No, her skirt had the grass stains and her ass hurt enough from the hard ground to prove it had happened.

It suddenly seemed darker than it had moments before. She glanced over at the bright red digits of her alarm clock. It was nine thirty. She must have dozed off. She heard movement beyond her bedroom door. Shit, Rebecca's home, and I have no idea what her problem is. How am I going to approach her? Sara rolled over on her bed, listening for any clue as to Rebecca's mood based on the muffled sounds on the other side of her door.

Fuck her. I don't have the energy for this right now. She felt angry, mad at Rebecca for being so childish, mad that she'd told all their friends about her plan. She pulled the stereo remote off her nightstand and turned on some music, switching between stations, unable to find anything appealing. Pop, rap, country, 70's rock, more pop... the selection on the radio was crap. She clicked over to the five-disc changed and switched CDs, the mechanical rattling of the trays as the machine switched from disc one to disc three took an annoyingly long time. Tray three was reserved for angry music, and the last disc she'd left in was Kill 'Em All by Metallica.

She cranked it up loud and then took her new vibrator out of the nightstand drawer. It was called 'Total Decadence', and had three stimulators, clitoral, vaginal and an extended anal probe. As the first track kicked in, guitars churning and drums thumping, she went to work with her new toy, hoping the music was loud enough to muffle her moans. 



1,001 Nights: Day 03



Sara puttered around the apartment Sunday morning, drinking coffee, listening to some mellow tunes, watching a little television with the volume low. She had been dressed and ready to go at seven-thirty. She wore a mid-calf length black dress with short sleeves and a scoop neck. Crocheted insets circled three tiered seams. She had four inch black pumps on, and her only jewelry was tiny opal earrings. Her dress, shoes and jewelry were more conservative than her normal attire. She was half waiting for Rebecca to wake up, and half avoiding the visit to her mother. For the last four years, Rebecca had always gone with her, the supportive best friend. She wasn't sure she could bear the visit alone. In fact, the very thought of it filled her with anxiety.

Just as Sara was getting antsy, Rebecca came out of her room. She wore a short, pink silken robe tied loosely at her waist. Her hair was a mess, brown curls jumbled all about her head. She walked past Sara without saying a word, without even looking in her direction, and shuffled into the kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the linoleum as she prepared a cup of coffee.

Sara didn't know what to say. Rebecca seemed to be ignoring her, which could mean almost anything. Should I apologize? I don't even know specifically what set her off. Sara stared distractedly at the television, not even aware of the infomercial touting the benefits of some new exercise equipment. Should I just ask if she'll go with me? Pretend like nothing happened? If I apologize, it might set her off again. Then again, if I ignore it, that might set her off as well... She hated when Rebecca got like this.

Rebecca came back into the living room, her laptop in one hand, a giant mug of coffee in the other. She sat at the far end of the couch, powering up her laptop and setting the coffee on a wooden coaster. She continued to ignore Sara, acting as if she were the only person in the room. The laptop beeped, and she moved the cursor around the screen and began typing short bursts of text. Sara decided to break the silence.

"Rebecca, I..." she began, but was instantly interrupted.

"I'll jump in the shower quick and go with you to visit your mother, just let me check my email first." Rebecca didn't look in her direction, and the tone of her voice foreshadowed an argument if Sara didn't agree.

"Ok," Sara said. She was staring at Rebecca, wishing she would turn her head, wishing she would look at her, anything to get a feel for her mood.

Rebecca, typed for a couple minutes, responding to messages Sara couldn't see from where she sat. Finally, she flipped the laptop closed, stood, and walked into the bathroom between their bedrooms. She still hadn't looked at Sara, and without seeing her eyes, Rebecca was a difficult woman to decipher.

Sara spent a half hour picking up around the apartment, washing the few dirty dishes, stacking magazines under the coffee table, straightening the dish towels on their rack, anything to keep her mind off of Rebecca and the upcoming visit to her mother. When she heard the shower turn off, she finally gave up and sat on the couch. Practicing breathing techniques she learned in yoga and meditation classes, she tried to bring her turbulent thoughts to rest, centering herself. She was just getting into her comfort zone, starting to block out the riotous noise inside her head, when Rebecca came out of her room.

