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Solitude

By: Katherine English 2



Something in the house was watching me! I could feel it, like tepid fingers that trailed across my skin, only to vanish as my eyes darted to seek the source. 

I stirred in my sleep, the Presence filling my mind as it had so many times since my arrival. The familiar languor of acceptance flowed over me once more, warm and liquid, and I shamelessly parted my legs in welcome, but welcoming... what?

Slowly, almost tentatively it began the same silken caress that had assailed me scant moments before, but this time not of my own hand. Now, a sense of urgency had been added to the plan, a hunger that had been a faint undercurrent only moments before.

My hands lay at my sides, clenching the sheet beneath. What was happening?

I felt my pulse quicken, my breath coming in shallow gasps as my fingers sought the brass rails above my head. A pause, and then I sensed it. Almost weightless it was, but covering my body with seductive ease as it traveled across my skin.

Slowly the coverlet began to curl towards the foot of the bed, the victim of unseen hands, unknown will. I whimpered. It was a dream, just a dream, no more than that! Surely, I would open my eyes and find nothing but the dance of shadows in the moonlight.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

Instead, I arched my back, anticipating what was to come, feeling the slow trickle of passion building between my thighs. My skin prickled, and I felt the hem of my flimsy nightshirt drift above my hips, baring my hungry flesh as it made its way upward to strip the last vestige of modesty from my body.

I sighed, a desperate sound that escaped from a place deep within, then released the head rails as my garment slipped over my hands and floated to the floor beside the bed.

Exposed, so exposed, I felt my nipples harden, an offering perhaps, an uncontrollable response to an unfathomable stimulus. 

Another pause, and then it continued. A lick, a taste, a voracious seduction consumed my straining flesh, a warm, wet assault that captured my senses and caused me to part my thighs even further until the tips of my toes brushed wantonly against the corner posts of the footboard.

Immediately I was rewarded, for in an instant the solitary space below my mound was solitary no longer. Instead, I felt the subtly erotic exploration of (fingers?) parting my moist, trembling petals, opening wide the last bastion of my femininity, invading and conquering my sex with eager intent.

I moaned, softly at first, then shamelessly as the tiny nub of my passion came under assault. A tongue, (What else could it have been?), swirled seductively within my parted slit, driving me to the edges of insanity. Strong hands held me fast as I writhed upon the crumpled sheets, taking what had been offered and demanding more. I cried out in abandonment, my body shaking as I gave myself up.

"No more. No more", I whimpered, humiliated by my weakness, my shamelessness. But I knew there would be more. I knew it...and I wanted it.

Where once had dwelt an unlived life, now lay a brilliant vibrancy that I had never before known. Let there be tonight, and the next, and a thousand nights to come.

Tomorrow was an essay in predictability, lukewarm and staid, a tentative passing of pale monotony. Only in the colorless realm behind my eyelids existed the pulsating reality that I craved. If it was a dream, only a dream, then I longed to remain in the world of shadows forever. 

Let the dream never end.

Chapter One

I bought it sight unseen. 

Isn't that the way things are these days? We gather our cloistered little spaces around us, fill them with technology and then call it life. At least that's how it was for me until I first met Eric online.

He seemed charming from the start, a gentle prince hidden incongruously within a web of salacious perversion. How could I help but be drawn to him? Together we made a whole, yin and yang so to speak, my thoughts in his mind, his words escaping through my lips. Was it any wonder that we decided to meet in the real world?

And so, setting up a time to gather at The Espresso Emporium, I prepared for the momentous occasion. A haircut...no a style...oh hell, why not a perm? A manicure, pedicure and a facial. A make-over, that's what I needed I thought, scanning the dowdy frump that peered back from the stark reality of the bathroom mirror. When was the last time I'd really worked on my appearance?

Forlornly, I evaluated the pale visage in the glass. When had I grown so sallow? My hair, once a sun-streaked mass of vibrant auburn curls, now lay like the nap of an old shag carpet, a product of the intense neglect that become part and parcel of my new career.

I was an author. My first book had sold 10 copies on its first day. By the end of the week, the number had crept up to a modest 29 nationwide. Only the proprietors of those small, odd bookstalls that line the backstreets of college towns had even been aware that I existed. Then had come The Review.

Suddenly I was "brilliant", "inspiring", "Virginia Danvers, our new guide into the world of the paranormal". Sales skyrocketed, and in no time my book was selling more copies than the publisher could print. Book tours took me from whistle-stop to metropolis and back again...and the royalties poured in.

And so, I'd leased a wonderful "perfect 8" in a brownstone on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, overlooking the park, and settled down to craft a sequel. The hours were long, and the work consuming. Days, then weeks went by without more than a fleeting contact with a single living soul. Pizza boxes and empty cartons of Chinese take-out filled my trash receptacle. If not for the occasional cruise on the internet, I would have been closed off entirely, alone in a city of millions.

Then I'd met Eric online.

At first he seemed as reluctant as I to become involved, to offer trust in such an insecure venue, but eventually we discovered the intimate alcoves of each other's minds and knew that our interconnection had outgrown the innocuous maze of wires and space that joined us. We had to meet.

A coffee shop, set in the bustle of Times Square seemed the perfect solution. There, among the safe and impersonal push of humanity we could probe our blossoming relationship without the obligation of commitment or the awkwardness of more intimate solitude. It was perfect!

If I had expected my erstwhile Don Juan to appear in a different shell than that which he had offered in his online profile, then I was perhaps more surprised to find that he hadn't. Instead, if anything, the handsome smile that had graced his profile was even more alluring in person. His voice, now free of internet static, was clear and evocative, something from girlish fantasies and every bit as consuming. I found myself immediately taken in. I had found my soul mate.

We began dating, and the work on my new manuscript slowed to a snail's pace. But, I was happy! Each new day carried a special dawn, an intimate promise of things to come.

That Eric vacillated when I asked for his home telephone number, and offered only a temporary address at the Warwick Inn in Queens seemed unimportant. There were perfectly plausible reasons, I rationalized. I had Eric, and that was all that mattered.

Then came the phone calls.

At first he called each morning to see if I was at home in case he should drop by for a moment. Then the calls escalated to twice and three times per day, with my lover upset if my phone, which was frequently turned off when I was working, was left unanswered. Angry messages began to fill my machine. Paranoid fantasies, enraged accusations, and finally threats began arriving almost hourly. At long last, after a rare trip to the pharmacy for sleeping pills to ease my distress, I returned to find my apartment ransacked, my clothing slashed and my computer all but destroyed. The tape on my answering machine was missing, and I knew who had invaded my apartment. Without proof, however, the police were helpless. I was trapped.

I stayed at home after that, afraid to brave the streets with Eric stalking somewhere beyond. The phone rang incessantly now, but when I grew brave enough to answer, only the solitary click of a distant receiver was to be heard. Finally, even that became too much and I unplugged it for the last time. Only my internet connection remained to kept me sane, but when that too became fraught with constant IM's and threateningly duplicitous e-mails from Eric, the situation became more than I could bear. I should have created a new log-in, a new screen name, but instead I decided to create a new life, a distant one...one without Eric.

And so I bought it sight unseen from an online realtor in Arizona. A cabin in the Tonto National Forest, remote and rustic, devoid of the modern trappings I had come to depend upon so very much. Instead of electric bills, I would have the steady hum of a generator. A private well would provide for my input, and a septic tank for my downloads. A cell phone whose use was limited to an area atop the steep escarpment beyond was my only form of intercourse, and a small manual typewriter my only companion. It was perfection. Eric wouldn't find me there. No one could find me there.

It had been called Mogollon Ranch when it had last been occupied. But that was over 40 years ago and had served a modest trickle of elk hunters on their quest for the perfect rack. Fifty years before that it had been the site of a silver mine, a failed prospect whose only vestiges were the tailings that sat as mute reminders between the cabin and mine access beyond. It was said that there were still mineral deposits to be had there, but the miners had chosen for some unfathomable reason to vanish one spring and never return, and no one had ventured to take their place.

Fifteen hundred years before that, the site had been the home of cliff-dwellers, an ancient tribe of southwest natives whose only local legacies were the petroglyphs and smoke stained caverns that dotted the hillside nearby. They too had vanished and formed the stuff that tales are made of, another legend of the Mogollon Rim country.

The land itself had, in its infancy, been first a seabed then a caldron of volcanic upheaval. That had eventually lead to a geologic fracture of cosmic proportions that had formed a mile-high escarpment, below which my log sanctuary now stood in patient abandon. Now, surrounded by a ponderosa forest that had no earthly place in Arizona, it sat in wait for its next inhabitant. 

Me. 

* * * * *

Chapter Two:

It was cool in the shadow of Mogollon Ranch. Who would have thought it could be so temperate during an Arizona summer? But there it was, a place set aside from both the reason and the insanity of the world about. It called to me, welcomed me...I was home.

The main building itself was a maze of log additions, each of a different vintage and ambience. All, however, were constructed of local timber and native stone, and all had stood the test of time.

On the first floor stood the main hall, a place for greetings and farewells. Its polished pine floors shone with the realtor's efforts on my behalf, and my sparse collection of boxes stood ready and waiting as I passed through the sturdy, peeled log entryway.

To the left lay a large, cozy dining room, and a massive country kitchen beyond. I would have to learn how to cook here, I mused. The only fast food in this place was speedy only by virtue of the legs upon which it ran. But, other people had done it, and so could I. And, if all else failed, I could always make my way down the12 miles of logging trail, then along the 30 miles of fire control road to highway 260, and on into the town of Payson, 20 miles south for help. I had nothing to worry about!

Slowly, I climbed the stairs, noting the vintage craftsmanship that had created the rails and newel posts with such lasting care and detail. At the top, the landing the balcony split to either side, leading to a master bedroom on the left and two lesser rooms that might have served family members on the right.

Quickly, I crossed to the larger of the three and threw open the double windows, welcoming in the pristine, pine-scented air as I staked my claim to the enormous hardwood expanse. The view was incredible. How had this place remained empty for so many years?

A large 4-poster sat in the center of the room, a remnant of better times, and a cobblestone fireplace waited patiently along the outer wall. Smiling, I threw myself atop the vintage featherbed and stretched until I could touch all four posts with my fingers and toes. Then, closing my eyes, I imagined myself a mountain woman of bygone times, waiting for my burley, bearded, backwoods beau to join me.

It was almost as though I could feel his touch, his fingers trailing gently along the side of my cheek. I stretched once more, my feline side rising to the fore, and savored the imaginary caress of my lover.

A sigh. Mine? No, just a wanton figment of imagination!

A delicate breeze ruffled the folds of my blouse, teasing my nipples to attention. Were those my lover's burly hands exploring my eager breasts? I laughed. I'd only been in the cabin for twenty minutes, and already I had invented a lover to satisfy my wayward imagination!

Then, I felt his warm breath pass over me, covering my flesh with delicious goose bumps, and it was all I could do not to respond. But, I had work to do, and flights of fancy wouldn't suffice. So, springing from my new bed I began opening the boxes labeled "bedroom". If nothing else, I would have a comfortable place to sleep tonight.

I spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking and setting my "study" up in the large dining room near the kitchen. Finally, as the sun began to set, I opened a can of corned beef hash and lit a fire in the old wood stove that was to be my culinary companion. Then, taking my greasy repast out to the porch, I settled onto the log swing to watch the forest retire for the night.

A gentle breeze stirred the curls behind my ear, and I thought once more of my imaginary lover. Would he kiss me now? Would his warm, wet tongue find the rising pulse that throbbed along the curve of my throat? Silently, I tipped my head back, and felt his lips, so gentle, so...

What was I doing?! "Save the fantasies for the book", I told myself. "You're going to be here for a long time to come, don't go off the deep end right off the bat!"

Laughing at my silliness, I left the sun to set on its own, and climbed the stairs to my cozy, pine aerie. Once there, I slowly crossed to close the curtains before undressing, and then realized there was no need. No one would see me here, save perhaps a passing elk. I could run naked through the forest, and there would be no one to say me "nay".

Joyfully, I stripped the clothing from my body. Then donning a thin, cotton nightshirt, I piled into my fluffy womb of blankets, turned out the light and curled up to sleep.

