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A Flame in the Night Ch. 01

By: dawei



Welcome to my fantasies and many thanks for reading my story. Generally this series is a tale of erotic romance blended with other light diversions. But take notice! Be patient about the sex; this story was meant to tease, and not much sex happens during the first five chapters. So I don't want you frustrated if you're looking for something quicker. And although I say this is "a story ... to a woman"--actually, it's a mixed bag and either gender might enjoy it depending on the chapter. Finally then--please vote and comment--as I'm a novice and dearly needing the encouragement of having your feedback! 

* * *

IRRESISTIBLE INTRODUCTION

A story from a guy to a woman...

It seems so innocent as it begins. We're sitting down and chatting over coffee. Well, I'm drinking coffee while you're having tea. It's a night we'll learn much about one another, for it's a blind date, you might say, and we're just meeting in person for the very first time.

And yet, it wasn't so innocent after all. Indeed, it was quite planned for a reason. Drawn together by a hidden fate, we met, as some do, on the Internet--the computer world sometimes referred to as cyberspace--a place too often void of integrity and filled with anonymous make-believe characters. Relationships from this universe are a minefield; therefore, one must traverse this path with a degree of caution. Though for tonight, we go beyond this virtual reality and away from the safety of firewalls, and the likes of such technological things. Because this evening, as we carelessly step into our cyber imagination, this fantasy, as it once was, is now something much more tangible. Consequently, the illusory online encounters--that at one time resided only in our minds and within the computer networks--have in the moment transformed into something that's in every way quite real.

In the beginning, then, we sit and talk there for a while exchanging pleasantries. We go on making the usual small talk, covering the weather, inquiring about our work and hobbies, etc. But on this evening, it feels especially cozy and private as we chat at the coffee shop. The few others who are there are also engaged in their own intimate conversations. It's easy, then, to open up and discuss about our secret lives and fantasies. And it's amazing what we begin to share.

But one might wonder why you chose to meet this unfamiliar stranger in person. Surely, you must've done plenty of thinking about meeting such guys: "I know, I know... He's probably a creep. Or worse, a pervert perhaps. Oh, why are men always such jerks?" So possibly then, you've hope and curiosity for something better this time. But on the other hand, maybe you're feeling just a touch lonely. Or maybe it's simply your human condition calling you to add some wild, wayward passion to your life.

In any case, you couldn't resist my offer. "Intriguing," you thought, "so what could it hurt?" "All he wants," you explain to yourself, "is to meet me." And in return for this, I'd promised to give you a story. Well, not just any story, but an erotic sex story!

But nevertheless, you were bewitched with this vision of seduction. You were so enchanted with the possibility of meeting me face-to-face and seeing what may become of it, when you listen to me confess a sexually provoking story. In fact, purposely you must've utterly denied your fascination with the plausible outcome of this occasion. After all, you hardly paid attention to my very clear and adamant warning.

"But if you like my story," I touted you, "you must then agree to have sex with me!" So that was the deal. And daringly, you accepted the arrangement and consented to meet with me--to see what adventures would follow.

* * *

So as we converse that night, for some time perhaps, we warm up to the mutual affinity we have for each other. And while I can't completely shake off my nervousness, I do feel myself becoming very much at ease with you. In addition, due to the auspicious reasons we are meeting, I'm especially hopeful and cheery-eyed about the chance to bond with a woman of your uncommon virtue. Realistically, not many would be ambitious enough to meet me under our agreement. So, perhaps it's a sign you might be uniquely special and a gal who will fit me like a glove, and we can share some grand times and be very good together. Then, possibly, maybe that's how I happened to miscue and get a little out of touch with our circumstance, as I casually ask you:

"Imagine in a year from now or so, ... what if we're still together?"

I can't put my finger on why I ask, but I've opened a potentially scary and risky question. Not that I've said anything wrong, but for our first meeting it might be construed that I'm being too anxious, and being overly forward assuming whatever relationship we've started will also exist afterwards into the future.

So was I lacking confidence? Had I gotten desperate? When it comes to meeting women in places, such as clubs, bars, or even the local Starbucks, I'm uptight believing I'm an underachiever, having below average ability in making impromptu dates with women. But alternatively, when online I'm a champion, perhaps, and not afraid to say anything straightforward and direct. "Hey! Wanna meet for sex?" Oh, sure, on the Internet I can say that without even a shudder. However, in real life I'd be scared to ask a cute woman the mere time of day.