She wore a red, pink and black floral print sundress that stopped just below her knees and red wedge sandals. Long, silver earrings dangled from her lobes, a complex silver necklace adorned her neckline. Her make up was dark, as always. Heavy mascara and eyeliner, dark eye shadow, dark red lips, combined with her dark, loosely curled hair, the contrast to her pale skin was striking. But the thing that struck Sara immediately was the gigantic, friendly smile that spread across her features. She practically beamed as she crossed the room and stood before Sara.

"Ready?" The bubbly, expectant tone in Rebecca's voice was even more unnerving after two days of the cold shoulder.

"Yeah," Sara said, standing. She grabbed her purse from the coffee table, the faced Rebecca. "Are we ok?"

Rebecca laughed, she actually laughed, the sound like music to Sara's ears. "I can't stay mad at you." Unexpectedly she pulled Sara towards her and hugged her. "You're my best friend."

Sara returned the hug, bewildered. Whatever reaction she had expected from Rebecca, this was not it. Jesus, maybe she's bipolar, she thought as the embrace ended. They headed out together to visit Sara's mother, the tension of the past two days replaced by something less worrisome, but still disturbing.

. . .

Mary Alice Zaad Beloved Wife and Mother 1953 - 1993

Sara stood before her mothers' headstone, arms straight at her sides, the flowers all but forgotten as they dipped towards the ground, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Immediately to the left was her fathers' headstone, and off to the right, her brother. Within the eighty-one square feet directly in front of her lay her immediate family. They were right in front of her yet the distance between them was immeasurable, eternal.

She came here every year on Mother's Day, Father's Day, and on each of their birthdays. It was her way of immersing herself in the truth, her grounding in the reality that they were gone and had been gone for years, that she would never again see them, talk to them, embrace them. It was her reminder that she was alone in this world. It was her way to request their forgiveness, to atone for her role in their deaths. It was her penance. 

She blamed herself for their deaths; she always had, no matter how often countless family friends and distant relatives had assured her it wasn't her fault. If she hadn't begged to drive her uncle's new Porsche home from the restaurant, fearless in her eighteen-year-old immortality, forcing her cousin Jen to ride with her family, if she had taken the highway instead of the twisting turns of Lake Road at high speed, her father trying desperately to keep up in the gigantic old Chevy Caprice, if she hadn't sped up, if she had allowed her father to catch up, the timing would have been different, the oncoming truck would have already passed the turn, they wouldn't have been in the same place at the same time, the boxy Chevy no match for four tons of moving truck.

She remembered the sound more than anything else. It still haunted her dreams, twelve years later. The shock of impact like an explosion, the horrible crunching of metal on metal as she looked in the review mirror and saw her fathers' car, the front end mangled, launched sideways through the guardrail and into the tops of the trees, crashing down, down through the trunks, branches sheared off, landing unseen below her line of sight. She didn't remember stopping or running from the car. She didn't remember sliding down the hill in her summer dress, or the fall that tore a gash in her head. She didn't remember anything until she was looking down the last twenty feet of leaf-strewn valley at the mangled wreckage, parts of the car twisted in a confused jumble, almost unrecognizable.

She had a vague recollection of her uncle racing past her, slamming into the side of the car, tugging at the door with all his might, reaching through the open window, trying desperately to reach his brother, his daughter. She was frozen, incapable of going any further as she saw the flames leap up from beneath the engine compartment. She moved then, in slow motion, closer to the car, walking in a dream, reality must be far from all this devastation; the sight before her was impossible, unreal. She reached the drivers' side, her uncle straining through broken glass, pulling at the seatbelts, and saw her brothers' face through the backseat window.

Blood. So much blood. His face was covered in it, it ran down his neck, saturated his shirt. His neck... his neck was twisted at an impossible angle, his head lolled back, mouth agape, eyes open wide, blood flowing freely into them. She had covered her mouth with her hand as it hung open in horror, shock taking over her system, and she screamed.