It was then I knew...someone was watching me.

Breathlessly, I listened for the creak of floorboards, the muted sighs of another human being, but heard none. Instead, a warm, undeniable sense of desire began to overcome me, so strange under the circumstances, and I felt my body mellow with longing.

Surely, I was alone. Who could possibly be here, breathless in the night, so far from the beaten path! It was my imagination, nothing more.

Again I felt the stirrings of unrequited passion deep in my belly and slowly I slid my hand beneath the covers to the hem of my nightshirt. Then, gently I extended my index finger and dipped it into the growing pool between my nether lips.

I gasped! I knew that people said food tasted better when eaten in the great outdoors, but could that old adage apply to sex as well? I smiled. If that proved to be true, then I had a lot to anticipate in the months to come.

Gently, then with more abandon I began to stroke. I could feel the heat rising from my quivering epicenter and radiating throughout my body. My breath grew labored and my limbs began to quiver. Then, finally, with a whispered moan, the fruit of my labor came flooding into my hand.

A breeze sighed through the room, the muted whispering of a satisfied lover. What's an imagination for, if not to be used, I smiled, and allowed my fancy to wander through the glowing aftermath of passion. How many women had lain breathless in this bed, I wondered. How many men had filled their quivering bodies with passions prize? Was it so terrible for me to share in their aura?

I closed my eyes, lulling myself to sleep...but woke once more with a start!

Something in the house was definitely watching me! I could feel it, like tepid fingers that trailed across my skin, only to vanish as my eyes darted to seek the source. 

I stirred in the darkness, an erotic aura filling my mind as it had so many times since my arrival. The familiar languor of acceptance flowed over me once more, warm and liquid, and I shamelessly parted my legs in welcome...but welcoming... what?

Slowly, almost tentatively it began, the same silken caress that had assailed me scant moments before, but this time not of my own hand. Now, a sense of urgency had been added to the plan, a hunger that had only been a faint undercurrent before.

My hands lay at my sides, clenching the sheet beneath . What was happening?

I felt my pulse quicken, my breath coming in shallow gasps as my fingers sought the brass rails above my head. A pause, and then I sensed it. Almost weightless it was, but covering my body with seductive ease as it traveled across my skin.

Slowly the coverlet began to curl towards the foot of the bed, the victim of unseen hands, unseen wills. I whimpered. It was a dream, just a dream, no more than that! Surely, I would open my eyes and find nothing but the dance of shadows in the moonlight.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

Instead, I arched my back, anticipating what was to come, feeling the slow trickle of passion building once more between my thighs. My skin prickled, and I felt the hem of my flimsy nightshirt drift above my hips, baring my hungry flesh as it made its way upward to strip the last vestige of modesty from my body.

I sighed, a desperate sound that escaped from a place deep within, then released the head rails as my garment slipped over my hands and floated to the floor beside the bed.

Exposed, so exposed, I felt my nipples harden, an offering perhaps, an uncontrollable response to an unfathomable stimulus. Another pause, and then it continued. A lick, a taste, and then a voracious seduction consumed my straining flesh, a warm, wet assault that captured my senses and caused me to part my thighs even further until the tips of my toes brushed wantonly against the corner posts of the footboard.

Immediately I was rewarded, for in an instant the solitary space below my mound was solitary no more. Instead, I felt (his?) increasingly tangible presence parting my moist, trembling petals, opening wide the last bastion of my femininity, invading and conquering my sex with eager intent.

I moaned, softly at first, then shamelessly as the tiny nub of my passion came under assault. A tongue, (what else could it have been?), swirled greedily within my parted slit, driving me to the edges of insanity. Strong hands held me fast as I writhed upon the crumpled sheets, taking what had been offered and demanding more. I cried out in abandon, my body shaking as I gave myself up.

"No more. No more", I whimpered, humiliated by my weakness, my shamelessness. But I knew there would be more. I knew it...and I wanted it.

Where once had dwelt an unlived life, now lay a glowing brilliant vibrancy that I had never before known. Let there be tonight, and the next, and a thousand nights to come.

Tomorrow was an essay in predictability, lukewarm and staid, a tentative passing of pale monotony. Only with the play of shadows behind my eyelids came the pulsating reality that I craved. If it was a dream, only a dream, then I longed to remain in the world of shadows forever. 


Solitude



Stepping in from work she kicks off her shoes, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as she closes the door. Dropping her bags to her feet she steps into her room... a smile crossing her lips as blue eyes gleam, spying what she had laid out on the bed that morning.

She moves to the bed, soft fingers touching the silken bedcover as she glides her hand along it, the tip of her tongue slowly licking her lips as she draws up to the pillows. Lifting her hands she undoes the buttons on her jacket and allows it to fall upon the floor, her satin camisole brushing against her hardened nipples as she reaches behind and unzips her skirt, dropping it about her ankles she steps out of it, a palm running over her thigh as she thinks of the fun she is about to have.

Leaning down, she snakes her body onto the smoothness of the cover, fingers running lightly over satin covered breasts, her nipples reacting instantly to the touch, hard, pert, poking through the thin fabric as she rolls onto her back. A hand guiding its way down her body as she draws her knees apart, tracing the outline of her cuntlips slowly she moans, already wet and gleaming from her thoughts, a finger moves between her lips, toying with her already eager clit. Running it in tiny circles she feels the heat building, her other hand slipping lower, the tip of her finger pressing into her cunt, her juice thick and warm as she slowly slides it inside of her, her back arching as thighs spread wider, forcing them as far as she can, another finger violates her hot, wet hole. Faster she rubs against her clit, cunt juice running down between the cheeks of her ass as she fucks her tight hole with her fingers, her mouth opening in soft moans as her thoughts drift, her craving to be taken like a dirty little slut, forced to fuck and suck, tied helpless as her body is used. Her legs shake as she forces in another finger, her tight cunt stretching, squeezing around them, pushing in and out , harder and harder.

Almost at the edge, she slows, slipping her fingers from the wetness she lifts them to her lips, her tongue lapping against them as they slide into her mouth. Suckling as if they were a tiny cock, she moans at her taste, sweet, warm cuntjuice. Reaching out with one hand as she rolls over, she grabs her vibe. Long, thick, hard she rolls her tongue around the tip, her saliva gleaming as it clings to her toy. Raising up on her knees, head and shoulders pressed down upon the bed, her ass pushing high into the air. Soft thighs spreading, she runs her fingers over her cunt, up and down between her ass cheeks, feeling her slutty wetness. Her hand lifts and moves up behind her, laying the vibe between her rounded ass, sliding it up and down her slit. the soft vibrations hitting her clit as she brings it back down, then making her asshole tighten as she draws it back up. Deep moans heavy in her throat as she presses it against her cunt, not wanting to wait, she drives it in hard and deep. Her body shuddering as she feels it hit the deepest core, fingers pinching and pulling at her nipples, the sweet pain soaring through her body, engulfing her like a heat wave. Harder and faster she pounds her cunt, in her mind being fucked, taken like a whore. She screams out as the first wave of pleasure hits, not slowing she drives it in deeper, riding her pleasure to the fullest as her cunt drips. She drives the vibe in once more, holding it deep inside as the ride eases, heavy breaths, as she trembles. 

Drawing the vibe out she shudders, her body craving the violation, the pleasure that a slut recieves, pushing the tip against her ass she pinches a nipple hard, the pain seering through her as she works the tip into her tight asshole. Whimpering as she feels her ass stretch, filling with every push forward. She wants more, needs more as she forces it deep inside, holding it still while her body calms, her fingers teasing her now bruised nipple. Slowly she starts to work, in and out, feeling every inch inside of her ass, the pace speeding as her hand moves down to her clit. Rubbing, pinching, she pushes her ass higher, her mouth biting into the covers as she works that vibe. Faster, harder, her ass burning, her clit so hard and sensitive, she cries out as she pounds the vibe into her, sweat forming against the silken flesh of her back. She feels the wave start and without mercy , fucks her tight ass. Pounding in and out as she rubs hard against her clit. Screams of pure ecstasy fill the room as she shakes violently, her juice dripping from her cunt as she cums. The vibe forcing deeper, pressing as far in as she can she holds it in, her finger still working her clit as yet another wave consumes her. 

Breathing hard she pulls the vibe from her burning ass and gently rolls onto her back. raising the vibe to her lips she licks, the tang of her taste bringing a smile to her lips as they close around it. Drawing it deep against her throat as she sucks. Cleaning, enjoying being the slut she is... even if it is in the solitude of her room... 



Solitude



Stupid decisions are the result of choosing the less-intelligent option from a group. Often, the individual choices themselves aren't stupid: it's the result that really makes you ask yourself, "What the HELL was I smoking?" 

I am an expert on these types of decisions. For example, I once chose to date a guy who did not possess one iota of intelligence...for eighteen months. In addition, I once ate a hot dog from a street vendor in Beijing. Neither scenario ended positively. 

Last summer, though, I made a very silly decision. In the interest of employment and an adventurous spirit I insist I have, I decided to work at a summer camp in God-knows-where in the Appalachians, teaching small children crafts and archery. 

Let it be known that I hate children, hicks, the outdoors, and mountains. 

Let it also be known that I live about two days away from the Southern United States. 

I decided to drive to the camp a few days before the program started to give myself overnight breaks along the route. I mapped, planned, and booked hotels. I had never felt more responsible. 

However, I realized I had made a stupid decision about eight hours into my trip. My legs were cramping, I was a little lost, the scenery was tiresome and repetitive, and I had to pee. My iPod was boring -- I had not thought ahead, and my play list was sorely lacking in sweet jams. I was out of cell range for most of the trip. I had eaten all of my sandwiches.  

I was about to be away from everything I knew -- my apartment, my family, my friends, my dog, and my boyfriend -- for two months. I was eighteen and scared shitless. 

When I pulled into my first hotel, I checked in ("room for one, please") and dragged my large suitcase up the stairs. I fumbled with the hotel key, opened the door, and stared. 

The room was cozy, but worn down. The wallpaper was peeling where it met the ceiling, and one of the lamps didn't work. The TV looked like it was from 1975. 

But the lamps that did work emitted a soft glow, and the carpet (obviously, the newest thing about the room) was squishy and soft. I threw my suitcase on the spare double bed and flopped on its mate. Mattresses were comfy, I noted. After my long drive, I didn't want to get out of bed.

The silence in the room was deafening. I had never traveled by myself, and I instantly wished my boyfriend was about to burst into the room with his suitcase, muttering about the local folk, and ready to crawl in the bed next to me. 

He wasn't. 

I had never been so alone. 

I felt vulnerable and afraid, having ten hours to myself, with nobody to sleep with, nobody to cuddle with, nobody to talk to.

I did what any girl would do in my situation -- I called my boyfriend. 

"I'm all by myself!" I blurted out when he answered his phone.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, and I could hear the added sexiness in his voice. "What are you wearing?"

I groaned. "This is not one of THOSE kinds of phone calls!" I exclaimed. "I'm scared and alone and I miss you!"

He coughed uncomfortably. "Oh," he said, obviously disappointed. "Why can't you take advantage of that?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"You've never been so very alone before, right?"

"That's the point I'm trying to make! I'm..." 

He cut me off. "So nobody can walk in on you. Nobody will ever find out what you do. You are completely anonymous and uninterruptible."

I pondered this. He had a point. The hotel was barely occupied, and I was in an isolated wing of the building. As far as I knew, there was nobody around to knock on my door, complain, or interrupt in any way. Hmmmm...

"Well..." I conceded he had a point.

"The door is locked and you're tucked away for the night, right?"

"Yes..." I murmured as pathetically as I could.

"You're safe."

Hearing him declare me safe made me feel better. His voice began to melt away my inhibitions, and I started to feel less afraid. 

"I'm safe," I said, more for my own sake than his.

"I'm right."

"I know."

"Now that that's finished..." he cleared his throat, and switched to a deeper, seductive voice that always made me giggle and quiver with excitement at the same time. "What are you wearing?"

