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Carried Away

By: scorpio00155



Being a twin isn't all it's cracked up to be, especially when its non-identical twins, its even worse when the other twin is of the opposite sex, mind you, it was rare for this to happen so we were celebrities for a while, that was a long time ago though, eighteen years to be precise. My twin sister, Carol, is a right pain in the arse, not that I don't like her or anything like that, if anyone but me says a thing against her they would get free dental work courtesy of my fist, but she is always nosing into my affairs and it gets embarrassing at times. 

The one major thing we did have in common was our liking of astronomy, our parents had got us both identical telescopes when we were thirteen, for them it was a godsend as we spent hours in our rooms gazing up at the sky. As our rooms were on opposite sides of the house we tended to move between the two rooms to see the alternative views. Okay I admit that I was tempted at times to let my telescope drift a little bit below the plane of the horizon, not that I saw much, but it was not a regular thing and I soon turned the thing back towards the sky, Carol on the other hand seemed to spend as much time gazing into windows as she did gazing at the stars.

One evening I went up to my room at about eight to do a little stargazing, mum and dad had gone to dad's firm's dinner and dance so I knew I would not be interrupted unless Carol wanted something. As I often did I undressed and wrapped myself in a warm robe before gazing through the eyepiece of the telescope, this saved mucking about later when it was time for bed, Carol had the same habit. It was a crisp autumn night, there were a few wispy clouds about when I started to gaze at the stars, half an hour later a cloud mass rolled in as though from nowhere and my gazing came to an end. I'd just put the lens cap on the telescope when I heard my sister calling to me, she was yelling that I should see something and I wondered just which house she'd been peeping at.

"Well," I said as I entered her dark bedroom, "what is it?"

"Have a look," she laughed, her shadowy form moving back from her telescope, "you'll see."

One glance at the angle of the telescope told me that I had been right about my thinking, she was house gazing instead of stargazing, but when I looked though the eyepiece the breath caught in my chest. There in front of my very eyes was one of our schoolteachers, we knew she lived near to us, but I think it was the first time we'd actually seen her through the telescope, she wasn't alone though, there was a man with her and they were both stark naked. I let out my pent up breath in a sharp exhalation as I watched the two of them kissing and caressing, my cock did a quick surge to erection while my heartbeat rose a few notches.

"Move out of the way and I'll put the splitter on." Carol said tugging at me, "Quick or we'll miss it."

I stepped back and watched my sister remove the eyepiece and replace it with the 'T' bar of the splitter, this would let us both watch at the same time and as soon as it was in place our eyes became glued to the lens'. It was a real turn on watching our prim and proper school marm getting her end away with some mystery man, so far neither my sister or I had seen his face and our curiosity as to his identity was growing along with our arousal, well mine anyway. Then, in a moment of great passion, we saw the man's face, my sister echoed my gasp of surprise, her hand reaching out to touch mine as we recognised the man, it was our school's headmaster and he was married with kids of his own.

"Jesus!" Carol breathed as her hand gripped mine, "It's Connor! The randy old goat, he's married!"

"Have you seen Mrs. Connor?" I asked giving her warm hand a gentle squeeze, "Dad's van is thinner than she is. God, look at the tits on Miss. Thirlby!"

I'd always admired the woman's tits, but seeing them now in the raw was a real treat and for once I was glad of my sister's voyeuristic tendencies, though I did wish for a more powerful telescope so that I could get a better view.

"Mine are better than hers." Carol commented with a snort.

"Yeah, yeah." I replied absentmindedly as I stared at Miss. Thirlby's tits lustfully, "Hey!"

The telescope had suddenly swung upwards, straightening I looked at the dark form of my sister who was standing by the window closing the curtains, I was totally puzzled by her sudden change of mood. A moment later she switched on a light and I blinked a couple of times as the glare half blinded me.

"Listen here you...you..." she seemed to be unable to find the word she wanted and trailed off into silence.

"What have I done now?" I asked in a puzzled and innocent tone.

"Oh, you beast!" she snapped and stamped a foot.

For the life of me I couldn't figure out what I could have done to get her so annoyed all of a sudden, the last thing we'd talked of had been Miss. Thirlby's tits and that was when Carol had thrown her wobbly. Then I sort of remembered her making some sort of comment about her own boobs, I hadn't really been listening to her at the time and it dawned on me that whatever I had said in reply was the cause of the problem, though I couldn't remember what it was I had said.

"Did I say something wrong?" I asked tentatively, "About your boobs or something I mean."

"Wrong? Hah!" she retorted, "I tell you that my boobs are better than Miss. Thirlby's and all I get is a 'yeah, yeah' in reply."

"Is that all," I grinned, "well I did have my mind on other things at the time, a pair of them in fact. Anyway, how can I comment, I haven't seen your boobs since you got them, and besides that you're my sister."

"I'm still a woman." she huffed.

"I suppose," I replied, "but I still can't comment can I?"

"Then have a look, then you can comment!" Carol snapped.

She threw open her robe and I gulped at the sight of her bare body, my eyes dropped to her boobs and what boobs they were, large and shaped like half melons with dark nipples standing proud from their surface. She was certainly a big girl for her age, for any age come to that, her chest measurement had to be at least 38 inches and most of that were those stupendous tits. Then my eyes sank down to her groin, half hidden by dark pubic hair I saw the swell of her pussy lips and my cock did a war dance under the cover of my robe.

"Well?" Carol asked suddenly closing the robe and cutting off my view.

"Fantastic!" I breathed, "You're right, your boobs are better, a whole lot better."

'And nearer' I thought to myself.

"See," she said triumphantly, "I told you they were."

My sister was all smiles after my judgement on her tits and our conversation went back to what we had seen, it did nothing to calm my hard cock, just the opposite and after a while all I wanted was to get back to my room for a good wank.

"Mind you," Carol laughed, "old Connor was pretty well hung, how'd you measure up to him."

True Connor had got a decent sized tool from what we had seen, but I knew that mine outmatched his by quite a bit, I grinned at Carol and opened my robe, not caring that my cock was erect.

"What do you think?" I asked as her eyes went wide.

"Gorgeous!" she breathed taking a step closer, "No, don't close your robe!"

I stopped my motion to close my robe as my sister gazed at my hard prick; she licked her lips and took another step closer to me. I gave a mental shrug and thought: 'what the hell?', then took the robe off completely.

"Have a good look sis," I laughed, "but fair's fair, let me get a butchers at you too."

Her eyes never left my cock as she shrugged off her robe and tossed it in the general direction of the bed; I didn't notice where her robe landed as my eyes were roving over my sister's body hungrily. I knew it was wrong of us to be acting this way, but that just seemed to add to the mounting pleasure I was feeling.

"You're beautiful." I breathed.

For the first time I noticed Carol not as my pesky sister, but as a member of the opposite sex, a woman and what a woman she had turned into! Carol was a little shorter than my six foot, but she certainly had a frame to die for, 38ish, 26ish, 36ish at a guess; the expression 'legs that go all the way up' certainly applied to my sister, her legs were long, slender and very shapely. All I know is that she had a lot of eye pleasing body. She had blushed at my comment and that only seemed to enhance her beauty as I stared longingly at her from a distance of a few feet, when I raised my eyes to her face I saw her smiling at me uncertainly. 

Looking at her face with the eyes of a horny male for the first time I wondered how I could ever have missed the sensuous moue of her lips; then there were her eyes, twin pools of hazel-brown that held a 'come hither' sparkle. Though we looked fairly alike the bone structure of her face gave it a rounder, softer appearance that models spend a fortune in make-up to achieve. Topping off this pleasant packed was her light brown hair, which she had tied back in a short ponytail, but which usually framed her face. 

"Ray," she breathed so quietly I could barely hear her, "I feel..."

She trailed off, but I knew what she meant, I was feeling the same way myself, horny as hell.

"Ray, can I...?" she started to say then fell silent with her blush growing deeper.

Something told me that the end of the sentence would have been 'touch it' and I thrilled to the thought of her soft, warm hand rubbing on my cock.

"Yes." I breathed softly.

Her eyes widened as she took another step closer, then another and another until she was standing a mere six inches or so from me, her tongue flicked over her lips leaving a glistening trail of saliva as she tentatively reached out to touch my cock. I shivered as her hand touched my skin, tingles of excitement shooting up my back as she gently stroked my erection from root to tip before closing her hand around it; when her hand started to slowly move on my cock I gave a low moan of pleasure.

"Can I...?" I breathed hopefully.

"Yes." she replied immediately.

My hands trembled as I raised them to her boobs; Carol closed her eyes as I stroked her pliant mounds then teased her nipples between thumb and forefinger for a while before squeezing her boobs gently. I heard my sister draw a sharp breath as I returned part of my attentions back to her nipples, my other hand slid down over her chest and stomach to her pussy; she gasped as my fingers touched her slit then slid along it between her pouting pussy lips and her hand tightened around my cock making me groan. Gently I ran my fingers along her slit, tracing and exciting it at the same time; my sister's hand was moving faster on my cock and I knew that it wouldn't be long before she made me climax, and I was determined to make that pleasure mutual by quickly moving my fingers to where our sex education text books said the clitoris should be. 

Sure enough I found a small, hard button that made my sister shiver when I rubbed it with my thumb. Our eyes met and I smiled at her as I pressed more firmly on her clit while teasing her nipples more demandingly; in return her hand was moving even faster on my cock, her grip firm and demanding. With a moan of excitement I let my thumb rub on my sister's clit while my fingers slid down to her wet hole, they sank into her and Carol gave a little cry as I started to slide them in and out of her at a speed that matched her hand on my cock. Suddenly Carol was backing away from me, though her hand still gripped my cock forcing me to move with her, a moment later she fell back on her bed with me falling on top of her. She let go of my cock and started to push at my hand in her pussy, when I removed it she began to tug at my shoulders. Without thinking I pressed my cock to her pussy and felt it slide into her tight hole, her juices wetting my skin, her muscles gripping my cock so excitingly that I groaned as I sank my cock all the way into her. Carol cried out as our groins met, her body suddenly bucking beneath me, her pussy getting even tighter around my cock. 

All we knew was theory, but that and our own instincts were more than enough. With a gasp of pleasure I started to slide my cock in and out of my sister's pussy, the bliss that ran through me as her muscles gripped my moving cock was driving me nearer and nearer to my climax with each stroke. Carol was gasping and bucking, crying out and wrapping her legs around my back as I fucked her at a gentle pace. Her body moving in time to mine, but as the minutes passed our pace became faster, harder, wilder as our passions grew to a peak. Our pace became almost frantic, Carol was almost screaming out her bliss as her body bucked and writhed beneath me. 

With a sudden burst of ecstasy my climax announced its arrival and I thrust deep into her as my hot seed exploded from my cock into her depths. My sister froze, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream as I groaned and shivered on top of her; then we were moving again as our mutual orgasm slowly faded to a warm glow of satisfaction. A few minutes later I pulled my semi-erect cock from my sister's pussy and rolled off the bed to sit gasping on the floor, I'm not sure how long I sat there, but when I eventually turned to see if Carol was all right I found myself gazing into her eyes from a distance of inches.

Her face suddenly moved towards me and our lips met in a kiss that sent the blood pounding in my veins again, my cock shot back to erection and my lust exploded inside me. Reaching up I pulled my sister off the bed and after a few confused moments of jostling I found myself lying on my back with my sister riding my cock for all she was worth. If anything the second time was better than the first, having had one climax I seemed to be able to go on and on forever; the bliss that built up inside me as my cock moved in my sister's grasping pussy was almost unbearable, as for Carol she was shaking and crying out continuously as orgasm after orgasm ripped through her. 