So then, alas, here we are and something within me is ticking. I don't thoroughly recognize it. I'm not really sure what it is, but it's making me strangely impatient, a tad bit foolish, and yeah, kind of romantic.

"What do you mean?" Your left facial cheek elevates slightly and now you're looking very puzzled.

"Well, think of a small gift," I answer. "And a while from now, what if I gave you that gift. Then what gift can it be to signify something more and mean something special?"

"Special? You mean like ... like a ring?"

"No, no!" I quickly raise my hand and waver it back and forth. "I mean something more subtle than that ... like a kind of token gift. But then if you happen to receive it, it'd represent something considerably more. That simple or charming gift would be like a secret message, saying--I love you!"

"Uh... are we moving too fast?" You caution me.

"I'm not saying I love you! I'm just talking hypothetically."

"Hmm ... something simple ... charming ... that secretly says, I love you." You think about it for a moment and come up with an answer. "Okay, get me a bracelet. ... Oh wait! Make it a bracelet with cute ducks on it. Yeah, 'cause I like little duckies."

I chuckle and say, "Okay, I'll try to remember ... duckies!"

"And what gift would you like?" you ask the equivalent question. Then you put your index finger on the table and pretend like you're writing and taking notes.

"Hey, sorry, that was my question." I give you a smug look and half-jokingly I say, "No copying me!" But soon after, I tell you, "Just do something special for me, okay?"

"Okay, I'll remember." You wink and show me a bright, truthful smile. You finish jotting your imaginary note on the table top and read it aloud. "Do something special!"

Afterwards, our chatting progresses onward as we continue amusing ourselves in dialog and general sharing. But while talking about social things is interesting, being the guy that I am, I've a tendency to partially stray away in my mind. I go off in tangents wondering about other things, like whether you and I will be going to bed tonight. What do your boobs look like under your bra? Do you shave under your arms? Do you have a pretty pie?

Yes, I guess I'm kind of that way since I want to know some finer points about your bodily attributes. Yet, at the same time, I'm also intrigued about your sexual life. So right now, additionally, I also want to learn your bedroom personality and about any of your intimate experiences. Then as I think about gaining familiarity with those details, it feeds my fancy to know even more of you. What do you like? Why do you like it? Yet, as I inquire on it, it appears that you're a bit shy about discussing this or possibly too reserved to say much more, when I ask.

"Oh you know, I like what a lot of women like--" you vaguely announce. Then later, determined to change the subject, you add, "But, I bet I know what you like." Playfully smiling, you continue: "You guys are so predictable! You--always--want the same thing. But go ahead. Let me hear it. Tell me about your sexual fantasies."

Oddly, I'm thrilled you're requesting to learn about my sexual insights. I feel like a child impatiently waiting and wanting to blurt out a whopping fish story of my carnal yearnings. But rather than babbling a long list of wishful ideas, I decide to try another approach, which would be to summarize it more concisely. "What do I like about sex?" I reply. "I love to get sucked!"

"Is that it?" you ask. "Is that all?" you say, obviously doubting me and not very convinced it could be so simple.

"No." I grin. "There's more, a lot more. But I believe getting lots and lots of blowjobs and handjobs is the key--the secret to unlocking my passion!"

"Oh my my! You horny guy," you say with a laugh. Then with a bewildering expression, you make the following remarks:

"But I don't really get the big attraction to it. Why is it that all you guys are so hooked on oral and anal sex anyway? So what's the big deal about it?"

"Anal sex?" I reiterate. "Talk about organic ... that's about as raw as it gets!"

My sarcastic comment doesn't quite win you over. I observe your smile cracked frozen between not knowing whether to laugh, which might encourage more of my humor; or to show disdain, thereby blunting any further remarks of insincerity. Thus, feeling somewhat perplexed at reading your frame of mind, I try to clarify my point with a little more seriousness. I add:

"Well, yeah ... I like anal sex, like many guys do. I admit it. It's erotic and kinky, but you have to take your time with it to feel good. And I think you have to be genuinely curious about having a guy in you that way. So it's even better, I think, when you feel good about it and feel submissive and giving. Well, then, that's when it's really sexy."