I looked in the mirror. I had thrown on a pair of baggy sweatpants (his, from his high school wrestling team) and a bright red shirt with Chinese characters. Not sexy. I was compelled to improvise.

"I'm wearing a tight white T-shirt," I said, lowering my voice to a near whisper. "It's almost see-through...if you were looking at me, you'd see the faint outline of your favorite bra of mine..."

"The red one, with the lace?" he asked, hopefully.

"That's the one. And I have on my skinny jeans, the dark ones that make my ass look so firm..."

"Take off your shirt." He spoke with such authority during our phone sex conversations that I always did what I was told. I felt like if I did not obey, he would know, somehow. 

I put the phone on speaker and threw off my shirt. I was lying in bed half-naked. I was wearing his favorite (and my favorite) bra. The red straps and cups hugged my full chest, and the lace plunged with my cleavage. The red looked so bright against my skin, it looked like fragile porcelain underneath the va-va-voom of the lacy cups. It clasped in the front, bringing my cleavage together so seductively one couldn't help but rip it open. I called it my "Fuck me!" bra. 

"...jeans, too." 

I said nothing, but shimmied out of my baggy sweatpants. 

"What color underwear are you wearing?"

God, I thought to myself, he sounds like such a creeper when he says stuff like that. I had never been completely comfortable verbally undressing myself for him on the few occasions we had phone sex. Whenever we were together, I hid behind the closet door, got naked in a flash, and jumped into bed. All he ever saw was a streak of skin until we were making love. 

"They're red, too..."

"Thong?"

"Mm-hmm." I wasn't improvising -- I really was wearing the matching red thong, with a strip of lace serving as the underwear's behind. They were see-through in the front. I was in the habit of wearing sexy lingerie underneath my sweatpants because my boyfriend was notorious for popping over my house unexpectedly.

"Ooh, the one with the lace in the back...very sexy. Off with those!"

I was now lying on my rented hotel bed naked. I could see myself in the hotel's vanity. I looked exposed and vulnerable. But instead of feeling scared, I felt sexy. 

I lifted my legs up to my chin and parted my legs. I could see the entirety of my sex, and it glistened in the soft light. I was wet! I had been so distracted by my own inhibitions that I hadn't realized how turned on I was. I parted my lips, and my hole was exposed. I shuddered, and I saw my muscles of the entrance twitch slightly. I felt like a sex goddess. 

My revelry was cut short by my boyfriend's voice on the phone. 

"Are you naked?"

"Oh, yeah, and dripping wet," I said, unable to take my eyes off myself in the mirror. I hadn't even touched myself yet, and I was so turned on I could hardly stand it. 

I heard a zipping noise from the phone -- he must be getting naked as well. 

"Why don't you go ahead and play with those long, hard nipples of yours?"

As soon as he gave me the go-ahead to self-love, I smacked my forehead. What was I doing? I had not brought my favorite vibrator with me. I did not think it would have been wise -- I was going to be sleeping with another counselor and eighteen ten-year-olds for the next two months. Where was the time for masturbation?

I had never been able to orgasm without my trusty vibrator, so I did not see the point in working myself up without being able to come. I told this to my boyfriend, who, to my surprise, only laughed.

"Remember that birthday present I gave you before you left?" 

"Yes..." I responded, wondering what that had to do with my current (naked) predicament. My 19th birthday was in two weeks, and my boyfriend had given me his gift the day before. He had never given me anything I couldn't show my mother, though, so I was confused.

"That's not a birthday gift. It's a 'driving in the car to Appalachia for who-knows-how-long' present."

"Why is that a gift-giving occasion?"

"Because you're alone and horny and bored...and since I'm normally your solution for that type of predicament, I wanted to help you out..."

That was all I needed to hear. I jumped out of bed and sprang to tear open my suitcase. Fumbling through the mass of clothes, I found my gift. It was a long, slim, rectangular box, tied with a big bow.

"May I open it now?" I asked eagerly.

He laughed. "Sure, go ahead."

I tore into the package, tearing off the bow and the paper. Inside was the most beautiful sight to my sex-crazed mind. My boyfriend had given the gift of mind-blowing orgasms: the Magic Wand. A "back massager," the object plugged into the wall. The long handle ended in a smooth, round bulb that delivered vibrations measured in hundreds of rpm. This was an orgasm machine, one that I had previously seen only in porn movies. 

My mouth was agape.

"Hell yes!" I shouted into the phone, and I could hear my boyfriend laughing in the background.

"Do you like your present?" he asked playfully.

"Like it?" I exclaimed. "I love it!" I leaned over the side of the bed and plugged in the machine. As I flipped the switch from off to low, the Magic Wand sprung to life. The vibrations were powerful. I ran it down my arm, giving myself a shiver down my spine. 

"Try it out," my boyfriend encouraged.

The mere idea of the vibrator made me wet. I turned off the machine and nestled it between my vaginal lips. The smooth, round head squelched around my clit and slit, and the pressure from the device teased my clit. I switched it to low. 

My body seemed to vibrate right along with the machine. I had never experienced such intense, sudden pleasure in my life. My clit was on fire, and I howled from pleasure. The Magic Wand pounded relentlessly on my most sensitive spots. 

I pushed the wand firmly onto my clit and fell back on the bed, riding the waves of pleasure. I could hear my boyfriend coaxing me to orgasm on the phone, but I couldn't respond with anything more coherent than low moans. I moved the vibrating bulb in a circle, hitting every nerve ending on my bud. My body screamed with pleasure, though I had ceased to make a sound. 

I could hear my boyfriend murmuring dirty words in my ear, as if he were next to me, holding me as I coasted to orgasm. 

"How's it feel, baby?"

"Oh, it feels so good..." I moaned into the phone. 

I heard him grunting, a sure sign that he was pumping his hand up and down his shaft, masturbating to the sounds of my orgasm. I gyrated my hips against the vibrator and spread my legs, pressing the head deeper into my slit.

I sucked on two of my fingers and reached my hands between my legs. Holding onto the phone with my left hand, I narrated my actions to my horny boyfriend.

"The vibrator is so close to me," I said in a near-whisper. "It's pulsating against my clit so fast..."

"Are you close?" he asked, and I could tell he was waiting for me to come to finish himself off. 

"Mmm, yeah. I'm pushing two fingers into my snatch right now..."

"Fuck yourself, baby," he moaned.

I pumped my index and middle fingers in and out my hole. My hand was on top of the vibrator, holding it in place. I could feel my slick wetness as I glided my fingers deeply into myself, grazing my g-spot with each thrust. 

My orgasm was starting to build inside of me as the vibrator relentlessly spun against my throbbing clit. 

"Ride that vibrator" he grunted on the phone. His voice gave him away -- he was on the brink of orgasm, too.

The phone lay next to me as I pumped in and out with my two fingers. I gyrated my hips against the vibrator -- it was almost like fucking my boyfriend. I bounced up and down on the bed, taking myself to new heights of pleasure. 

"What are you doing?" he asked. I had forgotten I was still on the phone. 

"The vibrator is pushed between my pussy lips so far," I moaned. "It's rubbing against my clit with every pulse. I'm gyrating up and down, fucking myself with my fingers and the machine."

"I wish I could fuck you right now," he said. God, that sounded amazing -- I wished he was with me. 

"You are with me," I said, quite sentimental, considering I was nearing orgasm. "You bought me the gift of orgasm..."

"You're welcome," he laughed. "Climb on top of it -- ride that thing like you would ride me."

I did as I was told. I turned the vibrator off and laid it on the bed. I withdrew my fingers from my hole, removing with them a thick strand of my pussy juices. 

"Oh, God," I moaned. The sight of my fluids always made me feel sexy. "I'm so wet!"

My boyfriend knew exactly what I was talking about. "Lick it up," he commanded. He enjoyed seeing it just as much as I did.

My fingertips grazed my slightly parted lips, and I could smell the strong scent. It was pungent, but not overpowering, and had a sweetness to it that made it a turn-on. I cautiously licked my index finger, relishing in the juiciness. I felt so dirty when I sucked on my own girl cum. It prolonged my orgasm, making me come harder, more deeply. 

I sucked my two fingers clean, lapping up every drop of the wetness.

"All clean," I said, and my boyfriend uttered his approval. 

"Are you on top of the vibrator?"

I grabbed the phone, turning off the speaker so I could talk to him while I rode. Spreading my lips, I positioned myself over the massager's rotating head. The bulb pressed up against my slick clit hard, and the object wasn't even turned on yet. 

"This is going to be a hell of a ride," I said. 

"Turn it on!" he cried, desperately. He had been stroking his cock at full speed for the past few minutes, I was certain. He was as close to climax as I was. 

I switched the power to "high" this time, and almost instantly fell off the bed from pleasure. My body was instantly racked with the throes of a developing orgasm. I clutched the phone, nearly screaming from pleasure. 

I bounced on top of my vibrator, gyrating my hips instinctually to maximize the pleasure sensations. I had one hand free now to play with my bouncing tits, and I pinched my left nipple hard. I felt electric, as if each nerve ending on my body was responding to pleasure beyond my mind's wildest imagination. 

I realized my eyes were tightly closed, and I opened them to watch myself in the mirror. I had never looked more like a dirty slut. I was completely naked, straddling the best, most gigantic vibrator known to womankind, and pinching my nipples furiously. My hips were rolling on the machine. I felt dirty in a good way, completely in control of my pleasure. I was the essence of sex, masturbating myself to the best orgasm my eighteen years had witnessed.

I dropped the phone. My boyfriend could hear me fine because I was moaning so loudly, and he was busy beating off to his own private fantasies. This was my pleasure, only his to passively witness.

I used my free hand to push a finger into the opening of my ass hole, which sent me into orgasm almost immediately.

"Yes!" I half-shouted, and I came with a torrent of fluid and spasms. My body was racked with pleasure, and I could only moan. Verbal signals were lost, and I couldn't think. My entire body was focused on my climax. I almost doubled over from pleasure, certain that the room had grown ten degrees hotter from my radiating body heat. Every muscle twitched, and every nerve ending was at attention. My anus clenched onto my finger tip, and I gyrated on the vibrator so quickly I could no longer feel the difference between my body and the object below me. 

After a few seconds that felt like hours of bliss, I fell off the vibrator and turned the machine to "off." I couldn't catch my breath or open my eyes. I could still feel faint twinges of pleasure from my sex, slowly rocking me out of my orgasm. A light sheen of sweat covered my body. 

I felt amazing, perfect, at peace in the afterglow of my climax. 

I picked up the phone. My boyfriend had come just as I had, hard and fast. He was barely breathing into the speaker. 

"That..." I said, almost unable to form a coherent sentence. "That...that was..."

"AWESOME!" he shouted, finishing my sentence, albeit in a more juvenile way. I had to laugh. 

"I'm covered in my own juices," I confessed.

"Me, too."

We lay in silence for what seemed like a long time. It was our after-sex ritual: fuck, sigh, cuddle in silence, giggle childishly at our mutual fun, dress. Part of me wished he was cuddling next to me, but I was content that he was not present. I felt like a woman for the first time in my life, instead of a childish teenager. I was in complete control of my body. 

He broke the silence. "So," he said, purposely sounding casual. "Do you like your present?"

I laughed. "I love it."

"Excellent. Do you mind being alone so much now?"

"Nah," I said, "solitude has its perks..."

I smiled as we chatted for a while and said our good-byes. I had noticed a detachable showerhead as I walked in the door to my hotel room. 

Suddenly, I no longer minded having nobody to talk to. 



Solitude Leads to Curiosity



Iowa is just about the middle of nowhere. And I was just about stuck there.

A few years ago, I was working for an issues group right outside of Omaha in Council Bluffs. To a lot of people, it would seem a great gig. I barely had any accountability, didn't have to report to someone except by phone or email, worked from my office, and set my own hours. There were goals and expectations, but everything was so muddled and confusing that it was tough to figure out when I was doing well or really what I should be doing in the first place. So I had a lot of free time and was making a decent amount of money. But, like I said, I was stuck.