A single scream, an unending scream that had lasted for seconds, hours, days. She was still screaming, or was she sobbing, after her uncle had forcibly dragged her from the scene, after the paramedics arrived, after she had been bundled in a scratchy blanket and huddled within an ambulance. Exhaustion or drugs had kicked in then, she wasn't sure which, and she had slept. She awoke in the hospital, her head bandaged against the gash she had received falling down the hill. She thought it had all been a dream, had tried to piece together the shattered fragments of her memory until she remembered her brothers' face and the blood, and she had screamed again, an unrelenting shriek of loss and horror.

After days in the hospital, she was released into her uncle's care. Her only surviving immediate relative, she had allowed him to take her to his house, had hidden in the guest room, unable to sleep in her cousins' bed. The arrangements were made, the funerals held together on a beautiful sunny day that she would despise forever. She had buried her family that day, had buried her past, her life, her ability to love. Her uncle had cried when his daughter was lowered into the ground two rows beyond Sara's entire family.

She couldn't cry. Tears wouldn't come. She had cried everything she had in the days preceding the burial, was drained of every emotion, and bereft of any ability to feel. Numb, she watched the caskets lowered into the ground, had stood immobile as the guests departed, had stared mindlessly at the three holes in the ground, empty, her heart and soul a vacuum.

Anesthetized days passed into weeks, then into months. She had dropped out of college, hid within the confines of the family house. Most days she stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling, red-rimmed eyes seeing nothing, sleeping when sleep would come, lying motionless when it wouldn't, the burden of guilt too heavy to allow her to rise.

Sometimes she wandered the house, everything in it reminding her of her family, her loss. Every time a thought of any one of them arose in her mind she wallowed in her responsibility for their untimely deaths. She would come to her senses in front of the piano, staring at her parents wedding picture, or holding her brothers' graduation picture to her chest, slumped on the floor in the hall as tears streamed down her face. She would find herself on the floor in the doorway to her parents bedroom, having collapsed there, unable to enter, a trespasser in her own home, unfit to tread the floor of the room they had shared.

It had taken her nearly a year to find the momentum to move on with her life. Friends and distant relatives had phoned, called on her, stopped by on random days to check in. She had finally closed up the house, had moved into an apartment to distance herself from the painful memories. Her fathers' accountant had taken on the responsibility of the financial affairs; she left him to it. His constant suggestions to sell the estate were rejected; she couldn't bring herself to wholesale her history, her memories. She had moved on, but couldn't let go. Her grief waned, but never died. Guilt kept her tied inexorably to the past.

Sara felt a hand upon her shoulder. Rebecca had moved closer and now began rubbing her back lightly, the small circular motion reassuring, her presence comforting. She remembered the flowers in her hand, and lifted them to her face, inhaling their weak aroma. Blinking back tears, pulling herself from her reverie, she knelt before the grave and placed the flowers on the grass before her mothers' headstone.

She remained on her knees for a moment, her mind filled with brief flashes of her mothers' smile, the kind look her eyes had always held, and then the harsh words Sara had directed at her. In hindsight, she knew that her parents had nothing but the best intentions in everything they did for her, but her rebellious nature and the teenaged certainty that she knew everything had put her at odds with her mother on an almost daily basis. She had purposely done everything in direct opposition to her parents' wishes, and only years later did she understand the truth; that their vigilance and restrictions came from their boundless love for her.

The fact that she could never apologize for her behavior, that she could never tell her parents that they were right, that she had fought so hard against their wishes and could never make it up to them only added to her guilt. What she had learned in the years following their deaths, what life and experience had taught her, how right they were, she would never be able to tell them to their faces. She would never be able to ask forgiveness for her childish rebellion, for the unforgivable errors in judgment, for what she had put them through for years as a teen.

She stood and took a step back, brushing against Rebecca as she moved. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with feelings. She turned to Rebecca, wrapping her arms around her, clinging to her like a shipwrecked sailor clutching a life preserver, as the storm of turbulent emotions brought great, wracking sobs from deep within her being. Rebecca held her, her embrace warm and reassuring, comforting in its familiarity. She buried her face in Rebecca's chest, her body shaking with grief. Rebecca held her, rubbed her back, said nothing but conveyed everything, her ever-supportive best friend.