"Yeah I suppose so," you tell me with some remorse, as it almost sounds appealing when it's presented like that. It makes you interested to ask me more about it, but instead, your thought changes. "Damn! That's gotta hurt," you tell yourself. "But ... well ... maybe it's not that bad. Maybe it's kind of like--"

For the moment, you stop thinking about that, and you decide to get back into a flirting mood. The woman in you wants to play; hence, you press me to say more, "Okay then, big boy. Why do you like your--big cock--in my mouth?"

In a teasing way, you begin to wet your lips with a salacious tongue gesture, obviously trying to jolt me. And it works because I'm rocked off my seat with the unspoken language you're throwing at me. So, unsure if I can or should form an opinion about what I've seen or what you're suggesting, I gaze into your eyes to see if I can unveil some truth about what just happened. But all I can do is admire the alluring beauty of a seducing woman, for a man is forbidden to really know what makes a woman tease like this. And as you enjoy the confusion in my face, you're smirking from deep within.

With an entrapping mannerism, you then entice me for a response, "So go on, and tell me more! Describe your sexual fantasy."

I, then, give you what you ask. I explain all about it--in these stories.

--end of chapter one--

Hope you enjoyed this. Please vote, comment, or share a favorite line from the story. 

A Flame in the Night Ch. 02



You (female) asked me what my fantasy is. Well, let me try to explain it:

I say yum, yum. My sexual sweet tooth can be satisfied rather plainly. It's getting orally sexed. And like that, ... that's my fantasy wish!

So there it is, in a nutshell. Receiving head, and plenty of it--that's my happy, pie in the sky, storybook ending. Hence, what more can I tell you? Well let me say, for me it's better than chocolate and oh-so totally erotic. Furthermore, when a woman gives a man this kind of pleasure, it's sort of like she's giving him a gift. Like it's a special gift she can give to her man to make him feel important, and make him feel lucky, perhaps, to be with her. In some ways, then, his ego gets pampered and he no longer feels like he's missing out on "the good life" because he knows he's already gotten some of that goodness from her.

Although in itself this sexual charity may incorrectly be mistaken for love, it's not love, obviously. Rather, it's an acknowledgement she cares meaningfully about his physical need and proves it by pleasuring his lower anatomy. So when he sees her face go down on him, almost automatically fireworks go off and there will be euphoric images dancing around in his mind. And why not? Her face is pretty, her hair is feminine, and her lips are spongy soft and seductive. Next, after she clutches his beloved organ and sinks it into her mouth, she sucks him and plays his piece like it's a precious musical instrument. Then, like the portrait of a hilly vineyard or a beautiful scenic garden--it's so easy on his eyes. And like the sounds of tree leaves bustling in the breeze--it's soothing and comforting. Little by little, she works on his rangy riser until her cockamamie mischief gets too much for him to bear. And like a spider attending her web, she sits on the tip of his world--and patiently awaits the pungent infusion of her incoming meal.

Therefore, what's wrong with this obsession? It's simple, yet satisfying. I imagine feeling like a king attached to the queen--sucked to the seam on my Jimmy Dean. And yeah, I could also add 'oh what a dream' but let's not overdo the rhyming. Besides, this is my point, I hope you see: it's so sexually gratifying to me--but yet, that type of endearing service, served freely and openly, can be difficult if not impossible to find.

So, do you have sympathy for me? Do you understand why I've made this plea? If not, let's explore my BJ fascination further, and be really specific. In my opinion, "hot" is an especially quick suck-off where I come in her mouth unexpectedly or--more interestingly--if I come while I'm still mostly soft because my balls got vastly excited and suddenly wanted to ejaculate. Just imagine it like this: I'm sound asleep. Then quietly, she sneaks up on me and starts sucking my gland as I'm limp and dreaming. Now that's sexy! That's hot! Or if she can manage my cum, as it splashes into her mouth, well, that's what I call sexual bliss. And still even better, she stays on my limber noodle and continues with the sucking. She works on my stick until eventually I come--again and again. You might think, then, that I get nightmarish dreams for being saturated with juicy, juicy blowjobs. Well, you're right! Because the way I see it, that's a scorching hot head trip.

