0 comments/ 116564 views/ 6 favorites The Naked Tree By: Starlight "My lover put his hand to the door, And I was thrilled that he was near." (Song of Songs 5:4) * * * Oh, why did he have to return? I had found a kind of tranquility after he had left. Free from the daily torments of his nearness, the constant agony of unrequited desire, I could at least exist in some form of composure. Tedious? Yes. Apathetic certainly, but for the most part beyond the rack of incessant craving. When he was away, I could hardly work. My paintings were tasteless, unexciting, fit only for those for whom "a tree must look like a tree." When he is present my brushes seem to take fire, and if I shall never be another Michelangelo or Picasso, at least my work takes on passion. Yet, the price in anguish is so high. My mind and body are at war with each other. When he left, I thought for ever, I longed to hear his footsteps and his singing in the shower. When he slipped from the bathroom to the shower naked, thinking I was not yet out of bed, I loved the sight of his body – the early morning erection of his young manhood. These sights and sounds I longed for. When he is present, I must fight my craving. My rational self says, "No, this is too evil, against all nature." My body cries out, "You need him, you must have him, there will be no rest for you until I am sated with him." I hear him now approaching my studio. "Please don't let him come in…Oh yes, make him enter." He comes in and stands watching me work for a while, then asks, "Busy?" I smile and nod. "Thought I'd go over to Granite Hill and see Ted. I haven't seen him since I got back. Could I borrow the car?" "Of course," I say, "The keys are on the kitchen dresser. Will you be long?" "Be back for lunch," he says, returns my smile and leaves. Four days since he arrived unexpectedly. Four days and he has hardly left the house – hardly left my side. What does he want of me? If I work in the kitchen, he asks, "Can I help?" If I say, "No," he sits at the table watching me, making desultory conversation. If I work in the studio he sits there, just gazing at my work – or is it me? I don't understand what he wants and dare not ask, because whatever his answer I know I shall be devastated. I get on with my painting. Yes, it is a tree. It is even a tree you will recognise if you know our inland arid regions. There you will see a solitary tree struggling for survival in a vast plain of salt bush. My tree on the canvas is bare and bent, cringing away from unendurable heat in a mighty dust storm. It is stark, naked and twisted by the harsh elements it is constantly exposed to. I began this work the day he arrived. He is, like me, an artist. He will be able to read my work, and know that it speaks of my inner chaos. Does he know from whence that chaos derives? Please don't let him know this, for I could not support his abhorrence of me. I work not noticing the time pass. I hear the car approaching. He has returned. I must prepare some lunch. I go to the kitchen as he walks in through the back door. He smiles, so I smile back. "I must have stayed away a long time," he laughs. "Did you know Ted finally married Sandra and they've got a baby." I say to him, "No, I don't get over to Granite Hill, and haven't seen or heard anything of Ted since you went away." For some reason, the mention of a baby sets me off. I feel my nipples stiffen and there is wetness at the top of my legs. It takes such a little thing to arouse me when he is present. I can't go and relieve myself now. It must wait until after lunch when I can pretend to go to my bedroom for a "little nap." I start to prepare lunch. I try to make conversation. "What's Ted doing these days?" "He bought the garage at Granite Hill. Seems to be doing all right. I never thought him and Sandra would get together, but they seem incredibly happy. Beautiful girl, they've got." The thought of another's happiness intensified my own misery. He goes on, "They've called her Rebecca. Nice name, sort of sexy, somehow." "Rebecca was the name of a beautiful girl in the bible," I say. "She was loved by Isaac, and they got married." He laughs and says, "Well let's hope Ted's beautiful Rebecca finds an Isaac to love her, one day." We eat in silence. We finish and he says, "I'll clear up. You go and have a rest." I go to my bedroom and manage to give myself some release from the tension. I sleep for a while, then return to my work. I am alone for a while, but now he comes in to sit and watch. I want him to go, and I want him to stay. I don't know what I want. In his presence, my landscape becomes even harsher. "Why are you so unhappy?" he asks. I play the game of "Whatever do you mean?" "I see it in every line of your painting," he says. "It is the most desolate work you have ever done." "Oh, it's just an ordinary landscape," I say. My stomach lurches and I must struggle to control my shaking. He looks at me, then at my painting, and back at me again, and says, "Hmm." He leaves me. Alone, I have to sit down. I am quivering all over as if I am sick. Tears of self-pity well up in my eyes. I don't know how to pray. I gave up that "superstition" long ago, but I want to pray now. I try. "Please, don't let this go on. Please, please, take this away from me. I have suffered enough. Suffered all the years of loneliness and this anguish of desire. I have fought it and shall go on fighting it, but if you can do all things, then make me not to feel any more." I finish and feel ridiculous. I stop work and leave the studio. Wandering aimlessly, I go out through a little gate in the back fence that leads to a field and beyond the field a small coppice. One of the gum trees catches my eye. I must have seen it hundreds of times before, but now its shape fascinates me. It is tall and straight, its limbs reaching upwards towards the sun. Its leaves move slightly in a gentle breeze, flashing in the way of gum leaves, grey-green and silver. I think of the desolate tree on my canvas, the portrayal of my own inner strife, and long to be as the tree I now stand before, flourishing and at peace. I turn back to the house and re-enter my studio. He is there, staring at my painting. As I enter, he moves to face me. There is a strained look