When at last the exquisite torture came to an end I felt overwhelmed by sensations, my seed seemed to burn it's way up my shaft as it erupted into Carol's pussy. The grip of her pussy on my cock, the rubbing of her nipples against my skin and the pressure of her lips on mine merged into a blinding surge of delight that left me limp and breathless. 

Carol fell to the floor beside me, for ages we lay there gasping and shuddering before we managed to find enough strength to sit up and lean against the side of the bed, putting an arm around my sister I cuddled her to me.

"I think," I gasped out as she leant her head on my shoulder, "we let ourselves get a bit carried away."

"A bit!" Carol giggled breathlessly, "If that was a 'bit' I can't wait to try getting very carried away!"

I laughed at her reply then kissed her lightly before leaning my head back on the bed and sighing.

"Seriously Carol," I said, "we'll really cop it if mum and dad find out what we've done, hell, if anyone finds out we'll be for it!"

"I know," Carol sighed, "but..."

"Carol," I said as her voice trailed off, "you're not thinking of doing it again?"

"Not right now," she giggled, "I'm too exhausted, but maybe later, when I've had a chance..."

"Jesus Carol," I cut across her words, "do you know what you're suggesting?"

"I do," she breathed, "but do you."

"Of course I do." I sighed, "You want us to go on having sex together."

"And why not?" she said in a low voice, "As long as we're careful no-one will know and I can't bear the thought of not having sex with you again."

My sister was only echoing what I had been thinking, but she had at least been honest enough to voice her desire. As I sat there recovering with my sister's warm body pressed against me I knew that what had happened would not be a one off thing. Smiling I leant over and kissed my sister warmly before replying.

"Okay." I sighed as our lips parted.

Carried Away



Gently, He guided her to a darkened portion of the room. The shadows were long and reached out from the walls as if they were reaching for her. She felt His hand at the small of her back... His fingertips barely touching her skin, yet the power of that light touch held her as firmly in His grip as chains would have. She could see the outlines of something against the wall... she strained to make out what it was... gradually she determined that it was a St. Andrew's Cross. He stopped her in front of it then moved behind her in the dimness. "Stand here, My dear"... the words touched her ears and she shivered slightly at the gentle forcefulness of them and the brush of His breath on her neck. She tried to wait patiently, all the while feeling the pinch of the pins on her flesh, making it tingle. 

All of her senses were on edge, she was keenly aware of her body, of the tremors moving through it, yet her sense of her surroundings was diffused. Her orientation was slightly off, she could hear Him moving behind her, but she could not fix in her mind exactly where the sounds were coming from. Slowly, she became aware of a growing light emanating from behind her. It moved closer and seemed to caress her as it approached. It was the light of a candle and as He walked in front of her, she could see Him place it in a holder on the wall. Its flame danced and chased a few of the shadows away. He disappeared behind her again and then reappeared with another and placed it in another holder on the wall on the other side of the cross. The light from the candles met and illuminated the cross so that she could see it more clearly. It was padded with dark leather and at the end of each radius were soft cuffs attached to it by short chains. Her heart raced, her breathing became shallow, as He guided her towards it. With firm, yet gentle, hands He turned her body so that her back was against the cross. She felt the cool leather touch her skin. He raised her hand to His lips, looked into her eyes and kissed it softly, then extended it above her head and fastened the cuff around her wrist. He did the same with the other hand, all the while holding her eyes with His own as a slight smile played at the corners of His mouth. 

When her arms were secured, He knelt in front of her and took one ankle in His hands. Gently, He spread her legs and secured both ankles in the cuffs. The cool air caressed her thighs and touched the growing heat between her legs. He stepped back until His face was in the shadows and gazed upon her. The candlelight danced over her body. He could see the rise and fall of her breasts. They were so full and high with her arms above her head. He stepped slightly forward so that she could see His face and see His eyes travel slowly over her body. She felt as if she were actually being touched, stroked, caressed. At each spot where His eyes touched her, her skin tingled and burned slightly. The ache inside her continued to grow, she strained a bit against the restraints, but the soft leather held her firmly. He moved closer to her. She watched His hand approach, holding her breath, then closing her eyes and waiting for the touch she longed for so much. But the seconds passed and she did not feel it. She opened her eyes and saw Him smiling at her. "Is it your desire to be touched, My dear?" He asked her. She silently nodded, her eyes eager and pleading with Him. "Is it your desire to be pleasured, My dear?" Again, she nodded silently, though in her mind she was begging. "Then say the words" He told her. Struggling to find her voice, she whispered, "Yes, Master" He smiled again and she watched His hand approach.

The first touch was so light, she was almost not sure if she had felt it. There was just the slightest sensation on her inner thigh... brief... fleeting.. But, real or not, her body reacted. A shiver passed though her and her leg trembled. His eyes were locked on hers - He held her with His gaze. She wanted desperately to know where His hands were, but she could not look away. His smile was gone now, replaced with a look of intensity that almost overwhelmed her. She felt herself surrendering to it. Another touch on her thighs - this one she knew was real - fingertips moving slowly over the surface of her skin, each one leaving a trail of burning sensation. His fingers moved higher and higher, then paused at the place that she wanted touched most. She strained her body to search for them. "Be still" He said. She never saw His lips move, but the voice rang in her ears. She felt slightly confused for a moment. Could it be that His mind had spoken to hers directly? Before she could process the thought, though, His lips did move and she heard Him say, "You will remain still and will not give in to the pleasure until I give you permission, do you understand?" 

Unable to speak, she merely nodded. At this point in time, she was willing to do whatever He wanted, whether it was His lips or His mind that told her - it did not matter. He did not speak, but nodded approvingly. With that simple gesture, she knew she had pleased Him and a thrill she did not quite understand coursed through her body. Again, His hand moved, His fingers touched the lips between her legs, parting them, exposing the warm moist inner parts to the cool air. Unable to resist, she moaned. For a moment, she thought she saw a slight smile on His face, but it disappeared so quickly, she could not be sure. His fingers slid along the length of her lips, spreading her wetness up and over the tingling bud of her clit. She gasped as the pleasure jolted through her body like lightning. Again and again, He teased her, then moved away, staying a little longer each time, but never long enough to put her over the edge. 

Realizing that He did not mind her moans, she let them come, some of them being only whimpers, others starting low in her throat as He teased her right up to the brink, then backed off. In fact, with each sound she made, His eyes seemed to catch fire and blaze. With a fingertip, he circled her clit, around and around, stroking it, then pausing to feel it throb. Her knees grew weak, her entire body trembled, but the leather restraints and His eyes held her firmly in place. With two fingers, He rubbed each side of her swollen clit, while a third finger stroked it directly. The pleasure was almost too much for her. She moaned and felt it building inside of her, rising up like a wave about to break upon the shore. With her eyes, she pleaded with Him, but he made her wait... wait... wait... Finally, without a word spoken, He let her know it was time and she knew what He wanted. In a voice quaking with passion, she whispered, "Please, Master, may I cum?" His eyes blazed hot and she had her answer. His fingers moved again and the wave washed over her and carried her away...

Copyright by The Gentle Man, 2002



Carried Away



My life vanished three years ago, the winter I moved to Charleston. My first semester as a college junior, I transferred to be near Chris. We had broken up earlier. My ambivalence about his lifestyle shattered our relationship. This time I had vowed to make it work. Still, our renewed lives proved tense. 

Chris suggested a weekend on the coast. We dined at a café near the beach. Chris's cousin owned it. A buff, hearty man with a thick Greek accent, he wrapped me in his arms when we arrived and introduced himself to me as Yannis. He escorted us to the patio. 

The evening was crisp with a slight chill in the air. The ocean breeze combined deliciously with the scents of autumn. Chris seemed distant for the first time since we reunited. 

Yannis showered me with praise and smiles. Perversely, my stomach clenched, my temples tightened for I was afraid Chris might take it wrong. But he hardly seemed to notice. So I smiled as Yannis spent half the evening at our table. We talked and drank. 

When Yannis saw me shiver, he went in the back and dug up a wool sweater for me to use. A perfect host, a steady stream of lamb dishes, roasted vegetables, and stuffed grape leaves flowed onto our checkered table. Yannis forced me to try Retsina. I grimaced but choked down the resinated wine. He laughed. Even Chris, who stood off talking into his cell phone, spared me a wry grin. 

Eventually, the café closed. Yannis locked the door. We drank more wine and Ouzo. Finally, we had to leave. I excused myself. The restroom was blue tile and green towels. In the mirror, I examined my body trying for answers in the mirror. My skin is soft and smooth, so fair, like a baby's. My face looks wan. 

I wore a conservative white blouse and plaid skirt. Underneath was a black silk corset with ribbons. It encircled my bust, and tapered my already narrow waist, accentuating my hips. My breasts are small, but shapely underneath the corset that squeezed them tightly together. I wore shoes with stiletto heals, giving me stature. I dressed for Chris's pleasure. 

Pulling lipstick from my purse, I colored my soft, succulent lips. I thickened my eyelashes with mascara, and brushed my long hair, leaving it to lie softly around my shoulders. I sprayed vanilla perfume between my breasts and behind my ears. His chosen scent, it once seemed odd, but now wearing it is as natural as breathing. 

I loved him so. We left the café to walk along the beach on our way back to the motel. Chris pulls me off to the side and points up into the hills. I can barely make out a half-built construction. I think the wood and concrete frame is intended for someone's home. 

We walk up to it. It is empty. He leads me onto the darkened concrete foundation. I am nervous. He moves close. His hand sketches the contours of my body. He gently caresses my shoulders. I look up, eyes glistening, nearly in tears. He moves his hand to my neck, caressing my delicate skin. With two fingers, he encompasses the circumference of my neck, pressing gently, possessively, a lovers touch. My eyes burn with desire, for what I am not sure. "My princess under glass," he says. 

I look up curiously. My hands caress his back muscles, his warm, broad shoulders. I inhale his scent. I swear eternal love. 

He turns me in his arms. He holds my wrists behind me. And I shiver as he snaps handcuffs in place, knowing I must prove my love. I feel his arousal press into me from behind. I feel helpless, scared, excited all at the same time. I know the risk. We trespass on another's property. But I want to show him my faith and trust. When we reunited, I signed a covenant for him. I granted him complete control over my body. Now I prove those words to him. 

He guides me to a beam. I rest on it, balancing as best I can. He slides my skirt up around my thighs. His fingers caress my buttocks, sending a shiver through me. He unclips my silk stockings. My breath constricts as I feel a cold blade against my skin. He slices my panties away. He blindfolds me. 

I listen as he brushes the area where I stand clean of debris bound. He removes my shoes. I step from my stockings. The concrete chills my feet. I curl my toes against its roughness. 

I gasp when his fingers slide into my sex, but then bite my lip. Despite the cold, my skin feels feverish. Sweat rolls down my back and pearls up on my face. His fingers ripple over my body as if he played a piano. He kisses the back of my neck. I turn toward him. He pulls at my tongue gently with his mouth. His hands continue there magic. I pant, my sighs grow loud, and my knees buckle. 

He catches me. His breathing is labored. He leans into me. I press back. I smell the starch of his shirt, his aftershave. He has me kneel. I look up questioning. He whispers, "You aren't done yet." His hands go to my ankles. He chains them together. 

"Open your mouth," he whispers. I obey but I want to cry. I want this to be over. When he slips something soft and rubbery into my mouth I briefly panic. The gag reflex kicks in as he twists something underneath my hair, snapping it into place behind my neck. 

He never silenced me before. 

I hear his steps fade away. His scent lingers. I tug futilely at the cuffs. I feel abandoned. I toss my head. I cry softly. 

Time stretches as I wait for his return. I don't know if twenty minutes or an hour goes by. The cold cools whatever ardor remains and I shiver. I think I hate Chris. I may not forgive him after he frees me. 