Furthermore, I'm not ashamed to admit how I'm malnourished and starved for those savory, tender licks. The diagnosis is aptly appropriate as I can't seem to shake having those nasty cravings. All day long I thirst for her charming suckings, so as fate may have it, I'm jinxed and get just the opposite. But all that endless lusting might fade entirely, if only I had a generous honey to service me some sugary kisses. However, ladies like that aren't a dime a dozen. So, until I catch her, that prized and wonderful catch, my one and only yellowtail fish, then I'll stay hungry for an abounding dish of girlie-girlie cock sucking.

But beyond the remarkable physical pleasure, watching a gal giving head is also mentally satisfying, as well. Shall I continue and add more? Okay, but I'm warning you, reviewing this might get me really, really horny. So, straight out, and by all means, I'd prefer it be my banger getting all the attention. But let's say for argument sake, it's not. To see a woman's feminine smirk on a man's masculine bone, this face-to-dick meeting is kind of lewd, but it's also sensual and idealistically raw. Whether it'd be on film, in picture, in art, or even live and in-person, having her face on his private place is sexy and kinky and, yes, even a bit entertaining. Then to witness cock sucking, is like having a show with a very personal focus: you see it, you watch it, and you somehow believe that you're a part of the action. It's all a mirage of sorts, how the mind plays tricks and the body gets fooled into wishing some of that frisky, amorous petting is actually happening to you. Hence, even if you don't get it directly from the source, if you merely look at a chick who's sucking a dick, well, a little dab of that might suffice in a pinch, if you need a dash of that seasoning.

And let's not forget the moment of truth, when a man releases his orgasm. It's not that easy to describe, when the stuff shoots outside, why this too is erotic. But at that special time, as a man loses control of his member, his prick is exposed to his nerves and that opens him to a rainbow of superlative pleasures. So he feels everything, when she accepts his gooey cum as he spurts erratically into her lips. Ah, that's a hot picture and a really great touch, even if it's a bit filthy and crude to spew all that mess at her. Still, overall, it's steamy and satisfying. And not surprisingly, that just happens to be what I like.

So accordingly, now that I've described my paradise, I hope you comprehend my objective. Indeed, consider yourself taught and well schooled for what I'm expressly craving. However, to be a good pupil, put into practice the important things you've learned, else the valuable education might simply be wasted. Thus, here and now, show me some courtesy and demonstrate your interest with active participation. Oops, just a second. I gotta get my grub ready. ... Alright, here it is. Now take this and suck it!

Bury my bulge down your mouth, and work the tip of the head, as well. Then feel my spryly coil as it swells and presses into your gullet. Come on babe, show me your pretty face on my stem and let me admire the fairyland view down below. Ah, wrap around my substance, and make it throb and get it really, really firm. Mmm, work it babe, work it. Paint me with your tongue and continue to kiss it. Then go back again and play with my bone: Suck it. Taste it. And stroke it.

Afterwards, if you're still chipper and have a pleasant mood, you can giggle and moan as you're blowing. Truly, I dig those gingerbread amenities. Those luscious, buttery, gobble-gobble distractions turn me flush and get me high spirited, to boot. Only, please don't tease me for too long because I haven't that kind of patience. I want more, and I need you to give me what I'm lacking. So, don't delay it any further. Open wide, and hitch your face to my woody.

Oh, that's good! I like it so much. Make me humble. Make me squirm. Suck my rod and puff my nuts with fluids. Let nature take its course. And, like an old and flooding timber dam, surely I'll have to bust.

Okay, then. If you're ready for this, I'm ready to give. Just do me a favor and show me those beautiful, sexy eyes! Ooh, yeah, I think you've gotten my plan. I want those twinkling star-like peepers chatting with me. I need to read their thoughts as they're saying, "I'm giving you just what you want." So, deliver the message! Communicate it all with your looks. Oh, how I enjoy beholding your stare--especially, and even more--with my knob finely secured between your lips.

Man, it's getting hot in here! Plus, your looking-right-back-at-me sort of leer is filling me with awful romantic troubles. Wholly-milking-zonkers! You keep encouraging me with your come-hither glances, making it all too easy to slip up and lose my grip. Ah, there, you've got me-- Shit, fucking shit! My levee's deteriorating and bowing with pressure.

And like that, ... my balls pulsate and quiver. And thick, pearly cream goes hurling into your trap.