about him. I do not know what to do or say. We stand looking at each other, then he moves. He comes towards me and lifts me in his arms and carries me to the old couch in the corner. I can feel his hard manhood pressing against me and I know what he is going to do. I must fight, I must protest, but he is strong and my throat is dry. I struggle, but he lays me on the couch and undoes my painting smock. I am naked beneath it. I see his penis as he lowers himself between my legs. I manage to cry out. "No, don't, you mustn't do this to me. Please don't." I beg him not to, but he is too powerful for me. I feel him against my opening and cease crying out. I pray again. "If I go to hell for it, let me have him just this once. Let the longing be over, I want him so badly – have wanted him for so long. Please, just this one time." He has entered me and I am overwhelmed with exultation. I hear my voice crying out, "My love… my darling… so long…do what you want with me." I wrap my legs round him, screaming for him to fertilise me, to fill me up, to make me a whole woman again. I feel his need – the need I have never been sure of and did not dare challenge. Now his urgency presses in on me, deeper and deeper and he pours himself into me, and as he does, I hear my own shrieks of ecstasy. "Oh, God for how long have I waited for this moment?" We are still. I know what follows. He is a man and he will be as all men are. He will withdraw from me and turn away. Like many he may be disgusted and hasten to leave. Having spent his passion, he will no longer want to be in physical contact. (He will be like that other one who spoke of love when he desired me, but expressed rejection in every fibre of his being when he was glutted. He fled from me when I told him I carried our child.) He does not move. Why does he not move? Why does he remain inside me, slowly slackening? He has not spoken from the time I entered the studio. Now he speaks. "Mother, you can't know how much I love you and have wanted you." I try to speak, to tell him of the long agony of my desire for him, but all I can choke out is "My love." He is lifting me in his arms again. What is he doing? Where is he taking me? I have no will or desire to resist. The barrier broken down, I long for him to do with me what ever he wants, for what he wants is also my longing. The bedroom! He lays me on the bed and comes beside me, gently caressing my breasts. He speaks loving words to me softly. "I shall never leave you again mother. I shall stay here and work with you. It has been so long and I've wanted you so passionately. I kept away for as long as I could, but I had to come home and find out. Now I know." We both know and are safe in our love for each other. He is taking me again so tenderly, so slowly. The fullness of physical love, the multitude of explorations that sexual ardour offers and demands, lies ahead for us. This tenderness is sufficient now, and is restoration – like the rain that comes to our arid plains and makes them alive with flowers and brings the naked tree to leaf. The Naked Truth Charlene didn't know why her world changed, only that it did. It was Saturday, and her tennis lesson wasn't going well. Franco was an excellent coach, she knew he was, but for some reason her wrist would not listen to him, twisting a bit on each stroke. This was having a deleterious effect on her accuracy, and it was damned frustrating! Franco scolded her again, mocking in tone. "Charlene, you are a beautiful woman, but your swing is not so beautiful." You fucking arrogant prick! He took several effortless steps to intercept her ball, and smacked it back over the net, to the corner opposite her own. Without thinking, something in her decided she was going to get this one, no matter what. Legs pumping furiously, she launched herself across the court to intercept the yellow-green sphere she'd learned to hate this year. Her strides took her amazingly close, and then she knew with certainty she was going to make it, this time. Arms outstretched, her hand swinging back, sweat flying off in hot little bursts, she put everything she had into a single, concentrated burst of power meant to launch the ball back over at Franco and wipe that smug little European grin off the bastard's face. Her lips curled back in a snarl and she strained every muscle-- And now her head was on fire, the back of her skull percolated with needles seemingly slammed into her head with great force by some invisible club. Her knees crumpled, knocking her on her ass, the racket and ball lost to her now, flung far and wide. She felt more pain; knees, shins, elbows: the fall scraping her flesh off in wide red patches. But nothing compared to the hot, ripping sensation at the top of her neck. A nerve in her tongue, of all places, was pulsing wildly, and when Franco vaulted the net to come to her aid, she couldn't speak through its thickness. The last thing she saw as the black, sparkly patchiness in her eyes took her under was the girl, standing naked as the world made her, looking down at her with concern. The naked girl with her own face. *** "It was probably a miniature stroke," Hansen was explaining. "Which is rare, but not unheard of for women in their mid-twenties. Your grandmother died of a stroke, didn't she?" "She was eighty-seven," Charlene replied, defiantly. Dr. Hansen took no offense; patients resenting their medical conditions were as old as the medical conditions themselves. "Yes, she was, but you're under a lot of stress, and that can accelerate deterioration of blood vessel walls. Not to mention raise your blood pressure." This from a guy with a beer belly and smokers' teeth. Charlene couldn't-- no, wouldn't-- accept this criticism from such a man. Especially since she could see his naked twin standing beside him. Like everyone, including herself. At first, waking to see the nurse leaning over her charts, she'd assumed it was delirium that thrust upon her the image of the large black woman with pendulous breasts jiggling insanely next to her more appropriately-dressed counterpart, and her incoherent inquiry to the nurse about the extra visitor was giggled away as side-effects from the tranquilizers in the IV drip. But as the hours had passed, her