Suddenly, I hear the rustling of falling leaves. I tell myself the wind kicked up. Footsteps? I freeze. Yes, footsteps sound on the concrete foundation.

My sudden hope turns to terror though. I bite my lip, causing a drop of blood to well up, mixing with the moisture of my mouth. The salty, metallic taste spreads like a visceral foreboding over my tongue. Chris wears loafers. These steps sound heavier, like work boots. 

Blindfolded, I cannot see, but my eyes stray nervously from side to side as if I had vision. Panic sends mental images of rape and murder flashing through my mind. Dead without underwear in some ditch is how the headline will read. I'm so my mother's daughter, if my hands had been free, doubtless, I would have tugged at my skirt, now bunched up my thighs. Instead, I pulled at the handcuffs and clenched my thighs together. 

I could have tried to stand. I could see myself hopping away like a giant bunny. But if it was Chris, I'd look the fool. If it was someone else, I'd draw attention to my plight. 

The steps paused before me. Heavy breathing fractured the air. An older man, I wondered, out of breath. He smelled of tobacco, cigar smoke maybe, not the acrid smell of a cigarette, but a pungent, almost sweet scent. 

I would have begged, offered money. I would have tried to explain my state. But those words remained unspoken. I broke into gagged sobs, tears streaming down my face. A heavy hand roughly patted my head. "Shh, don't cry," a deep male voice cooed. 

A moment later he flipped me to the ground, straddling my body, pinning my arms to my sides with his knees. "Lets get you bundled up," he said. Dazed, it took precious seconds for panic to rise up. I began to struggle and writhe as he wrapped me in something. Tighter and tighter, he bound me in sheeting. It circled my chest, above and below my breasts, cutting into my shoulders, constricting my every movement.

"That ought to keep you quiet," a man's deep voice told me. "I'll be a moment sweetheart." I realize bitterly that I had been incredibly foolish. I listen as he walks off a short distance. His voice rumbles conversationally, but I can only make out, "we're clear now." 

His heavy steps spoke of his return. Madly, I struggle. Its useless but I cannot help myself. He stands there. Finally, I admit what I knew when I began and fall still. 

At five foot seven, I'm not small, though, I lost weight this past year, trying to satisfy Chris's need for me to have a boyishly slim figure. But though I weighed less than the one hundred and thirty pounds at which I started the year, my thighs and hips could never be lean enough for his pleasures. Nonetheless, this man lifted me easily and slung me up and over his shoulders. 

I soon heard a chain rattle and then another metallic sound. I felt other hands helping to carry me. The two moved me up steps. I cried in pain as my head hit something hard. 

"Sorry love," the voice said. Objects soft and hard brushed my body as they carried me. Eventually they laid me disoriented upon a softness that suggested a bed. Soon an engine started and then movement, a motor home perhaps.

My head was lifted and I felt a kiss press against my forehead. Then headphones slid over my ears. The engine noise faded to into a heavenly voice, the voice of Charlotte Church singing Summertime. Her voice looped continuously around that one lovely song. 

I had intermittent panic attacks as hours passed. My head felt like it flew free from my body. I itched. And eventually, I urinated into the blanket and welcomed the discomfort it brought. When I finally felt a touch at my shoulder, I felt only relief. 

They lifted me again and carried me. While they did so, it was blissful silence. But after they placed me down, Charlotte Church's voice soon returned. I don't know how much time passed before I felt him again at my shoulder. He slid the headphones off. "Lass," he said. "I'll remove the gag and unwrap you, but if you say a single word, even a syllable, it goes on and stays on till we take permanent measures."

Blindly I nodded. My tongue felt swollen and my throat dry. I gasped when he removed the rubbery ball. But otherwise, I stayed silent. He then unwound the sheeting from my body. He undid the bond that held my ankles. Free, except for the blindfold and handcuffs, he led me into another room. I felt dizzy, my legs wobbled. 

"This is a toilet here," he said. "Take care of your business." 

I blushed but I sat. He cleaned me after. He then helped me stand. Holding my elbow, he had me step up and over something. Plastic sheeting brushed my face as I did so. 

I cried as his hands began to undress me. My skirt soon puddled at my feet. He undid the corset chosen for Chris. I knew it left angry marks on my skin. "Hush," he said even as his fingers worked the buttons of my blouse. I reached up to remove the blind fold. 

His grip tightened. "No," he said firmly. Lifting my wrists above my head, he snapped shut a pair of handcuffs. I tugged not to escape, merely testing the boundaries. 

A moment later I cried out in shock as icy water hit me. As his hands briskly soaped me, I drank in the falling water. 

He toweled me dry and then asked me to close my eyes. He replaced my blindfold with another. Taking me by the arm, he led me out of the bathroom and back to my room. When I heard a chain rattle, I went mad momentarily. I lashed out and began to struggle. At least two men quickly subdued me. I was chained. 

"God no," I cried out. "Please don't wrap me up again." 

The man's heavy body covers mine. His beard brushes my cheek. My belly churns erratically. I feel a nervous urge to laugh. He raises my head with a pillow. The gesture oddly comforts me. Fingers trace my breasts. The gesture is as light as a breeze. He digs a thumb into my ribcage. I flinch though it does not hurt. My face turns blindly upward. His face brushes against mine. He removes my gag. "Quiet," he whispers. 

I breathe freely and it feels glorious. He bites my lower lip. His breath is warm. It smells of breath mints and garlic, not overpoweringly so. He begins to massage my feet and legs, his hands roam my stomach and breast, my arms and hands. He is slick with some lubricant. It smells of jasmine. His hands are warm against my body. 

He rubs the scented oil behind my ears. He presses his body against mine and I feel his rough clothing against my naked body. His beard chafes my face. His hands slide underneath me to squeeze my ass. He slips lower, clenching the back of my thighs. 

I clasp them together in a weak gesture. He laughs. I feel him clip something onto my nipples. There is no pain, but it sends a sensation prickling through my body, an almost electrical feeling. 

He stands and I hear him disrobe. When he next presses against my body he is naked. I feel his cock heavy against my stomach, pressing into me. I cannot stop crying. I have been with two men in my life. He becomes my third as he guides his lance into me. I feel a slight pain, but nothing terrible. "I won't hurt you little one," he said. I feel sadness wrench my heart as he moves slowly within me. His body rubs against my oiled body. He toys briefly with the clips, which sends interesting shocks through me. 

The tip of his fingers passes over my lips, massaging them before entering my mouth. His moaning communicates his excitement to me. I cannot help myself. His excitement spreads and I shift as he pierces my body. 

When he finishes, he removes the clips and the men take me again to the bathroom. They clean me. I separate them mentally into big and small, heavy and lithe, strong and clumsy. When they return me to the room, they again wrap me in sheeting. I am horrified and struggle but soon I lie still within my cocoon. 

I am not gagged this time. I feel grateful after I am calm enough to think. "You may scream, but if you become annoying, we gag you," he says. And I believe. He slides the headphones over my ears and Summertime washes over me. 

Time blur. When not gagged I talk even though I cannot hear my own words. I ramble through bits of poetry. I sing along with Charlotte Church. I curse Chris. And I cry, a lot. Intermittently, he unwraps me.

He fucks me. He feeds me by hand. He bathes me. He cleans me and then he wraps me again. When I struggle as I must from time to time, the other man joins him. I come to crave these moments when I am free to move, these moments when he cares for me, because it tells me I'm real. 

The day comes when he leads me to a chair. "Laura," he says. "You have to sign some documents for me." He guides my hand. I want to stab him with the pen. Instead I sign my name. Again and again, I sign my name not knowing what I sign. He takes the pen. Naked I sit until he returns.

When he removes my blindfold the light hurts my eyes. "I've dimmed the light," he says. "Let your eyes adjust." When I finally see, Yannis stands before me. My heart breaks, but I am not surprised. Yannis, Chris's bluff, hearty cousin owns me now. His short gray beard has scratched my face. His muscular arms have carried me. 

I knew his voice, I think I may have always known. "Why," I ask. 

"Chris did not deserve you," Yannis said. "I won't wrap you again unless you force it." You cannot believe how my heart leaped at those words. My hands trembled. 

"No," I said. "I won't." I looked around. The light was very dim, but I saw he kept me in a room painted yellow. 

"Your bathroom is there," he said with a gesture. "The green door you may not go through or even touch without punishment," he said. "And I will know." 

I shuddered. He meant the wraps. "No, please no," I murmured. I reached out and ran my hand along his arm, my nails still a delicate shade of red from my last evening with Chris. 

"Obey me," he said. "Ask no questions for I will not answer them and you will see your world of privileges expand." 

"I will Yannis," I said. He smiled and I felt almost happy, except I couldn't stop this silly shaking. 

"Let's go to bed now," he said. "After, you can shower and you'll find clothing in the dresser." I glanced around the room. I saw a delicate, yellow vanity with green flowers running along its side. "I'm trusting you Laura," he said. "If you betray my trust, we rewind the world." 

"No," I said. "I won't do anything." He took my hand. We walked to the bed. "Can I look at you," I asked and blushed, the question seemed so ordinary. 

"Certainly, my love," he said. I stared up at him from where I sat on the bed. He had gray eyes and a face earned from a life spent outdoors. He was handsome for a man of his age, powerful and healthy. 

I watch as he undresses. He is overweight but not terribly so. I unabashedly examine his cock, heavy and engorged. He is uncircumcised and I wonder over its pointed cap, so different than that of my previous lovers. And then a blush betrays my thought as I feel heat run down my face to my neck. I now think of this man as my lover. And I feel so grateful to see him, to hear him, to feel this bed. 

He slowly reaches out and begins to stroke me. The gentlest brushing of his fingers against my arms and belly. I feel a tear fall from my eye to my cheek. But I smile up at him, naked in bed with my lover. He covers me, his feet touch my feet. His toe nails feel rough against my skin. His lips run along my jaw line. His breath dances along my neck as he takes my earlobe in his teeth, lightly. Every touch is intense. 

He pressed me down against the bed and I part my thighs. He slides into me and I sigh happily. I can see and hear and touch and feel and that freedom means more to me than anything just now. 



Carried Away...



Standing at dockside, the wind warm in my face, the sun tanning it. Watching the boats motoring in and out of the slips on the left. On the right, two sailboats swag at anchor. People pass by and I keep looking at faces, hoping but knowing that you will be one of them any moment. 

My bag light, your message was to pack light: two bathing suits, matching cover-ups, a sundress plus two sets of shorts and blouses. Feeling naughty, I left out any undergarments. The only weight to speak of in my bag coming from my make-up kit.

At the sound of laughter, I turn my head back up the boardwalk. A small group of women approach and I watch them at they stroll by and board the larger of the two sailboats. Eyes hidden behind sunglasses, my eyes follow them as one by one they move onto the boat's deck.

The first on is blonde, perhaps early 40's, comfortable in her movement over the gap separating the boat from the dock. Her body is tanned and she has the classic hourglass figure of large boobs and ass. Large but not fat crosses my mind as her shorts stretch tight in her gait. 

Behind her, the woman is less sure, hesitant really. A bit younger although its difficult to be sure with her sunglasses and hat covering a good part of her facial features. Her lips full and bright with recently applied lipstick. 

She hands her bag to the first woman and looks left and right for support prior to any attempt to bridge the tiny section of marina water. The blonde reaches over and they clasp hands. I see her pulled across and note the surprise on her face then in the "No wait!" 

Her dark hair flying behind her as she reaches up, the hat held on only by luck. The remaining two women giggle at her as she flounders onto the boat and into the blonde's arms. 

Both of them then move easily together across, placing the bags in a pile. Five all together, four small and light overnight bags, the last more of a gym bag, appearing full and heavy as it lands on top of the others.