Baby, that's it! I feel it tingling on the tip--and all the way down my man-flute. Argh! It's too sensitive now, now that I'm coming. But, your tongue keeps nagging me and flicking away on my overly ticklish ending.

And like that, ... I shoot it again! I shoot it over, and over, and over.

Oh, sweetie! It looks so dreamy, as it dribbles out from your yap and onto your chin. Girl, what a load I gave you! I see it bubbling on your tongue. I see it clinging to your lips. Whew, that velvety ooze is circulating and gathering around in your mouth, making your grin look stunning.

Wow! I can't believe there's so much inside there. Wow, wow! I still can't believe it. You swallowed it!

And like that, ... you let it all go down in a gulp.

--end of chapter two--

Hope you enjoyed this. Please vote, comment, or share a favorite line from the story.  



A Flame in the Night Ch. 03



WHO'S TEASING WHOM?

Upon hearing my blowjob fantasy, you (female) are marveling at the particulars of the things I'd told you. Except, you're having some doubts about it, especially doubts concerning the real necessity of what I described. For a moment, you internalize on all that I said, asking yourself, "Can sucking it like he wants it, is it truly that special for him? Well, hmm, I'm not really sure about that."

Thus, it might be the suspicion you're having is caused from a conflict of reasoning: What's the point in me fussing over something so simple? Why have I made such a to-do craving undue attention be given to my penis? What other purpose or function will it serve? Fundamentally, you conclude: It's merely human nature to want gratification and pleasure. When you interpret it that way, it makes for a better argument. After all, guys want sex! That much you know, and that certainly makes plenty of sense.

So ultimately, you surmise, that my desires are categorically equivalent to those of other males, and following that line of reasoning, possibly my fantasy is not quite as essential, or maybe not quite as important as I portrayed it. Surely you figure, there's much more to what I like and want regarding sexual obsessions. Yet still, even though you doubt the significance of my blowjob craving, nevertheless you appreciate what you heard and want to respect my wants. After all, I had just shared my innermost secret and told you the true thing I desire and have dreams about.

Then, with this logic, you're not completely dismissive about my wishful story. In fact, fondly you decide to file away the details of my suck fantasy and store it somewhere within the recesses of your consciousness--just in case, perhaps--you think it's important to remember it later.

What's more, on the contrary, for me, having bared my castle-in-the-air sex scenario, I'm presently riding a new mental high. How refreshing it is to get it out in the clear and to express my carnal passion, my lust and sexual aspiration. Hence, with a similar upbeat spiritedness, I wait to hear a comparable story from you, a tale about your most desirous hankerings, or otherwise a narrative of something erotic you've wanted to experience.

Thus I straighten my back and lean forward, anticipating that you'll start chatting your version of something sensual and all-telling. And shortly later, I eagerly ask, "Okay, so how about you? Tell me a secret. Give me the dirty laundry about something you've wanted to do. What's your naughty sex fantasy?"

Immediately, you fold your arms and lightly nip at your elbows while considering how to reply. But pretty soon, with the clock ticking away against your favor, you find your heels tapping nervously against the floor. The blunt imposition to expose your confidential information is getting you more fidgety and worrisome the longer you ponder the issue at hand.

"Well, uh ...," eventually you stammer out something, and a flushness fills the insides of your facial cheeks as if the time to answer is about to expire. Then seconds later, abruptly you scream out and painfully admit, "Sorry, so sorry. But I just can't tell it to you--just like that!"

There, in that instance, the cheerful mood we've constructed swiftly deteriorates like an unstoppable avalanche free-falling down the slopes. And what was once amicable and productive is replaced by an awkwardness that seems to be weighing down on us.

Internally we sort through our circumstance attempting to regain some positive momentum. A few smiling gestures are passed back and forth, yet the cumbersome problem is still lodged between us. Unfortunately, then, we've lost our way and currently unsure about our next step. What do we say now? How can we recover from the inconvenience of this social mishap?

Suddenly my emotions are stunted and blanketed with a hazy fog. Desperately I want to remain optimistic as I labor to suppress my dismay. Moreover, indeed, I don't want to overtly signal that I'm holding any ill sentiments about your refusal to share. Yet, my true manner of outlook feels like ... well, it feels almost as if: I'm standing at the front door ready to buy tickets to the last show of the night, a show I really wanted to see. Then unexpectedly I'm told, "It just sold out." And like that--I'm feeling dejected!