I'm not from Iowa, though it is a very nice state. Originally, I'm from Pennsylvania and moved to Iowa for this project that only lasted a few months but seemed like it would be good for my resume. Plus, at 24, I figured I was young enough that it was worth the trip, promoting some good liberal issues at the same time. As an average looking white guy, I blended in pretty well. Too well actually I guess because it is very easy to get lost in the crowd when everyone pretty much looks the same.

Out in Council Bluffs I knew pretty much nobody, and the few people I did know I couldn't talk to because they were working for campaigns or organizations that prevented us from communicating. And they were always really busy anyway. The few people from my organization who were also in the state were hours away in Des Moines or Ames. Plus, knowing that I was only going to be around for 6 months, with no intention of staying even if I could, I was hesitant to start a relationship or get myself too invested in the region.

Loneliness and boredom, however, cause the mind to wander. I have to confess that I have always had a fetish for pantyhose and tights. In high school, I would stare at girls legs every time they wore any legwear. I snuck a few pairs of my mom's when she had a snag and tried them out, feeling how smooth and snug they were on my legs and feet and ass, but especially how great they felt on my cock. By college, I had gathered the courage to buy a few pairs of my own hose, usually at a supermarket late in the day, and slip them on, stroking my cock and cumming in the nylon. But anytime I did wear hose, I had to take them off for fear of getting caught, so I rarely wore them for more than an hour at a time, then went back to lusting after legs in hose and the feeling in nylon.

College was also when I started to see pantyhose websites and see pictures, videos, and stories of men wearing pantyhose. I've always lusted after women and consider myself straight, but, for some reason, the thought of wearing pantyhose with another guy just got me so so hot. It was just a fantasy, and not always a frequent one, but I couldn't help but look at some of the pictures and stare, noticing myself getting harder.

That was college. That was when I had roommates and friends around all the time. Now I was in Iowa, away from most anyone I knew, and definitely alone. Now I could buy pantyhose anywhere and not think about anyone noticing me. Now I could wear them as long as I wanted at home, cause I lived alone and it wouldn't matter. I still was nervous, but after my first time going to JC Penney and buying some nice pink tights and black sheer hose, I got a rush and quickly my hose collection was around a dozen pairs. I started to not just look at pictures online, but join chatrooms and email groups. I took pictures of myself in pantyhose and showed them to strangers. I couldn't believe how exciting it was, even if I never showed my face. At first I just showed off my legs on the couch or stood and posed, and it took a bit before I got the courage to get closer and show my cock hard in pairs of hose, but I was loving showing myself off, and then getting pictures from others in hose as well.

I still looked mostly at women online. And I still was always checking out women at the stores when I went out. I tried to meet a few women at bars, but I'm a shy guy and somehow being alone made me more reserved. At one point I joined a dating site, but they said there were no matches near me. Needless to say, I had reserved myself to just being alone for the 6 months and leaving it at that. But, now I was feeling more free with my fetish. I started not just wearing hose to jerk off, but sleeping in them sometimes, and I even started to wear them out under my pants.

God what a rush it was to wear pantyhose under my pants, feeling that nylon brush against my thighs and caress my cock all day. I didn't do it every day, just if I didn't have some work project to do and felt a rush to do it, but my fear that people would notice seemed unfounded. The girl at the register never cared when I bought tights. Nobody every seemed to bat an eye when I searched for the right color or size. In some ways, this was a disappointment, and I was surprised that I was let down that nobody gave me a wink or even a comment, but it allowed me to feel more comfortable wearing them.

I felt comfortable again when I was wearing some Leggs Sheer Energy black pantyhose while at the JC Penney again, this time shuffling through some huge collection of tights. I was deciding on a color, and picked up a pair of forest green in my size. Once I had them in my hand, I had to stroke the fabric in my hand just a bit, loving how soft it was.

"I bet those will look good on you."

I froze. I didn't turn my head, just darting my eyes over to the left and right to see if someone was saying that to someone else. After all, I was alone, right.

"You should get the red tights too, those look fun."

Now there was no doubt, I was caught. I bit my lip and was literally sweating, at least from my head, even though the a/c was blasting. I turned and saw a man a little older than me, probably a shade over 30, who looked in decent shape but definitely not muscular, and most definitely not creepy looking. He was smiling at me, and I was still holding the green tights.

"Oh, these, uh, they are for my girlfriend," I was barely able to muster.

"Nonsense," he said, still smiling knowingly at me. "I know they're for you, you're wearing some right now."

At that, I got nervous, running my hands around my waist, of course I had worn a shirt that would cover enough to not show a waistband even if I bent over. The guy nodded down and I saw that I had snagged the ankle of my hose just a bit right on a small hook. 

"I bet you don't have a girlfriend either, do you?" He whispered, leaning over to me, my breath heavy.

"Uh, um." I couldn't think straight, I didn't know what to do. This was not in my plan.

"Do you have a boyfriend instead?"

"No no! I...I just like pantyhose, that's all." 

"Well, if you're so single, let me introduce myself, I'm Steve." He reached out his hand to me and I felt no option but to shake and be courteous at least.

"Jeff." I felt dumb for not making up a fake name, but I wasn't thinking straight, figuratively or literally.

Steve took the green tights from my hand and looked at them, clearly inspecting for the size, and then he bent over and picked up a pair of red ones, just like he'd mentioned. He smiled at me and nudged me to follow, which I felt obliged to do at this point, going down the aisle that had all the other hose with him.

"Since I seemed to have startled you, why don't I buy these for you? It's the least I can do." He was very friendly, and hey, he already knew I liked hose, so what's the harm in a couple free pairs. 

I stood back while he paid, not being comfortable enough to buy with him. When he got his change, I followed him out of the store to the parking lot.

"Here you go Jeff," he said, still with a smile as he handed the bag to me. "I wish I could see how nice they are on you."

I took the bag and shuffled my hands together nervously. "Um, I guess I could take a picture in them and email you."

He smiled again at that. Dammit, why did he keep smiling! "that'd be nice."

He shuffled in his pocket and got a more sly look on his face. "Though, if you're gonna send me a picture anyway, why don't you come over and pose for me. I'll wear some of my hose too if you'd like."

I couldn't believe it. It was a fantasy coming true, but I wasn't sure if I wanted it to come true. Steve seemed to notice my uncertainty and his voice got quieter.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, but I have a feeling you want to or you would have said no pretty fast. I know you like pantyhose a lot because I've seen you buying them a few times. That's what got me more into wearing hose myself. We did it a couple times, but seeing you buying your tights reminded me how hot it was. So why not just come over and do the things you probably want to do. We won't hurt you."

"Who-who's we?" I went from curious to scared. Were these guys just out to beat me up and take my money?

"My boyfriend Greg. He's fine, trust me. I got him to try a pair of hose too and he thought it was pretty sexy. Not as into it as you or I, but we could all have fun." He seemed so confident and polite. This was too much of an opportunity.

I gulped. "Ok, but I'll follow you."

It was tough to believe this was happening. I pulled my car behind Steve's and followed him for no more than ten minutes, which somehow seemed like an eternity and a split second all at once. His house was really nice on the outside and it felt welcoming. He waited for me at his car as I got out, bag of tights in my hand. We got to the front door where Greg was waiting in a tshirt and jeans. I looked down and saw his feet were in navy hose, it was obvious, and my eyes went wide.

"You must be Jeff," he said to me, shaking my hand. "Steve called me from the mall and said you were coming over. I guess you can see I put on some pantyhose myself. Thought you'd like."

Steve playfully slapped his chest. "I thought you'd wait for me! You two talk while I change then."

I walked inside and was still unsure as Greg offered me a seat on the couch. He then walked to the kitchen and came back with some drinks, a rum and coke for me. 

"Here, I got you a rum and cock- oh my God, I mean coke! Sorry bout that!"

I just laughed, and for some reason felt at ease as I took the glass, sipping on the straw in it.

"Doesn't taste like cock to me, heh." He slapped my thigh and leaned back with his drink.

"Oh, then you do know what it tastes like then, hrm?" Greg was leaning forward with his drink.

I looked down into my glass, stirring the ice cubes around. "No, was just joking. Never really done that."

He slid up closer to me. "Is that something you do want to do though?"

I didn't answer, frozen from the uncertainty of the situation still.

"Don't worry Jeff, you can be comfortable here. You can trust us, I promise. Why don't we just share some fantasies, huh? For instance, I've always had a fantasy of being with two guys at once, in some way, I don't know, it always just got me hard. And Steve, he's always been a bit more shy. He just fantasized about picking up a stranger." He looked at me with a smile and I noticed that Steve still wasn't back yet. "What about you?"

"Well, I've always fantasized about wearing pantyhose with someone, playing with each others cocks in hose, touching and seeing each other." I could not believe what was coming out of my mouth and was already wondering what might be going into it soon enough!

"Hmmm, is that all? That does sound hot though. After all, I got my hose on and they feel nice."

I sighed, this was it. "I've often fantasized about sucking cock, especially through pantyhose. I think it'd be hot to just be a submissive cock sucker, everyone in hose, everyone playing with their cocks and having others cum through their hose right onto me. And then helping me cum too." I slapped my mouth in disbelief.

"Well then this is your lucky day."

That wasn't Greg, it was Steve, who was walking into the room naked except for his sheer black pantyhose. And his cock was very visible, straining against the nylon. I was mesmerized.

"Let's see you too Jeff." Greg was asking to see me in my hose and I was just so in the moment, standing up and dropping my pants, showing my hard cock in the nylon. "mmm nice, want to help me out of these pants so I can show off too?"

As if on instinct, I got on my knees and unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down, loving the sound of it sliding against the nylon fabric. Once he stepped out of the jeans, I looked up, face to face with a cock for the first time. He looked down at me with a smile. "Well if you want to suck some, now is the PERFECT time to start."

I licked my lips and then licked the cock right through the nylon. It wasn't hard enough to me, so I stroked it with my hand, running my finger up the underside and getting harder myself listening to him moan. As it grew in my hand, I took the nylon covered cock and devoured it in my mouth, getting it wet and feeling its heat between my lips. I hugged his thigh to get better positioning and sucked harder, teasing the hard member with my tongue and massaging it with different twists and turns from my tongue. He was moaning loudly now and I was working my mouth faster, feeling his cock fill my whole mouth and loving it.

"Wow, you're better than I expected," came the response from Steve, who was now standing next to Greg, stroking his own cock in his black pantyhose. I looked up at him and reached up to take control, stroking his cock while I continued sucking his boyfriend. Quickly though, Greg was making moaning sounds much louder and he rubbed my head. 

"I'm going to cum so hard!" he practically yelled. I looked up at Steve who said "Keep going, I'll tell you when to stop." So I kept sucking, taking the whole cock in my mouth and then all at once, his cum shot through the nylon into my mouth. Steve pushed my face back a bit and I kept stroking Greg's cock to get the cum out as they both watched me get cum all over my face and lips. I started to move away when Steve said "Give it a few more licks, see if you can get any more out."

So I went back, with pleasure, lapping up the wet crotch of Greg's pantyhose and teasing the tip of his cock with the tip of my tongue. A little cum seeped out and I went AHHH and sucked it right up, whipping my face with his hose. He smiled and sat back, clearly relieved. That's when I turned back to Steve, who looked down at me and asked "Do you want my cock next?"

"Yes," I breathed, so hot for what he had.

"Well, you said you wanted to be a sub, so why don't you stay there a minute and tell me how much you want this?" He didn't look stern or mean, but just hard and welcoming, trying to make my fantasy come true.

"Please Steve, I want your hard cock in my mouth. I love how delicious it looks in those pantyhose. Please let me make you cum and show you how talented my mouth and tongue can be. I want your cum so bad." I couldn't believe what I was saying, but I was so turned on I couldn't help it.

Steve sat back on the couch and spread his legs, saying "If you want it, take it."

His cock was straining against the nylon and I gobbled it up whole, bobbing my head up and down slowly and then fast, sliding my tongue hard against the underside of it. I felt his hose covered ass while I licked the cock with my huge tongue like a dog drinking water and then swirled it around, making Steve moan and groan. As I sucked, Greg sat on the couch and encouraged me saying "You are such a good cock sucker" and "Take that cock, you're gonna love his cum."