They stood for a long time like that, until Sara's grief ran its' course. She raised her head from Rebecca's shoulder and wiped her eyes. They moved half a step apart, Rebecca taking Sara's had in hers and giving a firm, heartening squeeze. They walked back to the car, and Rebecca drove home.

. . .

Sara was in a haze for the rest of the day; she never quite recovered from her visits to her family's graves, always remaining withdrawn and quiet. She sat with her legs pulled tight against her body on the couch, arms crossed under her breasts, head bowed, floundering in her own private world of misery.

Rebecca sat opposite her in the oversized chair, watching her over the top of her laptop screen, hoping she was alright. She knew most of the details; she had heard the story before, a night of too many tears and tissues, and empathized with her friend, but couldn't completely understand her overwhelming guilt, the punishment she heaped upon herself, the blame she placed squarely on her own shoulders. She was worried about Sara. After twelve years, the pain was still as immediate as if it had been yesterday. Something within wouldn't allow her to move past the guilt, the grief, wouldn't allow her to move on to a normal life.

Rebecca wished there were something she could do, something she could say to ease the pain, to lessen the guilt, but she knew there was nothing. Sara had to get past this on her own, in her own time. It was as if she was waiting for some event, as if some unknown milestone lay before her, beyond which she could finally find peace, finally put it all behind her and move on with her life. But watching her like this, year after year with no progress, Rebecca still strove to find a way to alleviate the guilt complex Sara built around herself.

They sat like that for hours, Sara wrapped in her own thoughts, Rebecca pretending to read something on the bright screen of her laptop while concern for friend caused an internal battle, the desire to say something, anything to break Sara from her trance warring with a friends' instinct to remain silent and give space when space was needed. Just as Rebecca decided to say something, Sara's head jerked, her eyes lost their glaze, and she seemed to snap back to reality. She looked about as if seeing her living room for the first time, noticed the slanting rays of the setting sun angling through the window, dust swirling through the shafts of light before they struck the coffee table, casting bright yellow lines across the glass surface. Her arms relaxed, hands sliding down into her lap. She stretched her legs out in front of her and rose from the couch.

On her way to her bedroom, Sara grasped Rebecca's shoulder and gave a small squeeze. Rebecca looked up and was met with a sad smile. Sara's lips scarcely curled into the tiniest of smiles and her eyes betrayed all the sorrow within her. She let her hand fall to her side and walked into her bedroom, pushing the door closed behind her. It swung closed, but didn't latch. She ignored it and lay down on the bed, curling up on her side at the edge of the bed. Rebecca sat for another moment, trying to decide if she could help her friend in any way. Finally, she chose to take action, rising from the chair and pushing Sara's bedroom door slowly open. She saw Sara on the far side of the bed facing away from her, curled almost into a fetal position. Silently, she padded across the room, stockinged feet soundless on the thick carpet. She stood at the foot of the bed for long moments, various options racing through her head, until she fixed on comforting Sara to the best of her ability.

Rebecca climbed into the bed and curled up next to Sara, lining up their bodies against each other, matching the curve of her legs to that of Sara's, her pelvis against Sara's butt, breasts pressed into Sara's back. She placed one hand on Sara's shoulder, her skin white against Sara's tan, and rubbed lightly, soothingly. After a moment, Sara placed her hand over Rebecca's, stopping the movement up and down her arm. Her hand was cold, and Rebecca entwined her fingers between Sara's until they were locked together.

Rebecca leaned up on one elbow, glancing down at Sara beside her. Sara's head turned, looking up at Rebecca and their eyes locked. Feelings flowed wordlessly from one to the other, thoughts traveling like a beam from one mind to another. Without words, they shared everything with that one, long look. Rebecca pulled Sara's hand softly to her mouth and placed a gentle kiss on her fingertip. She kissed each finger, one after the other and felt Sara stir next to her.