Then, in summary, the mute untold revelation is obviously a downer, and I sort of feel shortchanged and deprived of getting a chance to glimpse into your inner personality. Furthermore, I'm still unsure of how to proceed or even what I should do, for I know I can't force you to divulge anything. That would certainly be a blunder to demand it. And although I'm discouraged by lowered expectations, nonetheless, I'm convinced you'll do more to acknowledge something about your sexual yearnings.

Consequently, granted what's happened--oh, then, I suppose--we can continue discussing the weather, ... or perhaps, I gather, I can tell you more about my running hobby. For example, I could carry on and on about all the miles I run per week on the treadmill, or even tell you what races I do throughout the year.

Yet otherwise, then again, if there's nothing else to do, I imagine we can go on ordering more coffee and tea, or maybe even have some buttered toast or dessert. However, in stark comparison, after being so, so comfortable only minutes before, returning again to having rambled conversations about the weather, or simply refilling our beverages, doesn't seem quite as appealing anymore. After all, I would prefer trying to provoke you instead, with more playful and suggestive questions like, "What color underwear are you wearing?" Or impulsively, I could canvas your opinion: What if I suddenly walk in on you and accidentally happen to see you in bed as you're fingering yourself--hypothetically speaking, of course. Then, what should I do if that happens? Should I leave quietly, to let you finish? Or should I stay, to help out? What are your thoughts about that?

But obviously, of course, polling your advice with questions like the later ones would be a lot more fun, except currently as things stand, it'd seem rather untimely to continue with those kinds of topics. I'd feel slightly uncomfortable prodding you now, and therefore I'm reluctant to ask you any more about personal circumstances. Thus, after gauging the alternatives, I'm determined to find a means to restore the intimate atmosphere we enjoyed not so long ago. Hence, I press my mind to contrive a remedy--an agreeable solution to fix this dilemma. Next thing I know, out of nowhere, this brilliant thought came to me, an approach that can literally save the evening!

Coyly then I ask, "What if you try to--write--your fantasy. Can you do that?"

Without waiting for an answer, I quickly gather up the necessary supplies. Some students are studying not too far away, so I go borrow from them a pen and a sheet of yellow memo size paper, torn from a notebook. Without delay, I place them both on the table and then I wait in silent limbo.

Cautiously, with the tattered yellow scratch paper laid down before you, you mull over the proposition and seriously consider my request. And after another moment of staring endlessly into that paper, you remain hushed and subdued with no clear indication about what you plan to do.

Meanwhile, I'm so gosh-darn curious to discover if my ploy will be successful. Like a spooked, startled chipmunk, with no tree to scurry up, I refrain from moving and sit stone-still as I watch to see if you'll be making the first move. Only there's nothing happening. I see no useful activity going on with that pen in your hand, until finally I hear you blurting out that you've made a decision.

"Well, all right," you mutter. And you begin to write!

In the meantime, I admire your hand strokes as you scribble down what it is that you have to say. Apparently, it'd seem that you may have always had something you wanted to express, but perhaps you were initially reluctant to share it. And now with your brand-new enthusiasm, surely at last I can see you publishing your thoughts.

But what's it that you're writing? Is it a sexual fantasy, a secret desire, or even a fetish? And maybe, perchance, it's so kinky and perverted that you'd feel shame admitting that it excites you. Well, sexual and carnal wants can be so darn crazy and unpredictable, so of course I want to know the whole lowdown of all you're thinking. Plus, the thoughts in my head fluctuate from one extreme to another, speculating on the naughty things you're jotting down on the paper.

Then, afterwards, I observe that you have finished. You've completed writing that secret wish. However, to my complete and utter surprise I'm left staring helplessly at the consequences of what follows next! As soon as you'd finished penning your confession, and without much hesitation and no other discussion, you fold the paper over and over--and over several times more, to be sure. Then, unfairly perhaps, with the paper pinched between your fingers, you reach toward me with a lengthened arm and gently you tuck that folded letter deep into my shirt pocket. And what's even worse, after that, in a clear and serious voice you sternly warn me, "Don't look at it! You cannot read this!"