"Why did you do that? I wasn't read…" the protest silenced as the blonde's lips covered the dark-haired woman's. Pushing away but not gaining any purchase, she stops fighting the kiss. And I blushing as I now notice the blonde's eyes on me. Watching the watcher.

I turn away, deciding after being spied that my inner voyeur will have to wait for another day. A touch and I'm spun around. "See anything you like?" 

Beet-red, my face burning. "I… I… fuck…" 

Your lips turn up, "Yes, you will," your hand taking mine and leading me towards the boat. 

My bag bouncing, mind churning, what a turn of events?!? The blonde and her friend, held by an arm, now take their opportunity to examine me. And its me they focus on, seeming to ignore you. Grateful for my shades, wishing I could lessen the blood lighting up my face. I'm a nothing more than an extension of you as you pull me forward, onto the vessel. 

The dark-haired woman apparently relieved that her discomfort was replaced by my own, now gives me a smile. Lips press to my ear, "She's not for you, and I may not be either if you don't kiss me now!" 

Instinctively, I turn and kiss you. Forgetting the others, telling you that you caught me by surprise and to forgive me for even appearing to slight you in any way. Smiling, you laugh and pull me into your arms. In their strength and warmth, I'm reminded of how happy I am and whisper it to you over and over.

"Is this her?" The blonde's voice is firm but curious. 

You nod and squeeze my hand, "Tell them." 

I face them, "I'm Shelly, Judy's bitch." The blonde's face erupts into a smile and now the dark-haired chick face darkens, not much but I catch it. 

"I'm Cath and this is Jen…" 

The blonde's arm tightens about her friend who responds in a very soft, quiet voice, "Her bitch." 

We look at each other, for some reason there is tension between us broken when you ask, "Where are the others?"

"Damn, they can't even wait for us to shove off can they?" Cath calls down into the lower region of the boat. 

"We'll be right there!" is followed by footsteps up the stairs and the other two guests appear one after the other. Cath points to the first, a brunette like me, smallish, thin, almost waif-like. This is Amy and behind her is Annie. 

Annie smiles to us and wraps her arms round Amy's waist. Annie has is also blonde but a platinum, clearly out of a bottle. "Nice to meet you", all three of us say at once. And any remaining tension is gone as all six of us break into smiles and outright giggles. 

Cath announces that since we're all here, its time to go. She tells me to pile my stuff over with the others and starts towards the wheel and rudder controls. Amy and Annie immediately move about, casting lines and unfurling canvas, obviously not "their" first time aboard. 

Jen looks at us and says, "We can either get out of the way or get yelled at." and we follow her to the front of the vessel. Slipping into seats, she tells us that Cath will have us underway shortly. 

Cath yells towards us, "Are you forgetting something?" and I look to you then Jen. 

"She means the bags," and you head back to move them. 

Jen removes her glasses and I see that she is my age. I do the same, recognizing that she is curious about me too. "Have you been a bitch long?" said seriously but with a wry smile that brings an immediate smile to me. 

"Not long enough," and we both end up smiling broadly. 

The trip out of the harbor takes little time and we are in open water. Wind strong, the boat cuts across the waves and we head towards a sandbar several miles from shore. Its surrounded by bright spots of whites, reds, golds, and other shades of the rainbow. 

Approaching, I see that the colors are from the boats and sails that surround it. "Party island" and Cath hands frosty glasses of icely green to us. "Mmmmm, margarita's are definitely THE boat drink!" 

I feel but cannot see your eyes on me. Like the rest of us, your eyes are hidden by dark glass. You and Cath sit side by side as do I and Jen. 

With the sound of the ocean, words within our small group are often lost, especially when you turn to speak to Cath or she to you. We have all long lost out tops, breasts open to the sun. You and I with tanlines, the others without. 

Both of us transfixed by Jen's left nipple pierced with a small gold ring. As we near the sandbar, Amy appears and asks where Cath wants Annie to head. Similar to Jen, her nipples are pierced, the rings glittering as the sun's ray are reflected. 

Cath leaves us and returns to guide the boat in. We find a location at the north end of the sandbar and drop anchor.

Amid the sounds of Cath organizing the fitting of the landing, we are soon gathered together in the front of the boat. I now have time to appraise Amy and Annie. 

Amy, I've determined is a year older than me. Her hair cut short in a bob, she looks much younger. Annie tells me that she is 49, divorced and has been keeping Amy as her partner for several years. 

Jen is two years younger than me. She is noncommittal on her relationship with Cath and I sense that she is hesitant to share much of herself. I do note that her tan is interrupted by a small circle around the finger traditional for a wedding band. 

Cath, with a very distinct hint of pride, casually mentions that the three of you work together, explaining how you know them. The others are neighbors who, like her, love the ocean and the sailing life.

Small craft circle the sandbar and us. Greetings are exchanged and I notice that the area is definitely tops, and on some boats bottoms, optional. The fleet is mixed. Some all women, some all men, others a varying mixture. All well stocked and drinks flowing. The smell of weed flows on the open air at almost regular intervals.

After my second drink, I whisper to you that I need to pee. Cath overhears and tells you that you should pick your bunk while you show me the head and the rest of below decks. 

We go down the steps and the sway of the boat becomes apparent to me. I hold onto your arm as you point out the head and the two berths. 

"That is Cath's room," indicating a room filling the front of the vessel. A large bed is bolted to the floor and I think to myself that we could all fit in it if needed. 

Another room to the rear of the boat has two beds, doubles at best and I see that one already has two bags on it. You toss your bag on the other and I follow suit. 

Openly disappointed that we won't have privacy when we go to bed. You kiss my cheek and squeeze of my ass, "Don't worry about it…this trip I think will hold some surprises for you." 

Facing you, my arms slipping under yours and around your back. "Promise?" You don't answer but your eyes do.

The next 15 minutes are spent in kissing and caressing. Out of sight of the others, I take full advantage of your undivided attention. Our breasts smashed as we kiss and suck at each other's mouth. I think that perhaps you will take me now but each time I try to move you towards the bed you remain in place. Your eyes flashing but offering no words of explanation or encouragement. 

Cath's call brings us back up on deck. The sun setting, boats all around are lit up with lights. The scene magically. 

I notice that Amy is missing and that Jen is standing at the rail at the very point of the boat. She's now totally nude. Except for her head, she is hairless and totally tan. Her sunglasses are on but her hat now gone, leaving her long hair blowing to her right in the wind. Hands behind her, bracing her body so she moves as one with the boat as it bobs in the waves.

A finger in the back waistband of my suit, you pull down. "Time for these to go." I stand motionless, Jen, Cath and Annie's eyes on me as you remove my bottoms. 

A smile is exchanged between Cath and Annie as Cath pats the seat next to her. "Go," is the only word I hear from you and my bare feet slap the deck as I go to her. 

Sitting, I look back to you but find you gone. Cath offers up around round of drinks and we sip in silence, enjoying the sunset.

Time passes and we remain in our places as darkness falls. Now only the boat lights remain. Fixed as the circling boats have all found dockage, afraid of running into each other in the night. No words are exchanged and any attempt I make to speak is immediately hushed. The only sounds being the wind, the ocean and the boat riding the water.

Amy now appears carrying a tray of small skewers of fish and veggies along with a salad of fresh fruit. Like Jen and I, she is nude and bald. Both Cath and Annie take in long looks of her as they pick from the tray. 

You return and I shoot you a smile. Your look telling me not to speak. We eat in silence, Cath feeding Jen after she has her own fill. 

I now realize that Jen is not holding the rail, she is tied to it. 

Amy cleans up after the meal while you join Cath and Annie on the long bench seat. Between the wind and the ocean, I can't make our the conversation as the three of you talk. You share smiles and glances but otherwise remaining aloof from Jen and I. Amy has now returned and sits to my left. We all wait…

Finally, you stand and come to me. Your hand extends. I can't hide my happiness as I take it and go with you. 

You lead me down below deck. Your finger on your lips indicates I am to remain silent. 

The lights on below decks and I see that the bags have been moved. The large bag is open in the corner of the room but the contents not visible. 

You lead me into the room and kiss me softly on the lips. I want more but you push me back a step. "No questions." 

And you go to the bag. I was wrong, the bag isn't just open, some of the contents have been removed. On both beds, I see coils of rope, a small pile of shapeless material and what looks to be beads or balls underneath. My attention on the items, I'm surprised when my face is covered by a hood. Its eyeless but there is an opening for my mouth so I can breath easily. 

You whisper, "Do not say anything, be still as possible and enjoy." 

In the sudden darkness, my mind reels. My body responds and my nipples harden so much they hurt. You pull my hands behind me, crossing them at the wrist, before using rope to bind them. 

Almost falling as you yank me backwards, the cold pole stopping my fall. 

Hands, yours? Others?, help me into a sitting position on the stool at the foot of the post and I hear you secure the rope to the pole.

I can hear, but not well. I sense more than hear you leave. My ears pounding with the pulsating of the blood in my veins. It seems an eternity but gradually I can make out other noises. 

At first, I think it is part of the creaking of the boat in the water, but then its nature becomes more distinct. 

A whistling followed by soft cries or gasps. The whistling very high pitched, its ending not in a loud slap or dull clap but rather with a sharpness. Now there's two series of whistling, two sharp endings and two cries. 

I strain to hear but just as I start to believe that I'm really hearing it, the sound stops. Waves and wind seeking the inner confines and the refusal of the boat to yield to their demands now the only sounds.

Time passes and I close my eyes. Long past the point where imaginary flashes of light and images fill my stunted sight, I focus all my efforts on hearing. 

Footsteps? 

No, just the boat swaying in the currant. 

Wait, yes…definitely footsteps. Two, three, all five? 

Not sure, my being my ears waiting for confirmation that you are returning to me. The sounds of feet on the stairs sure now. I listen, waiting for the darkness and silence to end. But it continues. I hear movement around me but no words, no return of light or sight.

"OUCH!" A nipple grasped and squeezed and pulled and twisted. 

"Shut up Bitch!" Your voice clear. 

I bite my lips to remain quiet. Both nipples treated roughly but I do not cry out. 

"Why are her nipples not pierced?" 

The question a challenge to you, not sure if by Annie or Cath but certainly directed to you. 

"The bitch is mine to use, do what you will with your own but I will mark her when I decide too and not before!" 

That quiets them but not the sounds of movement within the room. Shuffling feet out of the room. I believe I am alone again but another sound tells me I am not. 

This time the air is cut by something familiar, larger. And the end is met with a loud clap. 

A hand hitting an ass. 

In anticipation, I wait and soon a second strike is heard. No sound after until the fourth blow, then a low moan. 

I can tell that great effort was exerted in trying to refrain and muffle the sound but it was hopeless. 

"…I told you…." and the blows are harder, angry, resulting in cries. Cries of pain but also of pleasure. 

Just as I think she will achieve orgasm, the blows end and I hear the sound of a body hitting the floor. 

"Get up bitch." 

I make out sounds close by, undistinguishable but from memory I believe that its on the bed. 

Another period of silence, or near silence. There is activity going on but I am unable to make it out. Minutes seem like hours. 

I wonder if I've fallen asleep when suddenly light burns my vision. Blinking, eyes slowly adjusting, I make you out in front of me. 

A dildo strapped around your waist, I think that you either want me to suck you or that you will take me now. I open my mouth to be safe only to hear you laugh and your fingers close on both cheeks. 

"See how she is ready?" 

I look up and see you looking back to the bed. Amy is prone on the hard bunk. She is on her side and I start to make out the redness of her freshly slapped ass. Strange lines of brilliant red stripes appear on her cheeks as well. 

You bend down close to my face. "Soon baby… but not now… I wanted you to know…" 

Cath and Annie come into my sight behind you. All of you nude now. Like you, Annie has a strap on about her waist. Cath rummages in the bag until she finds a large tube of lube. 