As my sucking got a little slower but more focused, Steve whispered something in Greg's ear and he smiled. I paid no attention, but in a second, Greg took my arms and tied them together behind my back. Oddly enough, I didn't fight back, just focusing on the cock. I sucked, I mean sucked, hard on the cock and Steve started to really let it out now, his cum shooting through the nylon. I kept licking, but was pulled back and made to stick out my tongue to tickle the cock and take in the last of the cum like it was snowflakes. 

Immediately I smiled at the end result, the pantyhose covered in wetness and my mouth covered in white. However, I had no way to move, and the two men helped me get up and sit on the couch. My hands stayed behind my back and they looked down at my rock hard cock in my black pantyhose and both started to stroke my thighs and cock. I wanted it to last forever, but I was so sensitive. Steve leaned in and started to suck and right away I was twitching, breathing so so heavily. He noticed and moved, just running his fingers up and down my nylon covered shaft. They both leaned in and put their tongues on my cock, running up with a lot of pressure and that was it. I exploded all over my hose and chest, more cum than I could ever remember. They looked down and smiled at the huge stain on my hose.

"You like that?" asked Greg, still slowly rubbing my cock. All I could do was nod.

"Think you're ready to be intied?" asked Steve. And again all I could do was nod to him, cum still on my face.

"And you think you might want to have some fun again later?" Greg smiled at Steve as he asked, nudging him that they had something good. I yelled out "Oh Yes," which was what they wanted.

Steve stood up and took my keys and wallet from my pants and put them in the bag with my tights from the mall. He brought over my shoes and shirt and sat down next to me, his hands petting my wet hose.

"Ok, then we're going to keep your pants here. You go home wearing just your pantyhose and shirt and shoes and we promise there will be more fun in the future." 

I was so into the moment that I agreed right away. Greg untied my arms and Steve handed me my shirt, which I quickly put on. He patted me on the ass as I walked out the door, exposing my cock in my hose to anyone that would pass by, though thankfully it was now late and dark, with nobody in site. 

On the ride home, I was sweating and I couldn't wait to get to my apartment. I looked around for safety before running up the stairs and then shut my door right away, making sure nobody saw me. When I sat down on my couch, I reached into the bag to check my wallet and saw a note:

"We had a great time with you Jeff. Email us when you're ready to have fun again. Or give a ring."

And there was their number and email on the back. I wouldn't be too alone in Iowa anymore.

*

Feel free to contact me via my Literotica profile (link below).



Solitude



Let the dream never end.

Finally, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, my pillowy lover held intimately in my sated embrace. I was going to like it here. 

* * * * *

Chapter Three:

Dawn filtered through the forest, creeping tentatively through my unclothed pane, prying insistently at my shuttered eyelids.

Had last night been a dream, nothing more? Surely, I would have known without doubt, had I been visited by some lusty lover of the piney woods! It must have been a figment of my imagination, a wishful fantasy that had become all too real in the hush of the night. 

But now, I had to get up and get busy! The remainder of my unpacked boxes sat mocking me, chastising me with unspoken censure. It was time to get a move on!

But oh, how I longed to lie in bed just a little bit longer, to listen to the raucous caw of the Steller's jays beyond my aging walls, the chatter of fat Kaibab squirrels, but it was not to be. I had work to do.

Finally, I stretched my arms above my head and wrested my body from its inertia. Then, wrapping the old chenille robe that had been a part of me since time immemorial, I slipped my feet into a pair of old mules, made my way downstairs toward the kitchen...and then froze

There, waiting on the old weathered countertop sat a single stem of Indian Paintbrush, its crimson presence defying the laws of reason. How had it gotten there? Had I brought it inside the night before and simply forgotten? But, it seemed so fresh, as though the dew had just fled only moments before. Could it be?

There must be a logical explanation, I assured myself. Surely, I had left it there myself. What other possible rationale could there be?

And so, with a wry grin at my own foolishness, I plucked the perky blossom from its resting place and popped it into an empty vinegar cruet. Then, turning on the tap, I filled the remains with cold, clear spring water.

Quickly, I began perking a morning brew and dropped some whole wheat into the toaster. By the time the coffee was finished gurgling, I had two eggs, sunny-side up, waiting patiently for my approval.

I ate on the porch again this morning, noting the Indian Paintbrush which grew beneath the trees. That must have been the source of my morning surprise, I determined. Well, no more. Wildflowers are so much more beautiful as they were meant to be...in the wild.

I spent the rest of the afternoon unpacking, then decided to explore along the base of the cliffs that towered behind my cabin.

It was a leisurely stroll, avoiding the more strenuous aspects that a hike up the steep hillside would have entailed. The trail curved this way and that, circumventing sandstone boulders and ancient gnarled cedars tucked beneath the swaying ponderosas along its wayward course. On I wandered, until in short order I came upon the weed-choked entry to the old mine I'd heard so much about.

The sun, by now, was making its way low along the western horizon, casting its angled rays for about twenty feet into the gloom of the excavation. I paused, unsure of the safety factors involved, and then cautiously took a few steps forward.

Immediately the cool air of the enclosure enveloped me, insinuating itself beneath my clothing, claiming me in a most intimate fashion.

I gasped...was everything here this sensuous? Then, even as I wondered, I felt the featherlike caress of my vivid imagination once more. Gently it stroked my cheek, wandering knowingly down the vulnerable length of my throat until I murmured aloud into the silence. Then, as though it could read my mind, I felt the erotic brush of an unseen palm against my nipple.

So real...so real, I thought, reaching toward my breast to be sure it wasn't. But, then it moved, dipping now beneath the unopened restriction of my belt, beyond the elastic barrier of my panties.

My knees began to buckle. Surely this was more than simple imagination! Quickly, I leaned against the shoring, feeling the old, but sturdy timbers prodding insistently against my buttocks.

The solidity felt good, I found myself thinking, but not nearly as wonderful as the insistent insinuation that now took place between my thighs.

I sighed, shaking as it escalated...probing deeply now, stroking until I quivered with need. Then, to my amazement, I was overtaken by an orgasm so shattering that it left me weak and whimpering. 

And still it continued!

I clawed art the timbers, then slowly dropped to the floor of the tunnel, falling upon a thick bed of errant pine needles, writhing as my throbbing torment escalated. His touch was everywhere at once, if indeed my imagination had not outdone itself yet again. This certainly was not of my doing!

Long minutes it continued, my voice rising with the passing of time, my unbridled cries echoing into the dark beyond until finally, in wet profusion, it ceased. There I lay, limp and drained, my juices pooling beneath me. Had I actually imagined all of that? Had some fantasy lover driven me to this state...or had I done it myself?

I took inventory. My hands, it seemed, had been clenched on the wooden shoring behind my head during the whole experience. My blouse and chemise, in my excitement, had become tangled about my throat, baring my breasts to the last rays of day, perfectly understandable considering my gyrations of a few moments before. But my jeans... I looked on, amazed as I realized they were no longer upon my body, but lay now at my side. No amount of writhing could have done that!

Panicked, I grabbed my clothing from the floor and rushed headlong into the blazing sunset. Roots clutched at my ankles, branches tore at my face, but onward I ran, terrified that at any moment I might be intercepted.

Finally, I rounded a curve in the hillside and spied my cabin! Desperately I sprinted up the steps and locked the door behind me, leaning my weight against the stout crossbeams to add to their support.

It was then that I noticed my condition. I was filthy! The floor of the tunnel had lain for long years gathering the silt and debris of decades past...and now it streaked my body from head to foot. Long trails of drying effluent lay claim to my mud-caked thighs, and the print of a timeless palm stood in dusty relief upon my breast. I couldn't stay here! Something was already in residence in this place, and it had a taste for female flesh!

Once more I tested the door, then being certain each of the downstairs windows was locked, I climbed the stairs to do the same in the rooms above. Finally, satisfied that all was secure, I turned on a soothing shower and prepared to quickly erase the remaining vestiges of my tumultuous experience.

At first the water, cold from its journey through the maze of plumbing, took on a chilly air. But, in a few moments it began to flow with comforting warmth until the room filled with steam and I began to relax.

Slowly, I began to remove the last of my clothing, what little there was of it, and ensconced myself beneath the gentle spray of the small, tiled enclosure. My muscles, taut until now, immediately began to relax, and I found myself luxuriating in the steamy atmosphere.

A sound...

Was someone there? Had I been followed? Were locks not a deterrent in this place?

Immediately, I felt strong hands grip my wrists, pinning them above my head against the tiles. 

Screaming, I searched the mist for a view of my assailant, but the swirling steam obscured all possibilities. Helplessly I writhed, torn between the desire to escape and the gnawing hunger that betrayed me once more. Not again, I moaned inwardly...but, oh please...don't stop! Then, I felt his body, imprisoning my own against the wall, his hard maleness stabbing insistently against my belly.

"No!" I pleaded. "Stop!"

But on he continued, even more vigorously than before. Now his lips crushed down upon mine, his tongue filling my mouth until my screams were reduced to strangled murmurs...and finally wanton whimpers. What was happening? Surely I wasn't responding!

But I was...

The turmoil which coursed through my body defied reason, the intimate tension between my thighs a conflict between desire and rejection, but suddenly I found myself grinding against his massive organ, seeking desperately to enclose his heat in my own.

As though accepting my eager submission, his hand released my wrists, and cupping my buttocks he lifted me from my feet until his hardened maleness pressed insistently between my thighs. Then, without preamble, he impaled me against the wall, driving the breath from my body, and the sanity from my mind.

Helplessly I dangled, feet searching the moist atmosphere for a purchase as he pummeled me, thrusting deep inside my body until I cried out my own throbbing release and mingled my wetness with that of the enclosure. Then a sigh...otherworldly, a massive lunge that threatened to rend my flesh as his heated torrent filled my being, and then it was over.

I should have been frightened. No, I should have been terrified! But, for some unknown reason, I knew that nothing had been done to me that I hadn't longed to happen. It was as though the entity, for that was the only way I could describe it with any sanity, had read my mind...discovered my deepest fantasies...and brought them to life. Was that so terrible?

Limp and drained, I turned off the shower and wrapped myself in a thick towel. Then, crossing the floor I walked down the hall to my bedroom and settled myself heavily atop the quilt.

What was I to do? Surely I couldn't remain here, concubine to some unknown presence...could I? What kind of caution covered this kind of situation? What rationale applied?

Once more I thought of the mind-shatteringly erotic interludes of the day past. Had anything...anyone ever affected me like that before? Did I really want to run from it, lose it? My very hesitation amazed me!

My ethereal lover had done nothing to endanger me. He had made no threats that should have left me concerned for my safety. In fact, he had done nothing but crystallize my most intimate fantasies. Was that cause for complaint?

Tentatively, I ran my palm along my body, amazed at the sensitivity that still remained. Could I leave that behind, could I deny myself the firestorm that now coursed through every fiber of my being? The vague whisper of reason echoed through my mind, but its voice was faint and distant. Instead, the ever-quickening hunger that even now grew between my thighs directed my consensus.

I would stay. And, as I curled my eager flesh between the sheets of the aging four-poster I could feel his presence beside me once again. There would be no sleep this night, only the flames of Eros as they coursed through my body.

I smiled... 

* * * * *

Chapter Four:

Slowly he crept beyond the fire barriers on the control road that had been erected to keep trespassers from the area, driving his rented vehicle past the endangered foothills that even now smoldered to the south under a wind-borne "crown fire" that consumed all it touched. 

On he pressed, past tiny settlements and isolated cabins, evacuated now until the fire danger passed, or all was lost. Then, checking his topographic map, he turned sharply and forded shallow Tonto Creek, veering to the north along an overgrown track that snaked its way toward the escarpment beyond. 

Through the forest he drove, making his way ever so surely along the abandoned logging trail until finally he saw the smoke from her chimney. Then, pulling into the dense forest, he concealed his SUV among the branches and struck out on foot.

How could she have left him after all they'd had together, he fumed. How could she have gone and not told him of her destination?

Once more he thought of the trials he'd gone through to find her, the internet searches, the phone calls and finally the detective. It had been time they could have spent together! Time they could have lain in each other's arms, touching, tasting, experiencing all there was between them.