own simulacrum... partner... extra her... whatever... steadfastly refused to return to whatever chemical oblivion she arose from. The Charlene with no clothes on had merely looked at her with concern, and stroked her brow with insubstantial fingertips, always standing at her side. As hours turned to days, Charlene had seen more of these entities-- countless more. Every person who entered her room, from medical residents to coworkers who'd visited her... everyone, without exception, had an unclothed replica which walked beside them, never speaking, just tending their material mate. And the mysterious replicas seemed as invisible to each other as they were to their (owners? mates? prototypes?); at one point, the flower deliveryman's doppelganger had bumped into the day-shift nurse's, and then both shades continued on their way undaunted. Though the (real, solid) nurse had looked pointedly at the deliveryman a half-second after it happened... Something had passed unseen there, evidently, but Charlene was damned if she knew what. The IV drugs had made her content, preventing her from insanely demanding of every person in the room what the fuck was going on. By the time Dr. Hansen had made his way into her room to discuss her case, she'd accepted the duplicates as almost normal. "I want you," he continued, "to take several weeks off work. At least." She objected, strenuously. He raised his hands, fending this off. "No, I talked to your boss; she was here while you slept, and inquired about your condition. I told her my recommendation, and she concluded that it would be best for the company if you returned at the top of your game, rather than limping. I can't make you stay home," he said with a smile, "but I suspect she can." His naked partner smiled blandly, patting him on the shoulder. "You had no right." Her fury was tempered by the glowy juice from the drip, but not by much. Now that bitch Gwynneth would finish the ACAPA project and take all the credit for it, no less for taking it up and excelling in an "emergency" situation. Dr. Hansen didn't like the look in her eyes, but duty compelled him to continue. "I'm also prescribing Zolutac, which is the stuff in the drip there; it's a mild muscle relaxant and sedative. Your nurse will fill you in on the details. Not only will it help keep you stress-free, I think you'll find you don't want to do anything physical-- which is good, as you need to rest." His image was looking agitated now, and tapping Hansen's jacket pocket. The doctor glanced down at the pocket, his look slowly matching that of his other self, and he got to his feet. "I'm recommending your release tomorrow." He patted her on the hand, and as he bent, she saw what was in his pocket: a packet of cigarettes. And then she knew, with real poignancy, that he was going to have a smoke-- that his unseen shadow had been influencing him, somehow, like the incarnation of his urges. Before he was even out the door, she was laughing at the absurdity of it all. Her mirror image smiled at her benevolently and stroked her hair without moving a strand. *** The Zolutac went straight into the trash as soon as she got home. Damned if she was going to be doped up for the next two weeks. She'd called Deborah immediately, but her superior had confirmed Hansen's story: she was taking a paid leave of absence, whether she liked it or not. "Relax," said her boss gently over the phone, "and have a good time away from this place." A line had appeared between her twin's knitted brows, forehead wrinkling, and Charlene had a sudden urge to kick the phone. After she hung up, she succumbed to the urge, and the insubstantial Charlene smiled grimly as the phone's receiver keys emitted a cacophony of tones. Charlene matched the facial expression. Yeah, sister. I'm with you there. Fuck this, she said voicelessly to the Other. I'm not sitting around the house this week. I'm going up north to the condo. Her newly-discovered companion nodded at her, words unspoken but implication clear: Let's do it. *** The drive north was several hours long, but the scenery more than made up for it. Both she and her silent friend gazed happily at the trees which lined the side of the road. Her condominium was on the shore of the east bay, and as she unpacked her bags and dragged them to the front door, she breathed deep of the cooler near-lake air. Delicious. Too bad her buddy wasn't carrying her share of the luggage, she thought, but then both clothed and unclothed versions of Charlene giggled and realized that she already was. Compulsive nudists pack light. There wasn't much food in the pantry; she hadn't had enough time up here this year to accumulate a decent stash. There would have to be grocery shopping later. She crashed onto the living room lounge chair. Fortunately, she'd grabbed a sandwich an hour ago, so the need was not urgent. Other needs, though, were starting to become manifest. Other-Charlene was looking at her mischievously, and reached down to touch her through her panties. There was no real contact made, and nothing had actually happened down there yet... but gradually, Charlene found herself wanting something to. You're right, she silently told her Other. It has been a long time... The material Charlene kicked off her shorts, eliciting a wry smile from the Other, who had stopped stroking her as soon as she'd gotten the desired effect. Material fingers took the place of phantom ones, and she teased herself with slow pressure through the cotton panties, her observer beaming at her with approval, before eventually discarding the moistened undergarments. She could better access her pussy, now, and that made all the difference as her folds engorged and transitioned from damp to wet and she sank into her own familiar rhythm. The woman with her face, watching avidly, mimicking perfectly the stroking of her clitoris, did not seem to Charlene as unnatural, or in any way out of place. She's always been here, Charlene thought. Especially when I'm hungry, or horny, or... her thought process trailed off as her strokes quickened. She dipped a finger inside her cunt and withdrew it to smear the lubrication onto her lips and clit, making a delicious-feeling near-puddle in her lap, and then she was