Rebecca let Sara's hand drop, moving her own hand down Sara's arm, running fingertips over her ribcage, her touch near weightless through the thin fabric of the dress as she traced her fingers over Sara's body. Rebecca's ruby nails sketched a line down Sara's leg, then back up, over her stomach, up her ribcage, under and around her breasts, over her collarbone. Sara leaned back into Rebecca as she was caressed, feeling a tingling warmth inside her. Rebecca leaned over, shifting her weight onto her knees, both hands now working their way over Sara's body.

Sara was becoming aroused, feelings stirring deep within her, desire rising. Rebecca's fingers were like a magnet, pulling sensations to the surface of her skin with every touch. Her clothing seemed suddenly restrictive, heavy, a barrier between her and what she wanted, and she couldn't remove it fast enough. She sat up, wriggling her dress from under her, pulling it up over her head, tossing it on the floor beside the bed where it lay in a crumpled heap. She reached for Rebecca, pulling at the wait of her dress, wanting to feel the warmth of her pale skin against her body. She lifted the dress off over Rebecca's head and let it fall to the floor as well.

They stared at each other as they say on the bed. Sara leaned back on her elbows, legs together, knees bent slightly. Her blonde hair draped over one shoulder, partially hiding the black lace of her bra, her tiny panties barely concealing her. Rebecca knelt before her, the bra and panties she wore almost the same white as her fair skin. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, over her shoulders, curling around her face, framing her beautiful features.




1,001 Nights: Day 03



Rebecca stretched her body up along Sara's as she lay atop her, skin rubbing together, warmth radiating out from each to the other. Sara lay back on the bed, reclining as Rebecca moved against her body, feeling the heat of her skin, the roughness of the lace bra contrasting the smooth gloss of the silken portions as it slid up over her. Sara opened her eyes, not realizing she had closed them, and saw Rebecca's face above hers, skin the shade of ivory, eyes like pools of oil, imagined colors swirling in their dark depths, full lips pouting in all their redness, and then their lips were pressed together.

They kissed passionately, but tenderly, lips touching, tongues teasing against each other. Their mouths were locked together as Rebecca's hands explored Sara's bare skin, fingers scarcely touching as they moved over her body, around her breasts, lighter than air as they traced over her nipples eliciting a low moan. Rebecca moved her fingertips in small circles over Sara's firm nipples; Sara arched her back and pressed herself up towards Rebecca's touch.

The kiss lasted forever, their lips lingering together, unable to break contact, until Rebecca's mouth moved onto Sara's neck, kissing down the gentle curve, over her collarbone, across her bare chest. Her lips puckered against Sara's skin, her fingers working to unfasten the front clasp of Sara's bra. It popped open, elastic pulling the two sides down into her armpits, Rebecca's tongue circling Sara's erect nipples. Sara gasped, eyes closed, arms extended above her head in reckless abandon. Rebecca sucked on Sara's nipples, her mouth warm and wet, the sensation racing straight between her legs as if there were a direct electric connection.

She kissed her way down Sara's abdomen, over the swell of her ribcage, across her stomach, tongue circling her navel, down further, teeth tugging at the edge of her panties. Sara's breathing was faster, ragged, anticipation welled within her. Rebecca's light touch on her waistband prompted her to raise her hips off the bed, then her panties were gone down over her legs.

Fingers moved up her legs, and Sara knew Rebecca was coming back towards her goal. She spread her legs slightly, and kisses landed on her inner thigh. Her eyes shut tight in expectation; she felt Rebecca's breath warm on her, fingers exploring, the faintest hint of contact sent shivers through her, fingertips running over her smooth, sensitive skin. Then Rebecca's tongue was upon her, and she was lost in ecstasy.

She writhed on the bed, fingers gripping the sheets, legs kicking and convulsing, squirming ceaselessly under Rebecca's attention. It seemed to go on without end. Her body ached for release, but Rebecca could sense when she was near and eased her ministrations, letting Sara slowly down, only to build her up again to the peak of exhilaration, right to the brink of orgasm, then slowing her attention or moving to less sensitive areas. Hours might have passed, days, weeks, an eternity, Sara had no concept of time, just the torturous rise and fall of stimulation.