But no, instead she'd chosen to hide in this remote place, to run from her only true love. It angered him. It infuriated him! 

She would have to be taught a lesson. She would have to realize that she belonged to him, body and soul. She would have to do penance for her sins against him, then perhaps he'd let her return with him to the bright lights of New York. But, until then, they would be alone...

...with no one to hear her scream. 

* * * * *

Chapter Five:

My body ached in places left untouched for far too long a time.

Delicious!

It was morning once more, a glorious morning full of promise and passion. I would tuck my manuscript away today, and begin a new one, one that spoke of boundless intercourse, a breaching of the barriers between the "here" and the "hereafter". 

"Intercourse"...what a word! The very ambiguity brought a smile to my face. Could the peaks I had scaled in my lover's arms be encapsulated in such a mild-mannered term?

Once more the long hours of the night before filtered through my mind. My lover had reduced me to a whimpering wanton more than once, then raised me to the heights of primal passion in an unending roller coaster of mindless frenzy and primitive abandon. Over and over I had crested, screaming into the pine-cloaked night where only wild beasts of the forest could hear...and my mysterious lover.

Ahh, my lover! I blushed at the memory. His form had become even more tangible last night. In the throws of passion he had allowed himself the pleasure of an increasingly corporal, yet unseen presence. 

My fingers had caressed his silken hair, roamed eagerly over his muscled torso and stroked his massive manhood. His large, demanding fingers had kneaded my tender form until I had begged for more. His lips had teased my glowing flesh until I had burst against his tongue like ripened caviar. 

He knew where to caress, and when...what to give, and what to take. He was both gentle, and forceful, first guiding then demanding in ways that had set me afire. I would have to be careful. A "man" such as this could quickly become an addiction! 

Slowly I stretched, feeling more alive than I had in many months. The air, redolent with the scent of evergreen, filled my lungs, and the crisp silence surrounded me.

Where was my lover this morning I wondered? Had he more spectral chores to attend to? I smiled at the thought. Did ectoplasm need recharging?

Slipping into my robe and mules, I made my way a trifle stiffly down the stairs into the kitchen. Then, reaching for my coffeepot I spotted it...a single red flower, lying alongside a fresh sprig of juniper.

He'd been here. I smiled. Perhaps he was still here, watching as I filled the coffeemaker, planning our next tryst.

The very thought raised goose bumps along my arms, tightening my nipples into hard pebbles beneath my robe. What would the next time be like? And the next?

Once more I felt deliciously moist, and forced myself to cease my train of thought. I'd never accomplish anything today if I continued on this way!

And so, settling myself in front of my typewriter, I slipped the first page of my new novel between the rollers and began to tap out my manuscript.

How should I begin, I wondered...when I first arrived at the cabin...New York...with the first novel? I closed my eyes, willing my muse to speak to me, but all I heard were the whisperings of my own distant hunger, eager to couple once more with my unseen lover.

Finally, I decided to take a brief hike along the mining trail once again, a crisp trek through the ponderosas to clear my mind and inspire my creativity for the task at hand.

Quickly, I climbed the stairs and began stripping the robe from my body, dropping it heavily on the unmade bed from the night before. Then, reaching for my hairbrush atop the nightstand, I saw it.

It was small, delicate in fact, but it shown in the morning rays as though it sported a tiny beacon all its own.

My fingers reached out to remove it from its place around the bedpost, fumbling with the miniscule clasp until it lay glowing in my palm.

It was a golden heart...no, a locket, engraved with ornate scrollwork and tiny floral etchings along its surface. A gift, I wondered? Had my lover taken a jaunt to the nearest Cartier's and selected this bauble just for me? The thought made me smile. Would he make "time payments"? For surely, if anyone had time to spend, it would be him!

But no, this piece wasn't new. In fact, it had the earmarks of something from another era, something from a time when handcrafted finery such as this became an heirloom to be handed down through the ages from generation to generation. Why had it been left here...and for me?

Carefully, I inserted the tip of my fingernail along its separation, and felt a gentle pop as opened in my palm.

I gasped!

There, in my hand lay an exact replica of myself, a sepia-toned image of my very own face, preserved for all eternity in a heart of gold. 

But, no...not me! Certainly it wasn't me! The woman before me was dressed in the ruffled façade of another era...another time. Her hair must have been inordinately long, for it wound in glorious abundance atop her head in a warm, flowing crown of auburn, adorned by tortoiseshell combs along either side. But, in all other respects, the face that lay hidden within was my own!

On the other half lay mounted a second photograph, one of a male. He appeared to be a large man, if one could judge by such a diminutive reproduction, possibly uncomfortable in the restrictingly formal garb he found himself in. His chin sported the rough shadow of a would-be beard, as if it knew its rightful place and refused to be denied. His jaw, a strong, determined feature in an even more stalwart face, sat rock hard and forceful beneath a full moustache and lips that could only have been designed to please.

But, it was his eyes that drew my attention most irretrievably. For even here, in this heart-shaped reproduction, they appeared to gaze adoringly at his lady love. In them I saw a devotion that would last an eternity, a love that would surpass the test of time and mortality.

Winsomely I sighed, wishing in my soul of souls that I was indeed the Lady of the Heart, and not some vague substitute. What would it be like to be loved so intensely...so purely that even time ceased to erase its vestiges?

Carefully, I began to close the warmly glowing treasure, and then stopped. From beneath the second photo peeked a tiny scrap of paper, something tucked neatly away in yet a second compartment.

Once again I set my nail to work, and was immediately rewarded with the tell-tale pop that whispered success. Yes...it was a second compartment, and in it was secreted a tiny slip of paper, snipped from a volume of poetry and tucked neatly between the golden leaves of the locket.

I recognized it! Who wouldn't recognize that time-treasured piece of prose!

There, before me lay the words of Elizabeth Barret Browning's "Sonnets of the Portuguese". It read:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints, - I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Then, beneath the words, in bold but diminutive script were inscribed the letters which read:

To Rose Mary...Yours for eternity, James

I choked back a cry, for eternity was exactly what James had meant. Here, in this place he had waited patiently for his lost love to return, to share his passion once more, to share his timeless devotion.




Solitude



But I was not Rose Mary. Surely he knew that! The eons that had passed couldn't have obscured his memory of a love so profound! But then, perhaps I was the naïve one. Surely I had no insights into the hereafter, no innate wisdom that opened to me all the mysteries of the unceasing, recycling universe. I too had felt something irresistibly familiar and perfectly aligned in his arms. Perhaps he knew more than I did!

The thought both warmed and chilled me. Could I be James' lost love after all? Perhaps more than the internet had come into play in my choice of sanctuary. Perhaps destiny and the will of one who had waited far too long had been in place! Had James searched through the veils of time and found his Rose Mary once again?

Quickly I pushed the thought from my mind. I was a modern woman with her feet planted firmly in the here and now, not the hereafter! Thoughts like this were for dreamers, romantic mystics...not for the likes of one such as me. And yet, I found myself smiling at the warm glow that had filled me as the possibility had woven through my consciousness. To be James' lost love...that would be truly blissful, a love that would last a lifetime and beyond.

Silently, I closed the locket and slipped the delicately woven chain about my throat. I would have to consider this. The links that I wore represented more than a lovely piece of jewelry, they were the unbroken links of time itself, and I was their curator. Was this then a burden, or an opportunity?

Quickly I finished dressing, donning a quilted vest to ward off the early chill and made my way down the stairs to the kitchen. There, stuffing a thermos of hot coffee and an English muffin in my knapsack, I strolled out onto the porch and took stock of my new environment.

The smell of smoke was thick in the air that morning, a heady aroma that spoke of fireplaces far to the south, drifting through the trees on the stiffening breeze. I inhaled lustily. Life was good.

Then, setting out at a brisk pace, I began to make my way down the trail in the direction of the mine. I had not gone far, however, before a feeling of foreboding came over me, a pounding urge to return to the safety of my cabin, to lock my door behind me. Surely I was being melodramatic! What harm was there to be found here? What evil could survive in a place so pristine and pure of form?

Shrugging off my anxiety, I forced myself to continue onward until the base of the escarpment came into view through the trees. There, amid the scolding of the jays, I settled myself on a fallen log and attacked my breakfast with an eagerness unknown in the city.

The locket, which I now wore, seemed to radiate a life of its own in its warm nest between my breasts. Lying there, so still and intimate, it whispered to me like a lover might...words of passion and moist desire...of forbidden pastimes and erotic couplings.


James was with me. Somehow, in ways that words could never convey, I knew it. He was there, and he wanted me.

Heart pounding, I silently began to undo the buttons of my vest, the chilly air a welcomed relief to the heat that now consumed me. I continued to remove my clothing until nothing remained save the golden heart, and I found myself lying on a nest of my own flannel, eyes closed, awaiting the pleasure of my unseen lover.

I had not long to wait, for immediately I was rewarded with the intimate brush of his lips upon mine, the gentle encouragement of my nipple in his palm.

I moaned in anticipation, and spreading my thighs I arched my back against his unseen form. His hand now traveled down the length of my body, insinuating itself within my moist triangle as it tested my readiness. Then, with slow and easy motion, he began to stroke the swollen nub hidden within, drawing out my sighs, probing my eagerness.

Suddenly he paused, and withdrawing I felt his finger pressed to my lips, wet with my own response, invading my mouth in an intimate simulation of the act I so desired.

Hungrily I suckled, taking his finger deep into my slippery cavern, tasting the tangy lust it bore until I groaned in frustration.

Again, a pause, and then his finger was replaced by something more substantial, growing in length and breadth as it made its way past my lips. It had to be...

Raising my upper body ever so slightly, I felt his fingers twine in my hair, holding me fast as I moaned against his turgid "flesh". Then he began to move, slowly at first, then more rapidly, forcefully as I warmed to my task. My hands stroked his flanks, grasping claw-like, urging him deeper and deeper until he filled me to bursting. Fitfully, my hand slipped between my legs, seeking my own release, but it was not to be.

Quickly my lover abandoned his quest and pinioned my hands above my head, as if to say..."not yet...there's more..." Then flipping me upon my belly over the fallen log, he proceeded to part my crease and insinuate himself within.

I gasped! What did he have in mind? 

Immediately I had my answer, for in one long thrust he buried his prodigious length within my weeping slit up to the hilt, plundering my limited channel until I cried in exquisite pain. Mightily he pounded, thrusting unrelentingly until the pain/pleasure principle consumed me and I cried for more...pleaded for more...begged for more!

Then, withdrawing his mammoth offering from my body, he trailed his fingers through my overflowing wetness and began to prepare my narrower passage.

At first I squirmed beneath him, struggling in uncertainty as he slid first one slippery digit, then another into my resistant aperture. Then, as I began to relax, his ministrations took on a more urgent tempo, thrusting forcefully until I felt myself begin to flow along the insides of my thighs in anticipation.

Finally, he withdrew once more, my protestations ready upon my lips. I had no time to utter them, however, before he parted my buttocks, and pressing his manhood against my tightly muscled opening, he gave a mighty thrust and impaled me full force upon his hardened flesh.

I screamed!

My lover paused once again, and steadying my hips within his encompassing grasp, he waited until I began to arch against him before he continued. Then, slowly and with determined strokes he claimed his prize.

Immediately the pain, if that is what you would call it, became overshadowed by the act itself, the totality of his conquest overwhelming. Deeply he thrust, burrowing into the very center of my belly, then withdrawing only to thrust once more. Harder and more vigorously he bore down upon me, until I thought I could joyously split in half, covering the landscape with my creamy effluent. Then, without breaking stride, he slipped his hand beneath my belly, down deep within my quivering slit, and began to stroke the hardened nub within.

I exploded!

Gushing heavily into the undergrowth, I cried out again and again, rutting upon his fingers, my exhortations echoing off the walls of the escarpment, drowning out the scolding of the jays as I violated the silence.

Finally, shaking with spent emotion, I felt the warmth flow of him fill my body, bringing with it the comfort I had so craved. Then, sated, I dropped among the pine needles, my lover's arms holding back the spasms that yet wracked my quivering flesh.