As I watch, she quirts some on both dildo's, spreading it over them as she smiles at me. Then she squirts more in her palm. You and Annie watch her now, she rubs her hands together and spreads the lube over the fronts and backs of her hands. 

You ask her, "Will she be enough for you both?" and she nods. Cath and Annie leave the room and you turn back to me. 

My eyes blinking, so used to darkness that I'm having trouble adjusting, and you give me a quick kiss before pulling the hood back down. This time you hook the sides over my ears and I feel your breath in one, "Listen carefully but quietly."

Internally I am screaming but I remain a lifeless statute. 

Your fingers pinch my left nipple as you step away. Pulling it out to it fullest limit. You don't release it. It just can't go any further and escapes your grip. 

Now across the room, you tell Amy that she is free to speak now. At that, I hear her gasp for air as she allows her mouth to open and suck freely at the air. 

"Take hold of it. Rub it on you. Mmmmm, that's it. Show me how bad you want it." 

I can make out Amy's moans and my mind is full of the vision of her trying to fuck herself on your dildo. Her small body moving under you. Crawling, climbing, doing anything she can to impale herself on you. 

The room fills with the sound of fucking. I imagine you on top of her. Fucking her hard. Using her pussy, her cunt. Her mouth open finding your breast. 

Sighs and moans louder now. Yours mixed with hers. 

Bodies moving together, then shifting, rolling, moving. I make out Amy cries as she reaches orgasm while the pace of your pounding in her picks up. 

There is a slowing and I wonder if she has satisfied you. Realizing my mistake hearing, "Suck it, take it all…" 

Wet sounds of lips and mouth and tongue. She gags a couple of times causing you to laugh. 

Suddenly, I feel her body over mine. She is hugging the post, her torso resting on top of my head as she steadies herself against it. 

In my mind's eye, what you are going to do is clear but you don't leave it to chance. "Tell her…" 

Amy's voice comes in short bursts complying. "She…she's fucking…my ass…" "Oh fuck, its so big…" 

A series of slaps cuts the her off and I know that you are both fucking and slapping her as you approach your orgasm. Sharp thrusts push her against me and the post until I hear you groan out in pleasure. 

Amy pulls up the lower front of the hood, enough to kiss me, and we share a deep French kiss. Tongues wild, I taste her pussy on her lips.

You pull her away and I'm left gasping in desire and lust. 

Mouth still uncovered, I feel the hardness of the dildo at my lips. Opening, you push it in. 

Tasting her ass and pussy on it, you feed it to me. Pulling back again, I hear you say something to Amy. Then she is in my lap, sitting facing me. 

She kisses me again and again. I try to lift up and grind up against her but she lifts up not allowing me any release. I know now that you have only given her permission for my mouth and I concentrate on using it with hers. 

Much too soon, you take her from me. Bringing her back to the bed with you. I hear you start to fuck her again and spend the next hour listening to you use her. Alternating between her pussy and ass and mouth. 

My pussy is leaking but, unable to touch or rub it, I remain in a heightened state of arousal. At some point, exhaustion takes me and I pass out. 

I awaken to the sound of you still using her, a weight in my lap. Moving my legs, I finally determine that it's the dildo. 

New wonders of what is taking place on the bed, straining again for any sign. You're both quiet now, intent upon whatever you are doing. 

"Do you like it?" Soon followed by, "Make a fist, like this…." 

Instantly crazed again, wanting you, needing you, desiring you. 




Carried Away...



"Push in, you won't hurt me…your hand is so small…" 

Its enough to fill my mind with a vision and I cum sitting and tied on the stool. Feeling my wetness on my inner thigh, pooling under my butt. 

My release ends in another dozing off. Ending when the morning comes and Cath pulls the hood off my head but leaving me tied. 

You and Amy spooned on the bed, asleep, content, sated. 

Cath presses her pussy to my face and I lick madly. Tasting her sweet nectar. She holds my head and fucks my face with her pussy. Not saying a word, she rubs hard against my face. My tongue deep inside her and I feel the rush of her orgasm, her body tensing and her breath quick and deep. 

She leaves the minute she finishes. Rubbing her finger over my lips as she goes. She stops before leaving the room. 

"Get some sleep, you're going to need it before this trip is through." 

Sounds in the room wake me. Opening my eyes, I see you looking at me over your shoulder. 

You are up on your hands and knees with your ass towards me. Amy is sprawled over you, her hands holding your cheeks open and her tongue is licking at your asshole. 

By the looks of it, she's been pleasuring you this way for several minutes. 

Her long pink tongue exploring your puckered hole. 

A hand slips under you and, as she touches your clit, her tongue pushes in. Her pace picks up and her hand moves in earnest as she sucks loudly on your ass. You wiggle your ass and. by the way you look at me, I know it is for my benefit. 

Your eyes close as you cum, letting me watch you. 

Afterwards, you pull her up to you. Her face lights up as you press your lips close to her ears. She walks over to me. 

"Good morning!" 

Reaching down, she picks up the strap on and jumps back into bed with you. She helps you back into it before getting on all fours on the bed. 

You move behind her, both of you looking at me all the while, and you push the cock into her pussy. You bury it before starting to move in and out. 

Fucking her and watching me. 

I cross and uncross my legs, my desire consuming me. 

You wet a finger in Amy's mouth and then push it straight up her ass. Her head raises up as you work cock and finger into her. You enjoyment of fucking her is evident and adds to my frustration. Your pace increases and she is crying out with each invasion. 

She sinks down to the bed, you laying your body flat on top of hers. Hips moving up and down, two faces looking at me. 

The vision of you fucking her hard pushes me over the edge. This show you are putting on for me so erotic and I think that my pussy visibly spasms as I cum. 

Up on your elbows, your full breasts brushing against her back, you fuck her harder still. 

You take your pleasure now, hard, violent in your taking. No concern for her at all as your only thought is to reach orgasm. Her face distorts at the intensity of it and I know that she is cumming from it as well. 

Afterwards, you pull the covers up over the two of you and I watch you drift back off to sleep.



Carried Away



-----

This is a short experiment with non-consensual sex and a protagonist that you probably won't like - please don't read it if that might offend you.

-----

It happened one summer evening in the eighties. I was a student, living in a big shared house in a poor suburb. I must have been about twenty. The others were away on holiday, or had gone back home to stay with their families. I visited my mother occasionally, but we didn't get on well and I could only stay for a couple of days at a time. Summers were a lonely time. I think I had recently broken up with a girlfriend. In any case, I was single. So I stayed in my student house, working behind the bar in a hotel, taking as many shifts as I could.

I came home from work one night and witnessed a terrible scene in the house next door. You could see into their kitchen from my bedroom window. As I took off my work shirt, I looked down and saw a man standing behind a woman, holding her bent over the table, one hand on her head and the other on her hip. They were both nude from the waist down and his body banged into hers with short hard thrusts. She was struggling, kicking her legs and trying to push his hands off her, but she was trapped.

I recognised them as my neighbours. I had seen them lots of times in the street and often said hi. They seemed like a happy young couple. I stood staring, and after a few minutes he pushed deeper and faster, and then stopped moving and just held her down. When he let her go and started putting his trousers on, she stayed bent over the table, her small naked bum facing me. He left the room and I heard him close their front door as he left, and she slipped off the table and curled up on the floor.

I knew I had to go round and try to help. She didn't answer the doorbell and I kept ringing. Eventually she opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on.

'It's Chris. I live next door,' I said, with my best reassuring voice.

'Oh. Uh, it's not a good time. Sorry.' She sounded surprisingly calm.

'Can I talk to you, just for a minute?'

She peeked round the door.

'Chris, was it? Chris, I'm sorry, but I'm here by myself. It's late. Can you come back tomorrow?' 

'I saw what just happened,' I said. 'In the kitchen. I can see through the window from my house. I was worried. Are you OK?' She was quiet for a few moments.

'It was nothing,' she said, still calm, 'I'm fine.'

'Look, please let me in. I just want to check you're OK. I'll only stay for a few minutes.' There was another silence, and then I heard the chain rattle and unlock. She opened the door. She was small and thin, perhaps a little over five foot, with long thick blond hair tied in a high ponytail. She was wearing pyjamas.

'OK then. Come in. I'll make you a cup of tea. Let's clear this up,' she said, and showed me into the lounge, then disappeared for a few minutes.

She seemed less assured when she came back with the tea. It didn't take much to get her talking. She said her boyfriend sometimes treated her badly after a hard day. Apparently he had been married before, and his ex-wife wouldn't let him see their children.

'He's having a hard time,' she explained. She sounded sympathetic, which I couldn't understand. I wanted to call the police, but she wouldn't have it, saying that it would make the situation worse. It seemed ridiculous. We talked more about her. Her name was either Cassie or Kathy, I can't remember which. She worked in a hotel too, as a chambermaid, and said she wanted to go to university and become a social worker. She asked me about university life. I was surprised that she had become so chatty. She talked about her relationship, and how her boyfriend had romanced her by taking her for rides on his motorbike.

'Why do you let him do it?' I cut in. She stopped talking and looked at the carpet. Her profile was delicate. 'You have to stand up for yourself.' She didn't say anything. She was on the sofa next to me, with bare feet and her legs tucked underneath her. 'What I saw wasn't acceptable,' I continued. She glanced up at me.

'You're pretty,' I told her. 'You know that, don't you?' I couldn't understand why she put up with him.

'Thanks. That's sweet of you,' she said. 'You should go now. I'm OK. I promise.' I didn't want to go. I wanted to get to the bottom of it.

'You're pretty and you should be with someone better,' I said, looking right at her. She turned away again. It didn't make sense that she would be with an abusive man when she could be with someone like me who would treat her well. I told her to look at me, and when she didn't, I told her she was being silly and should listen to me. It was simple, the man was a prick, and she should come back with me and forget about him.

'Please go, now,' she said. I was next to her, and could smell her perfume.

I leant closer, so my nose was almost touching her cheek, but she didn't move. When I put my hand on her thigh, she ducked her head, away from my kiss, and pushed my hand off her. I lost my temper then, and called her some things that weren't fair. She was a nice girl, even if she was acting stupid. When I finished shouting, I was gripping her wrists.

'OK,' she said. 'OK. We can do it. As long as you leave straight away when we're done. OK? We'll do it and then you'll go.' I realised that I had gone too far, but I was caught up in the moment, and when she stood up and starting taking off her pyjama trousers, I wanted to touch her more than anything. I was sitting down with her in front of me, and I put my hands behind her, on her bum, and pulled her closer to me, leaning my head against her tummy and touching her cunt through her panties. She had a blue bruise on the side of her thigh, which she asked me to avoid I ran my hands over her legs.

She stepped out of her panties and lay down on the sofa. I undid my belt and trousers and got on top of her. She lay still, and let me kiss her neck and cheeks. I pressed my erection against her, trying to find the right place. She was so beautiful. She adjusted her position, raising her knees, and I slipped into her. She was wet from her boyfriend, but tight and soft. I put my hand under her top and held her thin waist, and fucked her.

I was sorry afterwards. I knew that it shouldn't have happened like that. I apologised. She told me it was OK so long as it didn't happen again and her boyfriend didn't find out. We carried on saying hello to each other when we met in the street, but I didn't go round again, and from then on their curtains were shut when they were both at home. 



Carried Away



Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong

===

Pulling out of the car park after meeting Cameron, I couldn't help but marvel at how much nerve he must have. Imagine going back to a stranger's flat and rimming him while his mates looked on! The idea of doing something like that myself was more than a little titillating and could form the basis of many a fantasy, but I doubted I would ever have the confidence to actually do it.