squeezing her clitoris between middle- and ring-fingers, and she could see that Other-Charlene was ready to come and then the Other kissed her right in her pussy and suddenly from her hindbrain a wash of hormones poured down her neck and filled her every corner with electricity. "Mmmmmm…" she vocalized, her breathing slowing. "Thank you." Other-Charlene looked pleased, and began to stroke her forehead. You're right, she thought, this would be an excellent time for a nap. Grabbing the green cotton throw, she closed her eyes and dropped off into slumber. Her ethereal duplicate looked on in satisfaction. *** Groceries were postponed; by the time she woke it was already dinnertime, and her companion was rubbing her stomach in an insistent and unpleasant way. I know, I know... There was nothing for it but to head into town to find a restaurant. She re-dressed; then, grabbing the keys, held the door for her shadow in mock-politeness and headed out the door. She wasn't sure of her destination, but apparently Other-Charlene was, because as soon as they hit Main Street, she pointed towards 3rd Avenue, and continued to guide the driver to Ember House. Which did, in fact, sound wonderful tonight. Not that Charlene was surprised. Ember House was spacious, with good entrees and freshly-baked breads to die for. There was a live band, and though late at night it grew somewhat dark and smoky, this early in the evening sunset cast its light across the tables and couples were eating, not dancing. The hostess seated her in a corner, where she had a decent view of the whole establishment. It was an odd view, actually. Twice as many people as usual, half of them nude and one half oblivious to the other. Except for Charlene, not one material person seemed to take any notice of their own (or anyone else's) Other. The waitress arrived, and she gave the girl her order-- grilled chicken and the house au gratin dish-- quietly observing the girl stretching and yawning as NakedWaitress touched her eyes in exhaustion from the long day. She had to admit it was novel to compare the outward facade with... the naked truth, so to speak. The business guy over by the bar with the slicked-back hair and Armani suit had a twin with considerably less hair on his head, and too much on his back. She shuddered. The woman sitting next to him wore a low-cut blouse that he peered down, from time to time, but observing her Other revealed that much of what she displayed was an enhancement of some kind-- including her hair color, which was definitely not blonde. And while his avatar looked very interested, even blatantly turned on-- most men's were plainly erect, truth be told; why was she not surprised?-- hers looked bored, and the woman kept glancing at her watch whenever her Other touched her wrist. The gentleman at the adjacent table, now, resembled his twin perfectly; light hair with a peaceful demeanor and half-lidded blue eyes, gently scanning the room. His apparition was, like most guys', comfortably aroused, and she found himself examining him very carefully. More carefully still as Other-Charlene touched her breasts a bit, before stroking her between the legs again. In the middle of dinner? she thought at her match, but the naughty clone of her brushed away at her stomach as if to banish the hunger. And it was working; she was getting hungrier for something else. She stared some more at the man's cock (his twin's, really, but did it matter?), feeling her nether regions slowly growing warm in response to Other-Charlene's touch, when something very odd happened. As she became fixated on the shape of him, and imagined the feel of it, her duplicate suddenly turned around and, with widened eyes, looked directly at the man's ghostly companion. To Charlene, this seemed wrong, somehow, and she could see the confusion on the face of Other-Charlene, even as she could sense the... fascination at finding someone else on her plane of existence, someone other than her twin? The Others didn't normally notice each other, but she could tell by the way Other-Charlene licked her lips that she was taking serious notice of her new discovery. Her Other walked over to his, and looked down at his manhood, fascinated. Her eyes glowed with delight, and it was evident she knew what she wanted to do with it. The moment Other-Charlene grabbed his cock, the Other-Man turned this way and that, in confusion. It was apparent he couldn't see her, but he sure as hell could feel what she was doing. Apparently she could speak to him in some way, too, though Charlene couldn't hear a word. At the same time, the more material half of their team had locked gazes with Charlene, and it was becoming obvious by the growing, mischievous smile on his face that he was of like mind with his Other. For that matter, Charlene wasn't indifferent to what hers was doing. In fact, she tingled with every stroke her Other half delivered. She stood up, headed for the restroom, beckoning to her Other. Her Other grinned, and whispered into the ear of his, as she guided the quasi-blind apparition after her material half. The man's eyes glazed over, and he stood up and followed the others to the restroom. Charlene, the heat rising in her loins, chose the first door she came to; it was the men's room. She waited while the Others and the enthralled man walked in, then flicked the lock shut on the door. She needed this, she told herself. It had been too long since she'd had a man inside her, and even if that wasn't exactly true the looks she was getting from her Other decided the matter for her. She looked pointedly at Other-Charlene, and the nymphetic ghost smiled lasciviously, nodded, and whispered something in her male counterpart's ear. Charlene, pressed up against the sink by the intensity of the man's obedience to the whispers of her Other, felt his (real!) cock through his slacks, and watched in unconcealed eagerness as he yanked down her shorts and tore her panties in one sharp movement. Now his tongue was dancing on her clit, as her Other's voice was dancing in his mind, and he knew (oh, he knew!) exactly where to flick her and taste her and suck her, because her desires were going directly into his head by way of their Other companions. When she needed him