Finally Sara felt herself building to the summit and Rebecca kept going, not slowing, if anything intensifying her concentration. Sara was on the crest of a wave about to break, feeling the slow tilt as she bent forward over the top, then crashing down in the most fulfilling, most satisfying, longest lasting orgasm she'd ever experienced. She thrashed on the bed, neck bending, back arching, arms extended out to her sides, a death grip wrapped tightly in the sheets, legs locked, toes curled, completely enraptured in the moment. It rolled over her like mist over a field, enveloping her completely from head to toe, blocking her vision behind it's bright haze, leaving her with a thin veil of dampness covering her entire body. 

It could have been hours later, Sara had no idea what time it was or how long they had been at it. They had shared everything with each other, and it had been so enjoyable, so utterly gratifying, the tenderness and passion beyond compare. She lay on her side with her eyes closed, Rebecca behind her, legs and arms twined together, wrapped around each other. They lay like that for long moments until Sara's breathing calmed and she approached the warm, weightless void just as sleep was about to blanket her mind.

Beside her ear, she heard a whisper from Rebecca, "I love you."

She felt a dagger of confusion thrust through her soul, chaos wreaked havoc in her mind, but she didn't reply, couldn't reply. She didn't know what she felt, aside from a glaring inadequacy, an inability to return the phrase whether or not she felt the same because she simply didn't deserve to feel that emotion. She forced her breathing to remain even, calmed her inner turmoil, pretending she had already sunk beneath the waters of sleep, and purposefully avoided any form of response.



1,001 Nights: Prologue 01



Sara knew it was a bad idea right from the start, but something about it appealed to her wild side. One thousand and one sexual encounters in one thousand and one days. The idea had come to her after reading portions of The Book of a Thousand Nights and a Night. In the book, King Shahryar's wife is unfaithful, so he kills her. Believing all women to be unfaithful, he marries a different woman every day, spends the night with her, and then has her executed at daybreak. Scheherazade volunteers to marry the King, then begins to relate stories to husband, ending in a cliff-hanger right before dawn; his curiosity stays her execution for a thousand and one days, at which point he decides she's faithful and doesn't have her killed.

At the time Sara had thought, I could come up with a better thousand and one nights to distract the king. The idea had caught in her mind's eye, had transformed into a modern retelling, then from a woman distracting a mans' attention to that of a man distracting a woman, then to a woman using men to distract her own attention. The more she thought about it, the more it intrigued her, fed her endless sexual fantasies, wrapped itself tightly around her psyche like a constrictor disabling its' prey, until it consumed her imagination.

She had decided to write a book based on her own experiences in trying to accomplish the goal of one thousand and one lovers in as many nights. I ought to market it as a TV show on some adult channel, she thought, or a series of adult films. I could make a fortune. But abstractly, in writing, it could be anyone, even though many people would know the truth. On film it would definitely be her, beyond any shadow of a doubt, and she wasn't sure she wanted that kind of notoriety.

When it came down to it, why did she want to do it? She wasn't sure she could answer that in one sentence. Because I like sex? That didn't cover it; it didn't even come close. Because I'm addicted to sex. I don't just enjoy it, I crave it. I need it. I want it all the time. It's almost uncontrollable. That was a lot closer, but there was more to it than just that, too. Part of it was that, to the best of her knowledge, no one had ever done it before. She also wanted to disprove the myth that women don't want sex as much as men. She wanted to show the world a frank and honest view of life from a woman's perspective, from the perspective of a woman who craved sex more than anything else. She wanted to break the taboos that prevented honest, intelligent discussion on the topic of sex.

No, that's bullshit. Those ideas sound great, but the truth is that I just want sex, all the time. I can't even admit it to myself. I have a problem. But there are worse problems to have, right? I could be addicted to gambling, or drinking. I could be addicted to any number of drugs. It could be a lot worse.

She had thought about it for weeks now, had setup a framework in which to work, and now she mulled over her plan, her rules, her goals. One thousand and one sexual encounters in one thousand and one days, and no two could be identical. Something about each encounter had to be different than any of the previous encounters. It went without saying that they all had to be with different partners. Or items, she corrected herself, thinking of Big Black, her favorite vibrator. She'd also seen pictures on the internet of "machine sex," bound women being fucked by electric motor driven dildos. Something about that entire concept felt wrong, too deviant; even when masturbating it was her own human hand controlling the inanimate object. It wasn't programmed to satisfy her, it didn't move on its' own. Although she could count that as one of her nights, she was not convinced that it was something she wanted to experience.