Having said that, the way I had approached Cameron and arranged to meet up with him for a drink was well outside of my usual comfort zone. Indeed, what I had done in the park and at the adult learning centre a couple of days earlier was something which, just a few months ago, I would probably have found so alien to my normal behaviour that it would have been difficult to even contemplate. So perhaps, now that the idea had been planted, I might one day develop enough courage to go ahead and act on a more daring impulse.

As I began the drive home along Rockingham Road, I thought about what Cameron had said about how much sexual activity goes on between men in the military. In my early twenties, I had briefly considered joining the forces -- most probably the army -- because at that time they were running a national drive to recruit graduates in engineering, the degree which I had just attained. I'd always been deterred for the most corporal of reasons: I had, by then, an extremely high sex drive and I'd worried that I wouldn't have any outlet for the at least twice-daily relief that my swollen balls demanded. The thought of spending so many years cooped up in barracks with only male company was seriously off-putting: the prospect of having to make do with just my right hand for pleasure was not even worth considering.

I could now see, and the irony was not lost on me, that the very thing that had put me off joining the forces should instead have proven to be one of its main attractions. It had not occurred to me back then that all of us men together would have had equally insistent sex drives and that we all conveniently come with holes of roughly the right size which can be put to use as a practical outlet for those urges. Far from spending my life in enforced celibacy, I'd have probably enjoyed a fairly regular and pleasantly varied sex life in the quiet of the barracks after lights-out once I'd located a group of like-minded men who shared both my need for regular release and my taste for the male rear.

It struck me as bitterly amusing that I might have had more sex through joining the army than I'd had through my chosen course of getting married to Linda. I was confident I could have wangled a nightly hook-up with one or other like-minded soldier -- we'd have quickly spotted each other in the cramped confines of the barracks -- and I'd have no doubt come to enjoy taking turns with other men for mutual gratification. Thinking about it, I was fairly sure that I could have managed to fit in an early morning pre-shower session with those among my fellow-squaddies who, like me, found themselves waking before dawn with their erections standing to attention in their army-issue undershorts.

I wondered whether, extrapolating from what Cameron had said, such encounters between men for the sake of allowing a regular and healthy sexual release were now seen as acceptable -- perhaps even desirable -- within the forces. I rather liked the idea of tacit goings-on after lights-out, the men coupling up in their bunks, soundlessly helping one another to perform that last of the day's duties. The thought of quietly mounting another man in the darkness, our bodies gently working together in the knowledge that other men around us were discreetly pairing up together for the same reason, was extremely appealing. It gave the activity a fraternal quality: a late night brotherhood of men whose lithe sweaty bodies would come together for a few short minutes of unspoken union. The close, confined air of the barracks would be thicken at first with the base, malodorous whiff of so many men's quiet penetration of their brothers and comrades, and then, at length, by the more acrid, sharper bite of semen as so many pairs of balls were gratefully disburdened.

Such a bracingly masculine and loveless form of sex would have taken some getting used to, granted, but would gradually, in time, have acquired its own unique appeal. It would allow the discharge of a necessary bodily function, but would also be an intense and erotic moment of togetherness, the gentle rhythm of male coupling each night serving to unify us as a team and solidify the bonds of camaraderie between us.

Even if such encounters were still conducted in secrecy, like the discreet late night meetings of men described by Guy on the oil rig, such a low-key approach would bring its own attractions by introducing a sense of danger and taboo which I have always found exciting.

Having a regular and reliable means of release was something I'd only briefly enjoyed when I was married and it was strange to think that in the forces I might have had a more fulfilling sex life. I would have missed having a relationship with a woman, of that much I was sure, and my interest in my fellow soldiers would have been purely directed towards achieving mutual satisfaction at the exclusion of anything more meaningful. However, it occurred to me that whatever little companionship I had enjoyed with Linda was now long-gone and her departure had left me with the worst of all worlds: for the last few years I'd had neither the sex nor anything more emotionally-significant in my life.

I had Jake, though, and that was important.

As I sat and waited at some traffic lights, listening to my indicator clicking and watching it light up the sign to Foxton with a pulsing yellow rhythm, I realised I now had two evenings to look forward to between now and Christmas. First, there was my second date with Debbie, which I hoped might bring with it at least a snog and perhaps a mutual grope now that we'd got over the initial necessarily awkward meeting. Second, there was the prospect of a get-together with another bloke -- the word 'date' didn't sound at all appropriate in this case -- which Cameron was going to set up for me. With my male-to-male encounter, I rather assumed there'd be a sexual element to the evening: in fact, if the night bring with it at least one climax I'd consider it a complete flop.

Now there's double standards for you.

As I pulled away from the junction, I thought about what it would be like to kiss a woman after such a long spell of enforced abstinence. It would feel wonderfully intimate to touch my lips against hers; to feel her hesitantly yield to accept the tip of my tongue into her mouth and to feel her warm breath and the scent of her perfume so close to my face. I'd press close to her as my mouth worked against hers and might reach into her blouse to gently caress one of her breasts. Some women would enjoy that and groan their approval; some might even reach down and fondle the fly area of my trousers. I guessed Debbie would be more reticent and I'd have to take it carefully. Nevertheless, while we kissed, I'd get near enough for her to feel my bulge swelling against her so that she could be in no doubt of my eventual intent.

Turning into my estate, I thought about how it would be to be with a man for the first time. I pictured us going back to his place which, for some reason, I visualised as a cramped bedsit with a shoddily made bed. Having no idea who Cameron was planning to fix me up with, I imagined my colleague Matt Strickson naked, standing upright on the sheets of his unmade bed with me squatting behind him, also naked and with my face nuzzling between his ripe, round buttocks.

My lips would be clamped to his cheeks, my tongue exploring his hairy crack and his hot, sticky hole, while his hand was grabbing the back of my head urging me further towards his buried trophy. He'd bend low to grind his arse into my hungry mouth and would reach down, through his own legs, to grab my cock and wank me off with a rough, fast rhythm as I rimmed him.

Then he'd squat down in front of me and I'd slide myself into him, one arm gripping his shoulders and the other around his belly. We'd fuck like that, my knees around his hairy thighs and our balls dangling low as we squatted one behind the other on his dishevelled bed. I'd reach down and grab his cock and wank him as I fucked him, the two of us working up a rhythm against each other. With my other arm, I'd hold him close, feeling my chest rubbing up and down his back as we grunted and panted together; smelling the fusty whiff from his soiled sheets being joined by the more animalistic stink of our sweating buggery.

I pulled up in front of our house and switched off my lights.

It was difficult to know which prospect excited me more: a long, passionate kiss with Debbie including -- I hoped -- my first touch of a woman's breasts for way too long; or a night of rimming and sodomy with some guy I might hardly know. They both had their own appeals; were both arousing in such different ways.

As I got out of the car, I felt the envelope full of the articles and clippings which Cameron had given me digging into me through my jacket pocket and decided not to take them back into the house. Instead, I stuffed them into the glove compartment of the car. They'd be safest in there until I could find somewhere discreet to bin them.

Having done that, I locked the car and let myself into the house. The hallway was in darkness but the distant deep throb of a baseline told me that Jake was in his room.

I poured myself a glass of wine from the fridge and grabbed a cold slice of pizza, a leftover from a couple of nights earlier. Tipple, our old ginger cat, started meowing around my feet so I filled his bowl. Then I went upstairs to see Jake.

He was at his desk doing some work for college with the music playing from his iPhone through his speakers. A familiar smell and a ball of scrunched up tissues in his bin betrayed how he'd taken advantage of my late return.

I touched his shoulder, startling him, and he asked if his music was too loud.

"No. I'm just saying 'hi'."

"Oh right, yeah. Hi," he said, turning back to whatever it was he was doing.

"Have you eaten?"

"I had some toast."

"Do you want anything else?"

"I'm good."

He knew that expression bugged me but I let it go. I left him to whatever it was he was doing, and switched on the computer in our box room. While I was waiting for it to boot up, I ate the slice of cold pizza and took a few sips from the wine.

I was both nervous and excited that the prospect of having sex with a man -- full, unhurried and unpaid for sex -- was soon to become a reality. I could hardly believe it was about to happen.

The idea of penetrating a man from behind in the classically 'gay' sexual position was very attractive and the image of Matt Strickson and me squatting together on his grubby bed, our balls slapping against each other as my hips worked against his buttocks, came back to me. I thought about how it would feel if our positions were reversed: if I was the guy in front, feeling Matt's -- or whoever's -- cock driving in and out of me and having his hand beating at my erection as his stubble chafed the back of my neck. That would have its own appeal too, I was sure, and the prospect of following Cameron's suggestion that we would take turns on each other -- something that wasn't possible with a woman -- held a particular allure.

I liked the idea of having sex with guy at his place: the fact that we would be doing it on the bed he shared with his girlfriend or wife presented, for some reason, a tremendous turn-on. The two of us men would be enjoying furtive, forbidden sex together on a bed more used to the delicate bouquet of the sensual and vaginal. We'd be rutting together, revelling in defiling the feminine sensuality of the place with the strong, unashamed odours of our rough, male-on-male buggery, making the bedsprings shriek in ways it never had, and coating the already sex-smeared sheets with our own, more expressive stains.

As the Windows desktop loaded up on the screen, I realised, however, that it was far more likely that I'd have to bring my 'companion' (is there a better word for such a person?) home with me as my place would make a more obvious venue for our get-together if he was involved with a woman. The thought of having sex with another man on the bed I'd shared with my wife was similarly pleasing, though for rather different reasons, and I realised how gratifying it would be to watch the two of us wanking, rimming and mounting each other through the mirrored wardrobe doors which ran the length of the room.

Taking another drink from my wine, I reminded myself that I was going to have to get Jake to stay with his mother that night, or else force him to have a sleepover with one of his mates. He'd know exactly what I was up to -- he was eighteen, after all -- and would probably be intrigued by the prospect of listening in to the sounds that two men make when they get together for sex.

He'd already proven, with his undisguised interest at the sounds that Guy and I had made during our clumsy hook-up in the hotel, that he was fascinated by the idea of men being sexual together. I wouldn't put it past him to creep along the corridor and lurk outside my bedroom door while we were in there, just to hear what his dad and his new-found friend were doing together.

I really didn't want to have to feel conscious at the sounds we were making together for the sake of my son; to worry about every creak of the bedframe and to feel inhibited about what we did together for fear of making too much noise. It was embarrassing enough that he'd heard me masturbating that night a few weeks ago: how worse it would be to know that he was listening to the rhythm of his father being buggered for the first time.

Although it was unlikely, I could imagine Jake's curiosity driving him to peer through the keyhole of my room. The possibility was certainly real enough for me to end up spending more time feeling concerned about what he might see than enjoying what we were doing. How would he feel to see his dad naked and aroused with another man? Sucking another man's cock? Licking another man's bum? Would it surprise him to see me beating myself off in my excitement as I did so? Would he be disgusted to see me anally penetrating a man? Would he be shocked to see his own father bending down to be similarly mounted by a member of his own gender?

No -- he'd have to be out of the house. There were no two ways about it.

As I glanced through the work e-mails which had come in since I'd left the office to meet Cameron, I mused that if I were to bring a woman home with me, I'd have no such qualms about Jake being in the house. I'd ask him to keep a low profile, of course, but the thought of him being aware that his dad was having sex in the next bedroom would not be an issue for me.

Perhaps, in time, I might come to accept Jake's presence in the house when I brought men back too, but not right now. Certainly not the first time.

I could envisage a time when I might bring Debbie, or any other woman, home with me one evening for a meal, and have her stay over with me, and then the next evening having a guy around for a few beers and extending the same invitation to him. Slow, gentle lovemaking one night; rough, sweaty butt-fucking the next. Different needs; different ways of satisfying them.

I could actually see that happening as a realistic possibility, and I liked the idea.