Surely no woman had ever experienced such an outpouring of unadulterated sensation! I throbbed, I ached, I glowed in the aftermath.

I knew then that I couldn't leave, not then, not ever. I belonged here in the wilderness with James, and he with me. It was meant to be. 

* * * * *

Chapter Six:

Slowly he watched as the dawn rose in the east, spraying his misbegotten nest with rays of sunshine as it filtered through the trees.

It had been cold last night, as cold as his heart. The mangled gathering of pine needles he had used for his resting place was roughly kicked aside. He'd have a better bed tonight, he assured himself, and his wayward slut to keep him occupied.

He had heard her cries last night, heard her screams of passion. Did she have someone here with her? Had she brought some filthy cock-wielder to this place to cuckold him? He would set that to rights as well. Never again would his "'Ginny" be touched by another. He would see to that.

He had watched until almost dawn, ignoring the furtive rustlings that filled the underbrush around him as an onslaught of wilderness animals fled from the approaching fire. Finally, the ominous glow from the blaze to the south had been drowned by the rays of an even larger conflagration as the sun rose in the east.

It was then she had opened her door, and vanished, knapsack slung over her shoulder, into the forest beyond.

Had she locked the door? He hadn't noticed. The sight of her, alone, striding into the trees had distracted him. But her lover had been absent, of that he was certain. Now was his chance to even that score! He would slip quietly into the house, dispatch this interloper, and be waiting when she returned.

Today was his...and tomorrow. Tonight her screams would be for his ears alone.

Slowly he stroked himself, smiling, and entered the clearing...

* * * * *

Chapter Seven:

How long we lay there in each other's arms I have no recollection, but when I rose to return to the cabin I found myself hesitant, as though a seed of foreboding had been planted in my mind.

"No", I laughed. "I can't stay here all day! I have worked to do!" I chided my unseen paramour. Then, slipping into my clothing once more, I made my way through the trees and back onto the trail in the direction of the cabin.

The smell of smoke was stronger by then, and it was with a distinct sense of discomfort that I began to study the horizon. The wind, which blew at that point from the south, had begun to carry with it a faint dusting of fine, white ash, and black smoke filled the sky beyond the trees.

A fire! There must have been a wildfire brewing I whispered to myself. How close was it? In what direction was it heading? Why had no one notified me?

And then I knew. No one knew I was back here! This place had been devoid of human habitation for over 40 years. Who would think that it might suddenly he occupied?

Quickly I hurried through the trees, intent now on reaching the cabin and turning on the radio that formed my only source of information from the outside world. Dry as the forest had been, and untouched by the hand of man as ecologists strived to save the area as a preserve for the Mexican Spotted Owls that nested in the region, I knew that this vulnerable ponderosa tract would be quickly engulfed. The overabundance of fuel, the dry summer conditions and the rising wind were a lethal combination. I had to know what was happening...and quickly!

In no time I found myself tearing at the doorknob, flinging open the door as I rushed madly toward the kitchen and my tiny radio. Then, tuning it to the local channel for the first time since my arrival, I waited breathlessly until I heard the insistent beep of the emergency warning system come to life.

It was huge. It was out of control...and it was spreading due north! Already over 200,000 acres had been consumed by the hungry giant, ravaging homes and forestland alike in its quest to climb the escarpment and feast on the arid forests above. My home would be but a brief appetizer on its way to greater destruction. I had to leave, and immediately!

Then, from above I heard it, a helicopter flying low over the canopy, skirting the treetops as it made its way southward.

Quickly I rushed outside, waving my arms, screaming to no avail that I was there, that my cabin was no longer unoccupied. But all I saw was the last flicker of its tail rotor as it vanished beyond the treetops, its Bambi Bucket filled with water for the fire beyond.

Panicked now, I hurried back inside and began to gather up my former manuscript, the only copy in existence, before I made my final run toward safety. Then, searching on the kitchen peg for my car keys I heard him.

"Looking for these?" he growled. "You won't be needing them. You're not going anywhere."

I whirled about, terror filling my mind. Eric! What was he doing here? How had he found me? And why, oh why was he keeping us both here in harm's way. Didn't he realize...

And then I knew. Eric had slipped beyond reason. Surely his madness had not been the byproduct of our brief tryst. It had obviously lain in wait for some time, perhaps a lifetime. I had just been the spark that had set him off...and now I would reap the whirlwind.

Quickly I darted for the door, hoping beyond hope that he would be startled enough to give me some lead time, but it didn't happen. Instead, Eric enclosed my waist in a crushing embrace that all but broke my ribs and began to drag me up the stairs toward the bedrooms above.

I screamed in earnest now, not in passion, but in terror as he flung me atop the four-poster and began to tear at my clothing. In minutes my garments lay in shreds on the hardwood floor, Eric straddling my body with his own as he tied my wrists to the bedposts with torn strips of my shirt.

Desperate, I tried to reason with him, to plead the urgency of the situation, but his eyes only glazed at the thought of what was to come. Then pivoting on my midsection, be stretched my ankles toward the corners of the bed and lashed them in place as well. Finally I was spread-eagled before him, and he rose to inspect his handiwork.

By now the air had begun to fill with wind-borne smoke from the encroaching fire. Over and over helicopters and slurry bombers roared way overhead, rushing southward in their frantic attempts to contain the blaze, never suspecting I was tethered down below at the mercy of a madman.

Eric was in charge. He wanted no question about that. Cruelly he pinched my nipples, twisting them between his fingers until I cried out in pain.

"Scream, you Bitch!" he growled. "Scream. I want to hear you! By the time we're through you'll be hoarse from screaming. I promise you that!"

Then, rising above me he began to remove his clothing until all that remained were his briefs. These he dispatched in short order, flinging them into my face in distain. "Here's an appetizer, Bitch!" he laughed. "Main course coming up!"

With that he reached beneath the bed and brought up a pine branch, peeled to whip-like proportions and wielded with glee. He raised it above his head, his eyes shining, then brought it down in a mighty arc. 

"Whack" it slashed across my breasts.

Immediately I could feel the welt rise on my tender flesh, taking on livid proportions. I jerked in pain, whimpering, cringing in anticipation.

"Whack" Again the branch hummed through the air, this time laying a red stripe between my thighs as I screamed in torment.

Then once more it came, and yet again until I was befouled with tears and my desperate pleas blubbered freely from my lips.

This made my tormentor smile once again, and he reached forward remove his undergarment from my face and squeeze my cheeks painfully between his fingers.

"That's right, cry Bitch. Beg!" he grinned. Then holding his swollen member in his hand, he stroked himself briefly until he let loose with a hot, slimy offering that splattered between my tear-filled eyes, fouling my vision with its viscosity as he knelt between my trembling legs.

Wider he spread my stance, then wider still until my nether lips spread gaping before him, garishly displayed by the weight of his knees pinioning my splayed and vulnerable thighs. Then, trailing the branch along my body, he reversed his grip and began to force its broader end into my tender flesh.

My screams were incoherent as he began to force his instrument of torture within my fragile opening. I struggled against my bonds, begging for mercy, pleading for compassion. And then suddenly he stopped.

Jerking his head wildly about, he leaped from the bed, thrashing the air with his knotty switch, attempting to hold back my unseen rescuer.

Terrified, he lunged, whipping the air in his frenzied attempts to comprehend the unexpected reversal of fortune. But it was not to be.

In a flash, Eric was thrown to the floor, his head rapping soundly against the boards as he wailed his frustration. Then, my bonds were untied, and I leaped from the bed, grabbing my clothing as I rushed through the smoke-filled hallway toward the door below.

The flames by now were visible beyond the clearing, filling the air with soot and consuming the available oxygen in a greedy whirlwind. Trees crashed in the distance, felled by the force of the fiery assault. 

The keys! The keys! The last time I'd seen them, they'd been in Eric's hand, and I couldn't go back there! And so, clothing in hand I began running as fast as my trembling legs would carry me down the narrow timber road, hoping beyond hope that the trail beyond was still accessible. 

The flames grew ever closer...closer...until finally they formed a virtual wall before me and removed my last chance for survival. Frantically I searched for a break, but found none. And then a miracle happened. From overhead came a sound, the roar of a helicopter, and a voice emanating from a loud speaker.

"Stay where you are," it boomed. "I can't land here, but the slurry bomber can clear a path. Hang tight!"

And so I did. The seconds seemed like hours until finally I heard the roar of a plane overhead, swooping low over the treetops in my direction. In an instant I was engulfed in a thick, red soup that all but bore me to the ground.

Desperate, I clawed at my eyes, and then I saw it. Before me lay a wet, red pathway to freedom...and I took it.

Slipping in my haste, I covered the slurry-coated ground as though my life depended upon it...for it did. Finally, after a few hundred yards, I came to a clearing, and there sat my rescuer, rotors spinning, gesturing me aboard for a final trip to safety.

* * * * *

Chapter eight:

It's been two weeks since my return to New York. I no longer have to fear the ring of my phone, or the flicker of my monitor, for Eric is gone. Gone as well is the cabin I had come to love so well in so short a time. But the most devastating loss is that of my beloved James. For him there can be no replacement.

The days have melted one into another, each a faceless blur, for time has now lost all meaning in my life. Gone are the foolish fantasies of a naive girl, the needs of a mature woman. Instead there remains only the void of his absence, and the promise of an endless stream of vacant tomorrows. I will recover eventually, but I will never be the same. My grief has seen to that.

And so I bury myself in a new book, the idea I had so enthusiastically embraced abandoned in the flames of a lost love. I have only the vague solace that if James did indeed find me through the veil of time, then perhaps I too will find him someday. I can only hope.

I pause in my writing to brew a pot of coffee in my small kitchen, strewn once more with discarded pizza boxes and Chinese take-out cartons. What does it matter anymore? This is the face of my future, this is all there is.

Then I stop. 

Can it be?

Frantically my eyes scan the gloom of my surroundings, falling astonishingly on the thin ray of sunlight that has pierced the shadowed vale of this bustling city.

There, laying on the countertop lays a flower...an Indian Paintbrush. My heart leaps in my breast! Is it possible?

And then I know. Eternity has come full circle once more. Time and space have no meaning, not for us.

I lower my eyelids...and welcome my lover home.



Solitudine



Strano, ma Ugo non si era accorto di nulla.

Eppure c'erano state discussioni, forse anche scenate, pianti... ma niente era trapelato, tutto sempre corretto, almeno in apparenza, e la solita formalità nel salutarsi, quando uno dei due usciva di casa, facendo cenno col capo all'altro.

Marta, è vero, aveva il volto un po' tirato, ma alla richiesta di Ugo, il figlio, se tutto filasse liscio tra lei e il marito, Nico, la risposta era stata in un certo modo rassicurante. 

Marta sorrise al figlio, e disse che 'tutto andava come doveva andare'!

Era, ormai, piena estate. Tempo libero per lei, che insegnava a Lettere, e vacanza anche per Ugo, iscritto al primo anno di medicina.

Quella sera Ugo tornò a casa, salutò la madre. Un lungo affettuoso abbraccio, come al solito. Chiese del padre e gli fu risposto che non c'era.

Andò a fare la doccia, dopo il tennis, però gli era sembrato notare un'espressione tesa nel volto della madre.

Marta era una gran bella donna, e i suoi 45 anni erano portati splendidamente. Ugo ne era orgoglioso, e sapeva bene quanta ammirazione la donna riscuoteva, ovunque andasse.

La cena fu abbastanza silenziosa. Ugo aiutò a sparecchiare e mettere tutto a posto.

Marta disse che andava a letto, aveva un po' di mal di testa.

"Ma', se ti serve qualcosa chiamami... e papà, quando torna?"

Marta stava andando verso la sua camera da letto. Si fermò, si voltò, guardò fisso il figlio.

"Credo che non tornerà!"

"Come?"

"Adesso, caro, vado a letto, ne riparleremo, ciao..."

Andò nella sua camera.