inside her, he knew that, too; and exactly how she liked it (hard, with her legs around his neck!), and how long she demanded he last… *** Back at work, finally, after her weeks off, Charlene felt much more relaxed. She got into her office, and kicked off her pumps, resting her feet on the cooling smoothness of the floor. Her Other half looked amused, resting against the desk. Charlene was extremely glad she'd spent the time up north. Dennis, as her restaurant lover was named, was very knowledgable in all sorts of ways, and apparently Other-Charlene was able to wield considerable influence over his own twin on how to apply that knowledge. It didn't seem to go both ways, though; Other-Dennis couldn't see Other-Charlene, he could only respond to the things she made him want. Mmmm… that made her think of some of the things she'd made him want... She noticed that Other-Charlene was getting ready to touch her pussy again. Unfortunately, Deborah chose that moment to walk in, her naked (and quite beautiful, really) Other trailing along. She greeted her employee, and welcomed her back, but Charlene noticed that Other-Charlene had some other ideas, now. Other-Charlene had made her way over to Other-Deborah, crept up behind her, and started whispering. Stop! That's my boss! Charlene projected mentally to the lithe mischief maker who wore her face, but Other-Charlene just smiled and winked at her, placing her tongue firmly in the ear of Other-Deborah. And when Deborah stopped mid-sentence, kicking the door closed behind her with a long leg, Charlene found she didn't really object to the outcome. The Naked Truth I sighed as I pulled the car in the driveway. Another day another dollar but work had been especially stressful tonight. I shut off the ignition and just sat for a moment, looking at the dark house, realizing that Brad had already gone to bed. Happy Valentine's Day. Brad is a man's man, a quiet man, and a good one. He works on cars, farms, and watches TV. That's all, really. I knew that when we got married and I feel a little ashamed now to nearly hate the way we've become. Boring. Stale. Hell, even to say we were just above platonic might be giving us more credit than we deserve. We have sex once a month, maybe. When we do its rub here, lick there, insert A into B, and...we're done. I can barely stand the excitement. We've been married for 8 years, I thought. Eight years of last-minute gas station chocolates, hastily picked roadside flowers, and almost no romance. I don't know why I thought this year would be any different. After all, he doesn't see the way I ache for him to look at me the same way he did when we were dating, or the way I cherish even the simplest of touches, or the way I cry sometimes when I just can't take the indifference anymore. It had been different when we first got together though, at least a little. I could actually see his temperature rise when he looked at me, his hand would caress the small of my back as he passed behind me in a casual caress, and he had showed the smallest bit of passion, which I mistakenly had though was a promise of bigger and better things. I gathered up my stuff and stepped out of the car, into the chilly night, and shivered. It was all I could do to keep walking toward the house. One of the broodmares nickered at me from the pasture. I glared at her. Sure, she only got laid once a year but I had seen them breed. It was all lust and excitement and passion. Not, "Hey, babe. You wanna do it?" I stopped and breathed, watching my breath steam out in clouds and looked up at the star filled sky. I was suddenly filled with the urge to run. Brad might never know. I could tell him that I had to work late. The bar in town was full of perverts who just might be what I needed to make it a few more years with barely any sex and little displayed affection. My shoulders slumped. My hair looked awful, thrown into a hasty pony tail, its normal wavy sable locks grown stringy with sweat and fatigue. I probably smelled, had on next to no makeup, and I couldn't go anywhere in my scrubs. Yeah, I just might as well go in the house. I stepped into the laundry room and plopped my bags down on the dryer. Stripping down to bra and panties, like I do every night since the kids are already in bed, I dropped my worn uniforms into the basket. When I opened the door and stepped into the kitchen I stopped in my tracks, completely confused. Candles were lit everywhere. The countertops, the stove, the coffee and end tables, all were littered with candles. A trail of red rose petals started at the laundry room door and led into the living room, the scent of them rising to confuse me further, the texture of them caressing my feet. My first thought was, Oh My God! Someone has broken into our house! Then I saw the note, in Brad's handwriting, propped up on the bar. "Follow the path" I bit my lower lip. Had he had a head injury today? My mind was still convinced this was a trick of some sort but my body had already begun to respond. I felt my nipples tighten and my areolas shrink, my breasts felt softer and heavier with unaccustomed arousal. Moisture and heat bloomed between my legs. I tentatively took a few steps into the kitchen and realized, with open mouthed shock, that the house was completely clean. No dishes waiting for me in the sink, no dirty socks by his recliner, no toys and shoes clogging up every inch of floor space, waiting for me to pick it all up. It must be snowing in hell. I continued my trek, staying on the rose petals simply because they felt so good on my bare soles. The path led out of the living room, down the hall, and into the bathroom. There I found candles lit on the surface of the vanity and at all four corners of the tub. Steam rose from the water in the tub while generous bubbles threatened to overflow its top. More rose petals were sprinkled on top of the bubbles. Soft music played from the portable CD player sitting on the floor. Another note was taped to the mirror. "Bathe. You have thirty minutes." He didn't have to tell me twice. I nearly ripped my undies in my haste to get them off, followed by the bra and pony tail holder. I eased myself into the tub, hissing a bit at the temperature of the water, but feeling my