Different positions went without saying. She couldn't just lie on her back and be fucked missionary style one thousand and one times. Different locations, that one was also a must. In bed, against the wall, on the photocopier, in an elevator, a hot tub... there were a lot of possibilities there. Multiple partners was another option, her with two guys, two girls, a guy and a girl, three guys filling every orifice, a whole group of guys... again, many possibilities. Mutual masturbation, voyeurism, public sex, videotaping, costumes, role playing, bondage, dominance and submission... the list was seemingly endless.

But was it enough to give her one thousand and one different encounters? Could she really get the variety she planned? And why had it taken over her mind some completely? She knew that something inside her needed sex as much as she needed to breathe, but was that the only reason? Perhaps she was looking for satisfaction from her never-ending desire. Would this satisfy her? Would it wear her out on sex so much that she would be free from her addiction? Having exhausted every sexual possibility, would she be satiated?

Maybe that is what it's all about, she thought. Maybe I want to get it out of my system so I can live a normal life, without this constant yearning, this never-ending desire. That could be it. The yearning for sex was overpowering at times, preventing her from living normally, compelling her to sneak off and masturbate in bathroom stalls, her office, emergency stairwells. Sometimes she'd see a man and just have to have him, right there, on the spot. Maybe if she got it out of her system she could say no to sex just once; that would be huge, and was probably the reason she really wanted to follow through with her plan. But did it really matter why? She wanted to do this, for reasons she knew she didn't fully comprehend right now, but that she hoped would be made clear before she reached her goal.

It was Tuesday night, and she planned to start on Friday. What better night than a Friday to start almost three years of daily sexual experience? She had laid some groundwork; she had responded to some personal ads that she normally would have ignored, frequented some online chat rooms that she'd only previously given a cursory glance, made some contacts through friends that might lead her to a 'swingers underground', others that might lead her to people interested in bondage and S&M. She had also met a lot of guys in bars that laid the foundation for her first few weeks. She was as ready as she'd ever be.

She'd start Friday. 



1,001 Nights: Prologue 02



"You're insane," Rebecca said.

"I'm not insane." Sara folded her arms under her breasts and leaned back in her chair, unable to meet Rebeccas' gaze across the tiny table.

"Let me get this straight:" Rebecca leaned forward over the table, willing Sara to meet her eyes. "You're going to go one thousand and one nights having sex with a different person every night?" 

"Yes."

"Oh, okay, then. I take it back, you're not insane. You're fucking nuts." Rebecca slammed her glass onto the table harder than she intended. "What the fuck kind of plan is that? What happened to 'I'm going to swear off men for a year to get my life in order'?"

"I don't know how to make you to understand." Sara's eyes roamed around the room, looking for something, anything to look at that would allow her to avoid Rebecca's gaze.

They'd been best friends for five years after having known each other for only a few months. They had met online, in a chat room of all places, and found in each other their polar opposites and identical doubles all in one person. Where Rebecca was weak, Sara was strong. Where Sara needed help, Rebecca was an expert. They shared almost identical interests, and spent much of their free time together, enjoying the same hobbies, movies, music, and foods. They seemed to share a wavelength to which no one else was attuned.

They also shared each others' bed, once. Sara had been with another woman before they met; Rebecca had always been curious. One night over drinks the subject came up. They had a moment, which became a kiss, which became more. It had been everything both of them had hoped for, tender, passionate, unending, and utterly satisfying. Neither of them was disappointed. They talked about it incessantly, the risks of a sexual relationship to their friendship, the reaction of their friends and families, their goals for the future, marriage, children, every detail they could imagine. Though they couldn't rule out a future together, it wasn't what Sara had imagined for herself, though Rebecca seemed more open to pursuing it to see where it led. They had agreed that if they were carried away in a moment of passion, they would let it happen. If a shared need was felt, they would allow themselves to indulge, but that they would focus on maintaining their friendship, fostering the empathic familiarity they shared. Both agreed that their friendship was too valuable to jeopardize.