Ugo restò perplesso, non sapeva se avesse compreso bene le parole della madre, e soprattutto cosa volessero significare. Accese la TV ma fissava lo schermo senza seguire quanto andava svolgendosi. Decise che si sarebbe preparato per la notte. Si recò nella sua camera, si spogliò completamente, indossò i pantaloncini del pigiama, ma non la giacca. D'estate preferiva dormire così, in libertà. Passando dinanzi alla porta della camera dei genitori vide che la luce era accesa. Sua madre era sveglia. Bussò pian, aprì la porta.

Marta era a letto, coperta dal lenzuolo, e fissava il soffitto, con gli occhi lucidi.

"Mamma!"

La donna lo guardò, gli tese le braccia..

"Vieni qua, Ugo, stringimi tra le braccia ..."

Il ragazzo si avvicinò a letto, sedette sulla sponda, abbracciò la mamma. Marta si mise a sedere e si avvinghiò al figlio, col capo sulla spalla di lui. Alzò il capo lo guardò con espressione implorante. Lo avvinghiò forte.

"Non lasciarmi, Ugo, ti prego... non lasciarmi... almeno tu... stammi vicino..."

Ugo sentiva il tepore e il profumo della mamma che, come era sua abitudine, indossava solo una leggera camicia di batista. Alle mani di Ugo sembrò toccare la pelle nuda della mamma. Era una sensazione piacevolissima. Le carezzò il volto, le baciò la fronte, gli occhi, le gote.

"Tranquilla, mamma, non ti lascio, sono con te. Ma mettiti giù, così sei scomoda..."

"Si...si...mi metto giù ma non andartene, tienimi stretta... aiutami.. difendimi..."

Senza sciogliersi dall'abbraccio che la legava al figlio, cercò di sdraiarsi. Ugo mosse i piedi, lasciò cadere i sandali, si coricò a fianco alla donna, tenendola tra le sue braccia.

Lei si voltò su un fianco, alzò una gamba, la pose sul figlio, il ginocchio all'altezza dell'inguine, e il pube, quasi del tutto scoperto perché la camicia s'era sollevata, premeva sulla coscia del ragazzo.

Quel contatto, inatteso e improvviso, il tepore, il profumo... insomma... tutto contribuì a far eccitare Ugo. Il ginocchio della mamma pesava proprio sul suo fallo che era divenuto duro come il ferro. Il ginocchio si mosse un poco, come se Marta volesse rendersi conto di cosa fosse! Si strinse ancora di più a lui. E Ugo sentì chiaramente, sulla sua coscia nuda la serica cresposità dei folti peli del pube materno. Ebbe come un sobbalzo. Doveva controllarsi, dominarsi. Ma non era facile.

Marta alzò appena il capo.

"Spegni la luce, per favore... voglio cercare di dormire, così dimentico tutto... ma non lasciarmi..." 

E si strinse ancor più a lui. Lo baciò sul viso, di sfuggita le sue labbra sfiorarono quelle di lui. Erano calde, tumide.

Gli poggiò la testa sul petto e si assopì mormorando: "...mi ha lasciato sola... mi ha lasciano sola..."

Ugo la carezzava teneramente e le sussurrava che non era sola, c'era lui. L'abbracciava stretta, quasi cullandola. E sentiva quel boschetto caldo... quel ginocchio sul suo sesso... Non riusciva a dormire. Pensò alla sua bella mamma, al velo leggerissimo della camicia da notte... che era del tutto sbottonata, e ora sollevata...

Allungò cautamente la mano... una tetta era quasi del tutto fuori dalla camicia e posava sul suo petto nudo. La carezzò, dolcemente, sentì il capezzolo, lungo, duro... rabbrividì, quello era il seno che lo aveva allattato... mosse un po' il fianco.. e quello era il grembo che gli aveva dato la vita...

Si sentì pervaso da un lungo irrefrenabile fremito.

Com'era bella la sua mamma e com'era attraente. Non solo. Nella sua mente si agitava una parola: "desiderabile"! 

Sì, quello che era affiorato a tratti, in passato, ora esplodeva in tutta evidenza: la madre era attraente, seducente, appetibile... Lui aveva gli occhi spalancati e la mano era divenuta nervosa nella carezza... gli venne in mente il termine inglese che designava certe donne, certe madri, MILF, "Mother I'd like to fuck". Ed era proprio così! In quel momento non pensava ad altro, pur rendendosi conto del tabù che avrebbe voluto violare. Scosse lievemente la testa, ma che tabù e tabù, la natura non conosce divieti!

La tensione non accennava ad attenuarsi. Il respiro regolare di Marta, con la testa sul suo petto, il calore del morbido seno, il turgore del capezzolo e soprattutto quel caldo umido e deliziosamente setoloso che lo stava facendo impazzire, non gli consentivano tregua, riposo.

Non si accorse nemmeno di assopirsi, e il sogno era confuso, come vivere una realtà avvolta da una nebbia che non lasciava chiaramente comprendere quanto andava accadendo. Una percezione vaga, una sensazione paradisiaca, voluttuosa, sconosciuta... qualcosa di nuovo, mai sentito, che lo carezzava... gli carezzava il sesso, lo stringeva con tenerezza e nel contempo con voluttà. Era bello, meraviglioso, non avrebbe voluto svegliarsi mai...

Aprì lentamente un occhio: buio totale. La donna era nella stessa posizione, sembrava profondamente addormentata, il respiro un po' irregolare, rotto da brevi intervalli, come se singhiozzasse... Era agitata, Marta. Quello che premeva sul sesso di Ugo era il ginocchio della mamma, che si muoveva... strisciando lentamente, ma con energia, sul fallo rigido come acciaio, in tal modo scoprendo e ricoprendo la pelle del glande... provocando al ragazzo quella lasciva e voluttuosa sensazione che lo stava portando rapidamente all'esplosione delle sue seminali. Lei era agitata, sì, e andava sempre più appassionatamente strofinandolo sulla coscia di Ugo il cespuglio setoso che fioriva tra le sue gambe. Ugo percepiva nettamente la forma delle grandi labbra, il caldo umido delle piccole e la lieve sporgenza del clitoride turgido che strusciava sulla sua carne... la mano di Marta si aggrappò al suo collo, il movimento divenne convulso, il respiro di lei affannoso, e improvvisamente la donna si avvinghiò a lui, freneticamente, sobbalzando disordinatamente, gemendo... gli afferrò il fallo, con vigore, mentre il seme di lui stava per uscire impetuosamente...

La voce era implorante, roca, quasi incomprensibile, andava sussurrandogli all'orecchio di non abbandonarla, anche lui, di non lasciarla.

Ugo la strinse a sé, le carezzò il volto... era terribilmente eccitato, il suo fallo impazziva, forse doveva fare in modo, qualsiasi modo, per... liberarlo ...

Marta deglutiva in continuazione, era agitata, smaniosa... sembrava aver caldo... improvvisamente si mise seduta sul letto, il ragazzo ne scorgeva a mala pena il profilo nella poca luce che filtrava dalle persiane. Ma cosa stava facendo?

La donna prese i lembi della camicia, alzò le braccia, la tolse completamente, la gettò sul pavimento. Ugo scorse la linea del seno... Incredibile... sua madre s'era denudata... Lei si volse verso il volto del figlio...

"Scusa... scusa... ma non riesco a sopportarla... mi sembra la camicia di Nesso... mi soffoca... ho bisogno d'aria..."

Ugo sedette anche lui, era preoccupato per la madre. Cosa significava quel sentirsi mancare il respiro... L'abbracciò...

"Mamma... mamma.. cosa hai? Come ti senti?"

Marta s'abbracciò al ragazzo...

"Niente... tesoro... niente... basta che mi tieni stretta..."

Lui le bacò gli occhi, le gote... le labbra... e fu istintivo, invincibile, lo slancio che lo portò a baciarle il seno... a prendere tra le sue labbra il tumido capezzolo e ciucciarlo...

Marta gli carezzò i capelli.

"Sei cresciuto... sei diventato un uomo... ma sei sempre lo stesso... come quando poppavi il latte, un succhio prepotente, avido, lungo... il mio bambino... sei bellissimo amore della mamma.... ma.. cerchiamo di riposare... abbracciami..."

Con tenerezza gli prese il volto tra le mani, lo allontanò da lei... si sdraiò e così fece fare a lui... Ugo era supino, col fallo penosamente compresso nel pantaloncino che era sceso con l'elastico quasi al pube, e quell'elastico gli straziava il sesso. Con la mano spinse il pantaloncino ancora più giù, sulle gambe.

La mamma si girò di nuovo sul fianco, stretta a lui. Una mammella era sul petto di lui, un braccio intorno al collo, la gamba sul pube... no... incontrò prima la prepotente erezione del fallo... allora, abbassò la mano, afferrò quell'asta vibrante, quasi una carezza, e la mise sotto la sua coscia calda...

Ugo pensò che da un momento all'altro il suo seme avrebbe impiastricciato dappertutto.

Marta gli baciò la guancia e disse che così era bello riposare.

Sì, pensò il giovane. Riposare un cacchio! Io sto morendo e questa non lo capisce, crede che sono di ferro... e s'eccitava ancora di più ricordando il sapore di quel capezzolo tra le sue labbra!

Riuscì, con tanta fatica e a stento, a rilassarsi in parte e per fortuna la tensione cedette lentamente alla stanchezza... si addormentò. Un sonno profondo, anche se agitato... sentiva come un peso... voleva svegliarsi, respirare meglio...

Uscì stentatamente dalla sonnolenza... Marta era, quasi completamente su di lui ... il seno sul petto di lui, le labbra sul collo... poggiava le ginocchia sul letto, il bacino era appena sollevato, con due dita aveva preso il glande di Ugo e lo aveva avvicinato all'ingresso caldo e fremente della vagina... si impalò lentamente, molto lentamente, e l'eccitazione rendeva difficoltosa la penetrazione... non voleva svegliare il figlio... Finalmente... era riuscita... il suo ventre poggiava su quello del ragazzo, il fallo era completamente in lei, sentiva il glande contro la cervice...

Cercava di restare ferma, con quel meraviglioso scettro custodito nel suo grembo... ne avvertiva l'imperiosa necessità... gli serviva, che fosse del figlio o di un altro... l'essenziale era averlo... D'un tratto sentì due mani che le carezzavano la schiena, le natiche, la stringevano... e il pube di Ugo si sollevava...

"Mamma!?"

Lei era quasi immobile, un leggero dondolio, come se il suo grembo volesse carezzare quello del ragazzo, ma il suo interno era in tumulto, i muscoli della vagina mungevano freneticamente il fallo di Ugo. Il sesso di lui era vigorosamente eretto, come fosse affetto da priapismo temporaneo, ma nel contempo godeva da pazzi, e solo a tratti la mente era attraversata dal pensiero che quella favolosa femmina che lo aveva accolto in lei e stava prodigandogli simile voluttà, era la sua mamma, la sua meravigliosa mamma, sognata, anche, vagheggiata, bramata, ma sempre considerata una interdizione sacra, un veto assoluto. Ora lei lo stava possedendo con avida concupiscenza.

Il respiro di Marta diveniva sempre più affannoso, il lieve gemito che le sfuggiva dalle labbra dischiuse, si stava trasformando in un urlo soffocato, roco, mentre il ventre, era sconvolto da un avanti-dietro sempre più convulso. Si poggiava sulle mani, la testa rovesciata indietro, gli occhi incantati, il volto estatico...

Ugo sobbalzava, le andava incontro... quel suono gutturale aumentava...

"Si... amore mio... si... così... cosììììì... devi tenermi così... sempre..."

E l'orgasmo la travolse, sembrava in preda a una accesso isterico, incontrollato... quasi gridava...

"Tesoro bello... bellissimooooooo...."

E il fallo era sempre eretto.

".....infinito.... inesauribile.... Ooooooooooooh!"

E si accasciò sul figlio, sempre energicamente impalata sulla robusta virilità del ragazzo, con la vagina che stentava a placarsi.

Respirava con affanno, Marta, era sudata, rossa in viso, le nari dilatate, ma emanava godimento, appagamento, sensualità, passione, da ogni poro.

"Tesoro... tesoro... non lasciarmi..."

Ugo le carezzò il volto.

"Sei meravigliosa, sorprendente, strabiliante, mamma... Marta... sta sicura, non ti lascerò... mai..."