To my surprise, as I was looking through my e-mails, a message came in from Cameron. He must have sent it just moments earlier.

"Nice to meet up with you tonight, Rob. Lots of good stuff to talk about. Been doing a bit of research about one of your misgivings. Google 'Andrew Marter' if you're interested. Looking forward to the Xmas party. It will be a very good night! Best, Cameron."

As he'd sent the message through the work e-mail system, its contents were deliberately vague, but his meaning was clear enough to me.

I typed the name 'Andrew Marter' into Google and looked down the list of results. Most of the most prominent links were to Facebook and LinkedIn pages and those below cited references to the author of several erudite papers on management techniques. At first I wondered if Cameron actually intended me to read through those -- perhaps his e-mail really was of a purely professional nature -- but on the second page I spotted a blog entitled, "For Men Like Me".

The author was from Southampton and appeared, from the picture on the front page of the site, to be a slim, bespectacled man who was married with three daughters. He had the look of an accountant or a solicitor; a fairly nondescript kind of guy who you wouldn't glance twice at if you passed him on the street. He'd discovered that he had a taste for rimming on a business trip with a long-time friend about a decade earlier (details weren't forthcoming) and had set up an internet group for others of a similar persuasion, of which there seemed to be many.

I read through some of his posts and chuckled at the tone of his language which seemed inappropriately formal, as though his interest in rimming, or 'anilingus' as he insisted on calling it, was of a purely academic nature. Perhaps he liked to think of it that way: as if he was doing some kind of high-brow research or studying a largely abstract branch of science. 

I quickly found the post which I assumed Cameron was trying to direct me to in which Marter described how a guy might overcome his worries about meeting another male with a sexual motive for the very first time.

"The choice of one's anilingual companion is of paramount importance in affording a successful and fulfilling sexual experience," he wrote in his typically scholarly style. "One needs to choose someone who is sufficiently close and trusted as to facilitate unembarrassed intimacy, or otherwise it may be preferable to locate a complete stranger via the internet or other means."

Well, I couldn't argue with that.

"Bear in mind that you and your chosen companion are likely to be naked together, that you will be sexually aroused in each other's presence and that you will experience contact of the most intense and deeply personal nature with each other's bodies. If you are choosing a friend with whom to share such an experience, you must ask yourself whether your friendship is strong enough to survive such an intimate encounter and how you will relate to one another afterward."

As Jake was always quick to point out, I didn't really have many guys who I could call 'friends', so the point didn't seem to apply to me. I played squash with Steve once a week and sometimes met up with Adam for a drink, but there was no way I'd suggest anything like this to either of them.

"That is not to say that what you are contemplating doing together is necessarily of a homosexual nature," the blog went on. "While it is no doubt true that some anilingual encounters between men might occasionally develop along homosexual lines, the vast majority have no homosexual elements to them whatsoever and remain primarily a means for both men to achieve sexual gratification using each other's bodies as mere facilitators in that process.

"As such, you may want to consider at an early stage whether you wish to expose your penises to one another when you are sexually excited. Many men -- myself included -- find this to be unacceptable and therefore wear jockstraps when engaged in anilingual intercourse. Such garments, which are available in standard sports shops and have no sexual connotations in themselves, allow you full access to each other's anuses without requiring your erections to be bared."




Carried Away



I found that idea quite laughable: it seemed ridiculously prim to insist on hiding your cocks inside jockstraps during rimming. I'd be the first to have reservations about exposing my genitals to someone, but it would be a suggestion of almost Victorian absurdity to suggest that two men could have sex together without exposing themselves to one another.

Our cocks would have to be bared -- that was essential, I realised. I didn't particularly find the idea of another man's cock attractive -- as far as men went, I definitely acknowledged myself to be an arse-guy -- but if I was to have sex with a guy, I wanted to see that he was aroused and enjoying what we were doing together. There was something appealing -- amusing, almost -- about climaxing with another man; shooting squirt after squirt of our semen over each other, the two of us ending up covered in the stuff.

In any case, it seemed I was a step or two ahead of this guy in terms of how far I wanted to pursue my interest in other men. Marter's blog assiduously avoided any reference to anal penetration other than with the tongue: I was now keen to push something significantly bigger up there. The jockstrap idea really was a non-starter.

"My own recommendation," I read on, "is to choose a partner with whom you are sufficiently well-acquainted for the two of you to recognise in one another your shared interest, but someone who is not within your most immediate circle of friends to avoid the risk of awkwardness afterwards. The physical attractiveness of your chosen companion is largely irrelevant because anilingual sex works on the level of the physical and the bodily, although that is not to say that matters of cleanliness and hygiene should not be factors which inform your decision."

I skimmed down the text and found Marter's suggestions about how to rim a guy for the first time.

"Have your companion bend over in front you and apply your face to his rear: your nose and mouth level with the lower part of his intergluteal cleft."

I figured that meant his butt-crack.

"Do not be alarmed by any abhorrence you feel towards what you are doing: be assured that anilingus is a perfectly natural activity for one man to perform on another. Any repugnance that you experience at this stage is a purely mental construct: the effect of years of negative social conditioning which has taught us that the backside of a person, especially someone of the same gender, is a 'disgusting' and 'offensive' area.

"Disregard such negative thoughts and press your face between your companion's buttocks. Take a moment to inhale his unique scent and, if you are able, extend your tongue towards his anus.

"You will probably find at this point that you will begin to feel sexually excited and that your penis will aggrandise considerably. This is a normal reaction to the act of anilingus: male anal glands secrete a pheromone called androstadienone which acts as a sexual stimulant, the effect of which is most potent when perceived by other men."

I wondered if that was true. It certainly sounded plausible.

"Most men," Marter continued, "find themselves so intensely aroused by anilingus with another male that they are compelled to lick their companion's rear with an almost uncontrolled excitement. I suggest that you partake fully in this activity before retiring to the bathroom or another private place to stimulate yourself to completion."

I had to laugh at this guy: this stuff was hilarious. Imagine being comfortable enough around another guy to sniff and lick his butt, and then have to excuse yourself to go and beat off in privacy. Maybe he felt that if you and your mate's cocks came out, that made the activity somehow more 'gay'; I don't know.

"However you feel after you have discharged your excitement," the blog went on, "be considerate towards your companion, and allow him to experience the same pleasure using your body as you did using his. Bend forwards as he kneels behind you, and allow him to tentatively --"

Jake's bedroom door abruptly swung open behind me and I clicked to close the webpage before he could see it.

"I'm going to get a Sprite," he called in to me. "D'you want anything?"

"You could top my wine up since you're going that way."

He nodded and grabbed my glass.

"I'm going to phone Dan," he said. "I'm having trouble with this assignment."

"Okay," I said. "Give me two minutes, though. I'm checking my e-mails."

He threw me an exasperated look.

"Come on, dad. You can be online and make a call at the same time. We've had broadband for like five years."

"Oh yeah," I said lamely. "I knew that really."

Sometimes Jake must think I've just arrived from the Palaeozoic.

He went off to fill up my glass and I got on with checking through my work e-mails. I didn't feel like reopening the 'anilingus' website as it wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know.

After Jake had brought me up a fresh drink and was on the phone to his friend downstairs, I took a look at a few photo galleries showing anal sex between men. Purely for research purposes, you understand.

Receiving another man anally certainly looked like an activity which I might grow to enjoy, though undoubtedly it would take some practice and I would probably need time to become familiar with how it felt. In the photos, the men who were being penetrated were almost always erect and in some cases would intriguingly reach orgasm just by having their arses stimulated by the back and forth pumping of another man's organ.

I scanned through quite a few websites, enjoying looking at men of all ages, shapes and sizes having sex together. I was impressed by the sheer variety of possible techniques and positions, as well as the way in which widely different combinations of men were apparently drawn to have sex together.

Here were two young men, almost Jake's age -- young, attractive and largely hairless -- smiling together as they enjoyed face-to-face anal sex on a bed. The guy doing the fucking revealed a lovely pink arsehole when he was photographed from behind, and I started to grow hard at the thought of licking his tightly puckered ring as his long, thin cock pumped away at his eager friend's butt.

I moved on to two older men fucking in an alleyway -- one behind the other with their trousers around their ankles. They were hairy and muscular and, from the snarling urgency of their faces, their sex seemed to be borne more from mutual desperation than the more passionate lovemaking of the younger guys. The man being fucked had a rock-hard erection -- large and thick, like mine -- with a fat pair of bollocks hanging between his legs. Apart from how hairy he was, he could be me, standing there having my arse shafted by another man's cock while I bent forwards with my hands on my knees. The next picture showed him gripping his cock and ejaculating as the man behind him grabbed him tightly by the hips and winced in pleasure as his own orgasm was discharged into his bowels.

I found two muscle studs in their early twenties, doing it doggy-style on the floor next to a Jacuzzi. I rubbed myself through my trousers when I realised they were taking turns on each other: the fucked becoming the fucker, each guy's arsehole gaping open from being pumped by his friend as his own cock got to work between the firm, round cheeks in front of him.

And then there were the off-beat combinations: two newly-married men, consummating their bond still elegantly dressed, a cock poking through one guy's fly and the seat of the other guy's formal trousers yanked down. Or even more interesting than that, a younger guy pleasuring himself inside the dimpled, sagging arse of a grey-haired older guy. A cutesy student-type, clean-cut and a bit nerdish, roughly pounding his impressively large cock in and out of a very eager skinhead's hairy buttocks. 

So many possibilities; each one seeming more captivating than the last.

I found a movie showing two sailors together having sex in what looked like an engine room. One was lying flat with his back supported by a large, metal pipe, while the other was between his open legs, thrusting himself in and out of his well-worked hole. The setting was hackneyed and the men clearly cosmetically well-muscled, but what caught my attention was when the guy doing the fucking leaned forward between the legs he was holding onto and planted an energetic kiss on the mouth of his partner.

The camera zoomed in on their faces showing their lips working against each other, both men striving to dominate, as their bodies pounded back and forth. Ordinarily, I would have clicked to close the movie and switched over to something else, but after what Cameron had said about kissing helping to establish intimacy between men, I decided to watch them for a few moments.

There was something unaccountably interesting about seeing two men kissing, I had to concede. The way these guys were doing it didn't seem 'gay' in the slightest: they were using their mouths quite aggressively on one another, their tongues fighting together as each man struggled to penetrate the other's mouth. Spit was spattering across their faces as their lips vied for control, and when they did momentarily pull back from one another, their teeth flashed in a snarl before they plunged back in for more.

I realised I would never dream of kissing a woman like this; would never in a million years expect her to try and kiss me in this way. And that made it all the more fascinating.

Their kissing was not just 'intimate', as Cameron had said; it was vigorously strenuous and fuelled by their pure, greedy passion for one another. These guys were revelling in their same-sex union, ravenous to enjoy their combined celebration of male sexuality, and using their mouths against each other as they fucked served only to heighten their excitement for their own kind.

The guy who was being fucked, for all he had assumed a submissive role to receive his partner's pounding cock, was easily the more dominant of the pair with his mouth. He grabbed his friend's head and held it steady above him with both hands as he ate at his mouth with his spit-soaked lips. His tongue all but mirrored the other man's cock: driving deep into the face above with strong, forceful thrusts.

Hearing Jake in conversation on the phone downstairs, I undid my trousers and released my own oversized cock from my sweaty boxer shorts. It felt good to give it some air in its inflamed state and it slowly hardened and lengthened, arching upwards from the front of my trousers, as if grateful for its freedom. I pulled my foreskin right back to expose the taut, purple helmet of my glans, sniffing appreciatively at the sharp, androcentric scent of my own sex which wafted up from it.