Their friendship grew stronger with each passing year. Without words, each knew when the other needed a shoulder to cry on, time alone, or a night out, and somehow their needs coincided often enough that they did nearly everything together. When Sara came home on Friday after a long week at work, ready for a night out at the clubs, Rebecca was getting ready to go out dancing. When Rebecca had broken off a relationship and needed a night home watching chick flicks, Sara had brought home the latest tear-jerker. It was almost as if they shared a psychic bond, each privy to the others' innermost thoughts, which was why Rebecca was so stunned by Sara's unforeseen plan.

"Listen, I know you like sex, but..." Rebecca let her sentence trail off.

"I don't just like sex, Rebecca. I crave it constantly. I need it."

"Maybe you should talk to somebody about that."

"Like what, a shrink? Cause they did so much good the last time." Sara had been forced to see a shrink as a teenager by her parents and school counselors. Rebellious by nature, it had not been a beneficial experience.

"Maybe you need to give it a chance. You're not a child anymore. If you approach it from the right perspective..."

"I'm not seeing a shrink."

"Okay, fine," Rebecca straightened in her chair. "You need sex constantly and you won't talk to anyone about it. Aren't there safer ways to get it regularly without fucking a thousand guys?"

"They don't all have to be guys..."

"Damn it, don't be a smartass; you know what I mean. What about masturbation? What about one steady person? Someone willing to try new things with you."

"Masturbation doesn't always cut it," Sara knew Rebecca could understand that. "And there's things I couldn't ask of just one person. Things I..." She trailed off, unable to finish her thought.

"There's got to be something less risky, something safer."

"I'm sorry. It's just that... you don't understand. There're things I'm curious about. Things I've never tried. Something has to satisfy me. Something has to..." Sara couldn't finish her sentence. She knew what she wanted to say, but she lacked the words to express herself fully.

She needed to do this. She wanted to do this. It wasn't the plan that she needed, it was the experience. Sure, she could get her experiences without taking things to this level, but it gave her a framework, a goal, something to focus on while she experimented and experienced everything she could think of sexually. This wasn't something she needed to do per se, but it was something she wanted, something she felt she had to do. It was almost as if it were a trial, a process she would force herself to undergo, an experience she didn't choose herself, but to which she was subjected by the forces that drove her through life. Something inside her had developed this idea, and she felt forced to comply with the plan now that she had voiced it.

"Sara..." Rebecca tried to get her attention, moving her face into Saras' line of view.

"I don't want to argue with you." Sara made the statement with a note of resignation in her voice, as if what she wanted had no bearing on where the conversation would go. She lifted her gaze to meet Rebecca's.

"I'm not arguing with you, I'm just..." Rebecca searched for words, "concerned. I mean, we've talked about a lot of stuff. We've shared our fantasies, each other. You know what I want, I thought I knew what you wanted. I thought we knew each other, but... this is just surprising, that's all, and it doesn't sound like a good idea. I mean, where did this come from?"

"I don't know. I really don't. I just... I don't know." Tears welled up in Sara's eyes. She blinked them back, hoping Rebecca wouldn't see, but knowing she did.

"Sara..." Rebecca took Saras' hand and squeezed it, eyebrows knotted in empathy, a lump forming in her throat.

"I don't want this to come between us." Sara felt the tears burn hotter, knowing she was holding back a floodgate with nothing but eyelashes. "You're my best friend. You're the only person who has ever understood anything about me. I didn't want to tell anyone about this. I was just going to do it, but I felt like I needed to tell you... like I needed you to understand."

"I'm trying to understand." Rebecca wrapped Saras' hand in both of hers, arms extended across the small table.

Now that the initial shock had worn off, Sara knew she could take her time and explain it to Rebecca. She knew there would be questions, but she'd be able to answer them and, even if she couldn't make Rebecca understand or accept her idea, she could at least defend herself to the point where Rebecca wouldn't be as completely opposed to the idea as she had been. She might even be able to convince Rebecca of why she needed to do this; perhaps the conversation would help her better understand her own motives.