muscles relax as I sank into the heat. I actually moaned a little as I settled in, startling myself. The scent of the rose petals and the bubble bath was like ambrosia to my nose. I closed my eyes and descended under the water completely. When I surfaced I realized that the bathroom door had been shut. I relaxed, closing my eyes and just feeling the heat of the water work on my body. I slid my hands over my water slicked skin and cupped my own breasts, squeezing them softly, causing my nipples to draw up and beg for attention. I touched them lightly, tracing wet circles around both of them, teasing myself before rolling them between my fingers, pinching and pulling in gentle caresses. I felt the answering pull between my legs and felt my pussy throb with desire and need. How much time had passed? I didn't know but I wanted to wash my hair and shave before my time was up. I sat upright in the tub and reached for the shaving cream and razor. When I was done with them, I pulled the plug and started the shower head, washing my hair with more speed than I think I have ever exhibited on that particular task. I stepped out of the tub after a final rinse and dried myself, wrapping my hair in a towel. My favorite lotion had been placed just beside the sink and I slathered it on, taking care to get every inch of skin that I could reach. Unwrapping my head, I toweled it as dry as possible and combed it out, a chore that usually takes awhile as it reaches my waist, but tonight I literally ripped through it in anticipation of what was coming next. I had just put my comb away when I heard my husband's voice through the door. "Elizabeth? Close your eyes." I did, immediately. I was suddenly shy as I heard the door open. It was absurd, this man had seen me naked for eight years, but I had to bite my lip to keep from covering myself with my hands. His callused hands touched mine and he drew me forward into his arms. I shivered violently as he ran his hands up and down my sensitive skin, starting at my shoulders and ending at my ass, caressing my whole back. I had always loved this, loved to be petted and stroked, especially by his work-roughened hands. I arched into him, pressing my breasts into his chest, and feeling his bare erection on my belly. A gasp escaped me. He chuckled lowly and the sound sent tingles anew all over my body. "Keep your eyes closed." He took both of my hands in his and led me out of the bathroom and into the hall. We walked slowly back into the living room. "Keep your eyes closed. Tonight is for you. Relax and enjoy yourself. The kid's are at my moms. We have all night. Only one rule. Do what I tell you to." I nodded mutely. I was so starved for attention and so horny at this point that I probably would have shot roman candles out of my ass if he wanted me to. A few steps forward and he stopped me. I heard him move and then he put one arm behind my knees and the other behind my back, literally sweeping my off my feet. He's a big man, around 6'3" and 240 lbs. I felt petite cuddled next to his chest even though I am 5'8" and around 180lbs. Give or take 5. He leaned over and placed me on something soft and ...inflated? Oh, it was the air mattress from when we went camping, although now it had something plasticky covering it. "Turn over onto your stomach." I rolled over and then scooted back a bit, centering myself in the middle of the mattress. I again felt shy. I felt insecure about my ass, my thighs, the small mole on my left butt cheek, all of it. I also felt a little apprehensive. I hoped that he wasn't going to do anything too weird. Although, at this point... I gasped as warmth flooded my back. A second later, his strong hands began to rub, smoothing the oil across my skin. I moaned aloud as he caressed me, massaging my back and shoulders with sure, deep strokes. He left nothing untouched from the tops of my shoulders to the crack of my ass, down both of my sides and he even rubbed my neck. I was nearly incoherent with pleasure already. My body had relaxed to the point of noodlism. His hands cupped my ass, his big thumbs rubbing each cheek. "Have I ever told you how much I love your ass? It's the perfect shape. Sometimes I get hard just looking at it." The mattress shifted and I felt his tongue at the top of my crack, flicking the sensitive skin, dipping between the folds. "Ahhh!" I couldn't stop the noise that escaped me. He had never done anything like this before. He had never talked to me like this before. My head swam and I felt overwhelmed with the sensation. He chuckled again, that sexy low chuckle that invariably made me hot. "You like that?" I nodded and panted, "Yes!" He continued his ministrations on my behind, rubbing and stroking my cheeks with his oil slicked hands, daring to rub the inside of my crack with oil, brushing my asshole and making me gasp again. The next time he did it, it was a more purposeful and firmer touch. I almost leapt off of the mattress in ecstasy. He had never; I had never, oh my God. He moved down to my legs, spending time massaging them as well, working his way down to my feet. He lingered over the backs of my knees, pressing kisses there, causing me to jolt and moan with surprised pleasure. He rubbed the soles of my feet, caressed my ankles and slid his oil coated finger between each toe. "The first thing I ever noticed about you was your toes. Did you know that?" I mutely shook my head no. "I was under a 76 Nova and you came walking up in those strappy shoes with your toes painted bright red. I was so turned on by your toes alone I almost couldn't get out from under the car, I was afraid you'd think I was a pervert, getting a hard-on at your feet. It was just the sexiest thing, those little toes, screaming red." My eyes pricked with tears. I couldn't believe he even remembered those shoes, or my nail polish, from all those years ago. "Roll over." I did as he commanded, slipping a bit on the slick surface, panting with want. This time he worked his way up from my feet, caressing the insides of my thighs lightly and then with more force, nudging them further apart. He cupped my pussy with one hand, squeezing lightly. Tracing my slit with one finger, he gave a small laugh. "Somebody's wet." He touched all over the