God, it felt so good to free myself from my trousers. I'd had so many erections that evening in the pub hearing about Cameron's experiences, it felt like I'd been repeatedly strangling my organ with the hemlines of my underwear.

In the movie, the camera switched positions to show a close-up of their homosexual version of face-to-face intercourse. The top guy's cock ploughed wildly in and out into the gaping pink hole between splayed legs, while the bottom guy's cock throbbed impatiently against its owner's stomach and oozed a puddle of sticky precum onto his abs.

My cock thickened further as it seemed to peruse the screen in front of it, peering with its slit-eye at the images of what one of its brothers was getting up to between another man's legs; a pleasure which it soon might be enjoying for itself. I smiled down at it, wondering if it would throb so eagerly when another of its brothers was doing the same thing between my legs.

I rather thought it would.

I pulled my balls out from my underwear and let them hang down, cooling themselves, over the front of my trousers. They felt like they'd been overcooked as they'd slowly swelled to the size of apricots with the constant trickle of my collecting semen. Now, free from the cramped, muggy heat between my legs, I let them swing low, heavy and hairy and enjoying the fresh air of the room.

Now that my genitals were released, I opened my legs wider to allow them to breathe as I watched the men enjoying their anal intimacy together on screen. Once Jake was finished on the phone, and was clattering up the stairs in his usual inelegant way, I'd have plenty of time to stash myself away and zip up my fly.

On the screen, the cock was hammering in and out of the guy's arse with a fast, mechanical rhythm. The man doing the fucking grabbed his partner by the shoulders and pulled him more deeply onto his organ as he pounded his hips back and forth.

My hand squeezed my own cock, enjoying its warm thickness in my palm, and made small, gently tweaking movements on its hard stem as I watched them.

The guy lying down grinned up at his partner -- which I liked -- and then grabbed his own cock and flaunted it to his friend as if to show off how aroused he was by the feel of his rectum being so forcefully ravaged. The guy doing the fucking looked down at it and laughed: an amused and affectionate laugh which seemed to say, "I told you you'd get off on it, you dirty fuck! I knew you'd love taking it up your arse!" 

He grabbed the guy's cock and wanked it roughly with the same rapid speed that his hips were bucking back and forth. The guy looked up at him and laughed back. His lips mouthed, "Fuckin' yeah!"

I began masturbating myself more quickly, making longer strokes up and down my shaft so that my foreskin eased back and forth across the shiny, engorged head. I listened out for Jake -- yes, he was still on the phone downstairs -- and wondered if I could sneak a quick climax into my hanky in the time it would take him to come back up to his room. If I could catch my semen as soon as I started ejaculating, I might be able to conceal its strong smell from Jake; a civility which he had evidently been unable to extend to me earlier in the evening.

The camera focussed in on their fucking again, showing one guy's cock working the anus while the other guy's cock was worked by the hand.

Imagine if that was my virgin arse which another man was thrusting in and out of, I thought, and my much thicker and larger cock which he was roughly wanking as he did so. My organ swelled in anticipation of the idea now that I knew such a prospect was a reality, once Cameron had arranged it. As I masturbated myself, taken with the idea that it was me being fucked on the screen of the computer, I watched as a dribble of clear lubricant oozed from the slit on the head of my cock and was quickly dispersed across the shiny helmet by the sweeping back and forth of my foreskin.

I paused to take a long sniff of my erection, further exciting myself with the sharp, acetic waft from its sweaty shaft, and the fuller, more complex odour from the sweaty pubic hair at its base and on my large, ripe balls.

I yanked my trousers and shorts down around the tops of my thighs and thrust my free hand between my legs, intent on fingering myself as I masturbated to aid my imagination in applying the action on screen to myself. Quickly finding my hot, slimy hole through the coarse tangle of hair in my arse-crack, I pushed the tip of my middle finger in through my constricted ring and found, to my surprise, that the passage inside was moist enough for me finger myself without the need for spit.

I really had been getting sweaty down there sitting in the pub with Cameron!

A few strokes of my finger in and out brought a familiar whiff up to my nose from between my legs and I realised it wasn't just sweat that was making my arse slippery enough to lubricate my finger. The rich, pungent smell from my gently fingered hole had its usual effect on me and I started wanking myself more quickly, squatting down to open my arse up further so that I could finger myself more deeply.

On the computer monitor, the men pulled away from one another and the guy who had been fucked turned around, opened his legs as wide as they would go and bent over the large pipe. The other guy positioned himself behind him, grabbed him by the chest and worked his long, slick erection in between his buttocks. After a few tentative thrusts during which the guy bending over grinned up at his companion and gave him the thumbs-up, their fucking restarted in earnest. The men worked with each other's rhythms, arse pushing back against thwacking hips, as they pleasured themselves in the most decadently homosexual of all the positions they could have chosen. 

I so desperately wanted to be the man being penetrated, revelling in bending over to expose my arse so crudely, and delighting in having another man behind me, slamming himself in and out of my gaping hole with such wanton abandon.

I slipped a second finger into myself and, on finding my pleasure intensified, managed a third. My arse took up a wet slurping sound as I pounded it with my three fingers together and I squatted lower and opened my legs wider to try and simulate as much as I could the extent to which another man's cock would fuck me.

The crude, deliciously anal, smell was growing stronger with the increasing assault on my arse and I inhaled it in deep gasps as my hand fired up to full speed sweeping up and down the length of my straining erection. My balls, heavy and plump, were dancing between my legs, making alternating slapping sounds against my thighs and my hand with the rhythm of my masturbation.

I saw myself as the man bending over the pipe, looking up at my companion as he buggered me from behind. I imagined the two of us grinning at each other; implicitly acknowledging how much we were both enjoying the crude, unrefined aroma of male sex. My hand sped up faster between my legs, the rough thrusting of my fingers in and out of my slippery passage giving me the merest taste of the sensation I so strongly craved. The smell of our sex would grow stronger the longer he fucked me; the smell of my arse yielding to another man's cock; the smell of me being roughly sodomised.

Without warning, white jets of semen erupted from my cock, the first thick splash of it hitting my chin, while my other hand was still deep inside my arse, three fingers sloppily slurping in and out of my spasming hole.

At that moment, a voice behind me said, "Dad... oh... Jesus!"

Before I could turn around -- before I could even think of some implausible way of trying to explain -- Jake ended the call he was partway through: "Dan... I gotta go. Something just... er... came up..."

He hung up the phone as glutinous gobs of my seed continued to spurt from my organ, soaking the front of my shirt. To add to my confusion and intense embarrassment, I was unable to stop pounding at my length. As Jake gaped at me and I peered back at him in shock, my fist continued to sweep up and down my cum-erupting cock, intent on prolonging my climax in blissful oblivion to the predicament its owner had suddenly found himself him.

"For God's sake dad!"

I stared over at him, horrified; half-squatting in front of him with one hand involuntarily pounding at my climaxing shaft, making my balls thump up and down as Jake looked on, and the other still between my legs with my fingers deep up my clenching arse. Could this get any worse?

As my orgasm waned, I managed to reassert control over my forearm and overcame the urge to continue masturbating in front of my son. Instead, I used it to try and catch some of the semen I was still squirting, keeping the other well out of sight.

Jake threw me a forced grin, I suppose to try and reassure me that we're both guys and we all get caught out at some time, and said, flatly, "I'll get you some tissues."

He disappeared momentarily and I pulled my fingers out of my backside with an abrupt fart which I hoped Jake hadn't heard. I tried to catch as much of the flow from my cock as I could by cupping the head with both hands. I didn't want to reach into my pocket with either of my dirty hands, one of which bore the crude evidence of what I'd been doing between my legs, as I'd hoped to get a couple more days wear from these trousers.




Carried Away



Jake returned with a wad of toilet roll and threw it in my direction. It landed on the desk on which the monitor was still playing out the scene of the two men fucking: one was still bending over the pipe to receive the other from behind. Their position made the general theme of the movie obvious to even the most unseasoned eye.

Jake flashed a glance at the screen and said, "Dad, I can't believe you'd jerk off to that!"

He took a step back towards the doorway, probably about to give me some welcome privacy, but then sniffed the air. "What's that smell?"

"I better clean up, Jake," I said, pointedly, grabbing the tissue from in front of the monitor.

"What is that smell, though?" he insisted on asking. "It kind of reminds me of scout camp..."

"You know how this stuff smells, Jake," I muttered, turning away from him to wipe off both hands and to dab in some privacy the fattened head of my oozing cock. A copious amount of semen had landed on the carpet but a near-lifetime of experience had equipped me with a few ways of attending to that.

"It's not a cummy-sort of smell," he said, as unperceptive as always as to when to drop a topic and make himself scarce. He sniffed the air a few times and announced: "It's like the smell at camp when those two lads were... you know.... when we were watching them... doing it..."

"I need to clean up, Jake," I said more emphatically than before, hoping he'd get the hell out of there. I wanted him gone, feeling more self-conscious than I could have imagined about having myself exposed like this.

He kept sniffing, trying to place the scent. "It's kind of sexy in a way... but, at the same time, not..."

My cock was still oozing but it was sufficiently spent for me to begin hitching up my underwear and trousers and stuffing its swollen form back into them.

He glanced at the tissue I'd used to clean myself with and asked, "What are those dark stains, dad? You're not bleeding are you?"

"Jake! Enough!"

"But where have those stains come from?" he blundered on. "They're like skid marks..."

He leaned forwards and took a sniff towards the sodden, stained tissue.

I quickly snatched it away and turned to face him.

"Jake -- please! I need to clean up."

He stared at me and I saw the penny drop in his eyes.

"Oh God! You weren't...? Oh my God! You were..."

"I was just trying something out," I muttered, part of me wondering why I was justifying myself to my son. "I should have done it in private."

"Oh Jesus, dad! That's like... heinous! "

I fastened up my zip and did up my belt. "I thought you were downstairs. I was... well... curious to see what guys do... you know, when they get together. I guess I got carried away."

"And some!" Jake gawped, his eyes wide like saucers.

"I'm sorry," I said, aware that these apologies were becoming rather a habit. "I'm really sorry you saw that."

Jake stared at me, his eyes still full of shock. He muttered, "Christ... forget what I said about the smell being sexy... ugh!"

And then, collecting himself and perhaps realising that, since I'd put myself in the position of being the naughty boy caught playing with himself, he should try to take an adult stance on the matter and offer a mature response.

"Look... seriously... it's not a big deal, dad. Honestly. I could have done without seeing... you know... what you'd been doing... but... well... these things happen, don't they?"

"Do they?" I asked. "I mean, do things like this happen to other people?"

Jake smiled and shrugged. "Well, maybe not. But it happened to us, so... well... what can you do, eh?"

Trust Jake to be so philosophical about things.

I tried to smile back but suspect I was rather less than successful.

He said, "I only came up to ask if we're doing anything on Boxing Day. Dan's dad is getting tickets for the Newcastle match and they asked if I can go."

"Oh," I said gormlessly, feeling like I'd been brought down to planet Earth with a jolt. "I don't know... I don't think I've made any plans."

Jesus, was Christmas that close?

"I'll phone him back, then. Tell him I can go."

Hitting the redial on the phone, he smirked. "Don't worry. I'll tell him you had a computer meltdown, or something."

I nodded. "Yeah... I suppose I sort of did."

He went back downstairs, chatting to his friend as if nothing had happened -- as if he hadn't just walked in on his dad climaxing to gay porn with his fingers up his bum -- and I walked through to the bathroom to flush the dirty tissue away and wash my hands.

I glanced in the mirror at my scarlet face, flushed not only from my exertions in front of the computer but at the humiliation of being caught in flagrante by my eighteen-year-old son.

"Robert," I said to my bemused face through the glass, "You should put in for the Dad of the Year award. You really are a natural at it."

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Next story: By Popular Demand

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