outside of my aching, needy mound. I trembled and whimpered, finally begging him. "Please!" He stilled. "Please, what?" The words stuck in my throat. I don't know if I have ever even said the word "pussy" aloud before. I ached with need and he continued my torture with feather-light strokes. "Please, what?" He repeated. "Please touch me!" "Touch you where?" he countered, his tone encouraging and yet rough with arousal. "Between my legs."I could feel each heartbeat in my clit and feel my own juices running down my ass crack. "Where between your legs?" his hand moved to my inner thigh."Here?" "No!" I almost growled with frustration. I knew he wanted me to say it. I shoved my prim and proper side in the dirt. "Please touch my pussy! My cunt! Oh, God!" He thumbed my slit from bottom to top, rubbing crossways on my clit, as I bucked beneath his hands. He sank a finger into my cunt and I almost came. "Christ, you're so wet!" From a distance I could hear a whimpering, panting beast and realized that it was me. The finger inside of me slowly eased out and he gave my clit one last rub before taking his hand away. I protested but to no avail. "It's time to move on." His hands resumed massaging at my hips and worked their way to my belly, and eventually, finally, my breasts. I could feel my nipples standing straight up and imagined what I must look like. Hair everywhere, lips parted, chest heaving, large, dark nipples upright and puckered, legs spread, and pussy dripping. He started much as I had before in the bathtub, small circles around each nipple, teasing and taunting their turgid tips. He suddenly pinched them roughly, making me gasp with shock and heat flood my cunt. He immediately began rubbing lightly again. He gave my nipples his undivided attention, rubbing, stroking, pinching, pulling, rolling, and eventually, licking and sucking. He incorporated just a little pain here too. He alternated between licking and sucking and nibbling just enough to pinch. I had long given up trying to understand what was happening. He had never, ever, ever, behaved like this before. I had never felt so worshipped, so sexy, in my life. I was just going to shut off my brain and enjoy this. I could feel his hard cock against my legs but when I tried reaching for it he backed away out of my reach. I frowned. "No, babe. Tonight is about you." He paused. "Touch yourself." My mouth fell open a little. "Touch...myself?" "Start with your nipples. That's it, that's good. Rub them. Just like that. God damn, you are so sexy. Pinch them for me. Oh, yeah. That's right, right there. Don't hold it in, baby. If you want to make noise, make some noise. We're all alone. Yes, like that. I love that sexy little moan thing you do when you're just starting to let go. Flick your nipples. Just like that. Ok, cup your titties, push them together. That looks so fucking hot." The mattress shifted and I felt his reposition down at the end between my feet. A second later I heard him start stroking himself and was again surprised. The thought of him watching me play with myself and touching himself was intoxicating. I felt like the sexiest woman alive. "Spread your legs open more. Good girl. Slide your hands down, all the way down. I want you to open your pussy for me, show it to me. God, that's beautiful. You're all pink and wet. Rub you clit with your middle finger. Oh, you like that. Does it feel good? That's it baby, move your hips. Stop! Put your middle finger inside now, all the way, slowly. Finger yourself with it, slowly though. Now your index finger too. You're so juicy; I can see how horny you are. No, slow down. Why are you saying please? You want to come? When you come, baby, it'll be with me." He crawled up between my shaking legs and pushed my hands away. I was almost mindless with need at this point, grasping his hair and shoving his head between my legs. I felt that chuckle right up against my clit. He lightly blew across my swollen, aching nub, making me cry out. He spread open my cunt lips further and slowly, oh God, so slow, began to give me long, deliberate licks. My hips ground into the mattress, frantic to fuck. He teased my clit and tortured the insides of my lips with his tongue. I moaned loudly as he pushed my legs upward and then lifted my ass with his hands, using this advantageous position to slide his tongue in and out of my dripping snatch. I was almost weeping as he increased the tempo, tongue fucking me with a wildness and passion that I didn't know he had. Suddenly, he spread my ass cheeks and licked a trail from my pussy to my asshole, laving the latter with his tongue. "Ohmygod! Ohmygod!" It felt so good. Color exploded inside of my brain like the pleasure I felt was dyed with purples and blues and yellow. His tongue probed gently, prodding my tight hole with slick strokes. I felt extremely drunk, intoxicated with a feverish delight. He alternated back and forth, tonguing first my pussy, then my ass. I moaned and rocked, feeling as though I might literally shatter into a thousand pieces. I came when he moved up to suck on my clit, screaming and almost sobbing with the force of my release, legs jerking and shaking as he kept sucking lightly. When I finally quieted, he lowered my ass and then grasped my ankles, rolling my limp body onto my stomach. He pulled my hips up and back, positioning me on my knees, my ass sticking up in the air. He ran a finger down my ass crack, laughing softly as I moaned and spasmed when he got to my asshole and my cunt. My pussy was dripping; I could hear the drops of juice fall onto the plastic covering the mattress. Strong hands gripped my hips and I felt the head of his cock pressing against my swollen opening. "Push up onto your hands." My arms felt like wet noodles but I did as he said. As soon as I did, he plunged into me, making me cry out with shock and pleasure. I felt him deep inside, deeper than ever before. He pulled out slowly and then slammed his cock into my cunt. His hands gripped my hips tightly and he pulled me back to meet his hard thrusts, fucking me with wild abandon. His balls slapped my exposed clit, sending ricochets of ecstasy throughout my body. I was overwhelmed with excitement and hearing his meaty thrusts meet my juicy cunt was almost enough to make me come again. The pace slowed and Brad began to gather up my hair at the base of my neck. When he had it gathered into a low pony tail, he began fucking me hard again, using my hair to hold onto. It wasn't painful exactly, it being gathered up the way it was, and it was a heady feeling to be so controlled. I whimpered with joyful enthusiasm, my hands curling into fists, desperate for something to grab onto. "You like that?" He growled behind me. "Yes! God, yes!" I loved it, cross my clit and hope to die. "You like it when I fuck you like this?" "Yes!" Our oil slicked bodies slammed into each other with a violent passion that I had only previously fantasized about. I could feel his cock stroking so deep he was hitting my womb, his heavy balls slapping my pussy as he thrust. His hand gripping my hip shifted and his thumb rubbed my asshole, causing me to buck and cry out. It just felt so good; I was so sensitive there, besides the fact that it was taboo and naughty. "You like that don't you?" I whimpered in response. "Tell me what you like." "I like it when you fuck me!" I burst out, determined that he wouldn't have to ask me twice this time, terrified that he'd stop if I didn't answer. "Good, what else?" "I...I love it when you touch my ass like that. It feels so good." The hand on my ass disappeared and I groaned with its sudden abandonment. A moment later, lukewarm oil poured down my crack, soaking my asshole, cunt, and his cock instantly. The hand returned to stroking my asshole and the fist in my hair tightened. He slowly began to rub right at the opening of my hole, easing just the tip of his finger inside. I drove back against him with mindless need while he played with my ass. His finger tip was pushing in and out with the rhythm of his thrusts, going in a little more each time until he had his entire finger in my ass, fucking it just as fast and hard as he was fucking me. He eased a second finger inside and I shrieked with multipleasured bliss. "That's it baby! Come for me!" He extended more effort; his harsh breathing a testament to his exertion. "I want to feel you come all around me! You feel so fucking good!" It put me over the edge. I felt my pussy clamp tight around his dick and my ass squeeze his plunging fingers as I screamed; a raw, primal scream, full-throated and careless of inhibition. A second later his own noise, caught somewhere between a growl and a roar, joined my own and I felt his hot cum spurting deep inside of me. My arms gave out and my top half slumped onto the oily mattress. My pussy was giving off little aftershocks of satisfied approval, squeezing his cock inside. Our jagged breathing was the only sound, each of us shattered with exhaustion and pleasure. He slowly pulled out, his hot cum spilling out with him, running down my pussy lips to drip onto the mattress. I slowly collapsed, easing my knees out and wilting onto my stomach. The mattress moved under me and I felt his warm body beside mine a moment later. His large, rough hand caressed my back and he laughed as I shivered head-to-toe. The Naked Truth Our breathing slowed, and my heartbeat returned to normal although I could still feel a reminder throb in my clit. "You can open your eyes now." I cracked one eye open to find him propped up on one elbow, staring at me with a look of smug satisfaction. "Wha..." I tried. I licked my lips and swallowed. "What...? His green eyes closed for a minute and he looked to be trying to find the right words. "Don't be mad. I read your journal." "What!" I said, startled. "I didn't even know that you knew that I had one." "I didn't," he said, a little sheepishly. "I wanted to make that cheese dip when I was watching the game the other day and had to look through the cookbooks. Imagine my surprise when I found that instead of recipes." I closed my eyes. I had written some pretty blunt things in there, feeling confident that he would never read it. Things that now made me want to crawl in a hole and die of shame too, like how I was curious about anal sex, and how I wondered about the fine line between pain and pleasure, how dirty words made me hot, and how I would sell my soul to have him out of control with lust for me. My eyes burned. I was mortified. "Hey," he said gently, stroking my jaw with his knuckle. "I'm sorry, Liz. I shouldn't have read it. I'm glad I did though. I never knew how you felt. You never said anything. I felt like you weren't...satisfied with me. Us. When we... had sex. So I just stopped trying. I didn't know that you blamed yourself or that you felt like I had lost interest. I believe that I just showed you that I haven't." I remained silent, trying to hold in the tears. Somehow it made it worse that he wasn't mad at me. Instead, he was understanding and gave me this whole special night. And I had written that he was a slob, and unfeeling, and the most passion-less person I had ever met, no matter how much I loved him. A tear ran down my cheek. "Liz, don't. I've never been the type of guy that shows a lot. I love you and I love the kids and I know that I don't say it, or show it, nearly enough. I had no idea that you were upset that we had slowed down...in the bedroom. I knew that we had grown apart but I honestly thought it was something that just happened, you know, because we had been married for awhile. There were so many times when I wanted you, or wanted to let loose and nail you to the bed, but I didn't because I was afraid of what you'd think. When we met, you were teaching Sunday school. I thought, well, I always held back. I thought you thought I was a pervert. I had no clue that you were hiding the same feelings that I was." "Really?" I opened my eyes. He smiled slowly, tracing my lower lip with his thumb. "Really." I rolled onto my side and scooted close to him, tucking my head just under his chin as he wrapped his arms around me. His chest rumbled against my ear as he spoke. "From now on, you are going to have to beat me off with a stick." "Wouldn't that be uncomfortable? Beating you off, with a stick?" I grinned, snuggling in closer. He laughed out loud and squeezed me. "I've created a monster." "Grrr, baby." I bit him on the chest. This time, he was the one that shivered.