Notably, my jaw drops and my eyes broaden considerably. I hardly know what to make of this unexpected predicament. And although I'm bowled over and flabbergasted, certainly I'm not upset. In fact, I'm quite tickled pink with this unexpected challenge you've created. And even as I'm processing my confusion, tentatively I bow my head and accept your condition.

"Trust me," I reassure you. I raise my hand to cover the memo that's inside my pocket, and I pat it a few times against my chest. "I will not look, and I won't show this to anyone."

Then pronto, like that, mutually we seem comfortable with the new arrangement, and once more we're back to enjoying our time together. In one form or another, we've both participated in opening up, taking risks, and sharing discretely. Thus between us, the emotional balance has been made right again since each of us has traded, by respective means, a few of our closely guarded cravings.

Nonetheless, even though your decadent thoughts are folded up and discreetly concealed in my garment, you've some misgivings about letting go of your closeted secrets so easily. On the other hand, my guarantee not to examine the contents has aroused you to get on thin ice and go forth with this venture. Besides, you figure this is a nice opportunity to explore my credibility and could serve as a test to see if I can be true to my word. So letting fate take its course, you entrust me with your confidential information, to see if anything wonderful will flourish.

Conversely then, from my perspective, with the folded letter lay resting in my shirt pocket, I feel an unusually heavy burden. I've a new and unfamiliar responsibility to guard the safety of your secret, and not only must I avoid telling anyone else, but I must also protect your secret from myself. Nevertheless, the mystery of what's inside your note continues to nag and haunt my conscience. Eventually, I start questioning whether I can actually keep my promise, but thankfully, there's a trust I want to gain. So again, I vow never to take a look.

And yet, although I've committed myself to doing as you asked, the unknown data in that yellow folded memo is like a jack-in-the-box with a sexy surprise waiting to spring out. No matter how much I want my trustworthiness to be unclouded, murky thoughts of that note continues to linger in my head. In other words, it's difficult to stop considering the message in my pocket with all the titillating and steamy prospects that it represents; yet, in spite of it all, I curb my lust and get centered well enough to continue chatting. And with the topic of fantasy and desires adequately uncovered, we move on to discuss other curious things. The subject: turn-ons and fetishes. You know the sort of stuff that turn our brains into mashed bananas, and the kind of things that gain zest in our groins.

And once again, I have an eagerness to share additional information. So in nearly begging demeanor, I query you by saying, "You know I once wrote a story about a night that drove me silly with a few of my turn-ons. Would you care to hear more about it?"

Then you agree to listen as I offer up another tale, a true story with many of my sexual weaknesses and pitfalls. So next, in brimming detail, I illustrate more of my personal fetishes with an amusing yarn full of turn-ons and succulent, luscious dancing.

--end of chapter three--

Hope you enjoyed this. Please vote, comment, or share a favorite line from the story. 



A Flame in the Night Ch. 04



Spoiler alert: Although this is posted as a fetish story, be forewarned there aren't any actual sex scenes in this chapter. So please don't be disappointed about that. 

* * *

Fetish: ...sexual attraction to objects, body parts, or situations not conventionally viewed as being sexual in nature. (Wikipedia)

DANCE WITH ME--A TALE OF DANCING AND OTHER FETISHES

Here's what happened when I (male) went dancing, many years ago:

Perhaps, I'm timid about meeting new people. Indeed, I'm rather certain that finding random dates and snagging women with faux-shallow pickup lines is not my calling. Surely, I don't believe I've the greatest aptitude for that. But I like dancing. So instead, I mostly go alone since really it's not so bad that way, once you get use to it.

Besides, it's not as if I go dancing so as to razzle-dazzle everyone with my fancy footwork, because forasmuch as I can tell, I don't have any dancing talents. However, listening to the music, especially the loud music in the disco clubs, is still a lot of fun. I love the deep base as it pounds in my ears and pulsates on my body. Plus, I love it more when I become lost in ecstasy from the wild, cool rhythms. Techno and trance are two of my favorite styles of dance music; in addition, I also like alternative, drum and bass, and hip-hop too. And though the booming, ear-piercing music, often featuring breakneck metronomic drum beats, is admittedly great for trancing, the constant blasting does make it tough to start a conversation. "HELLO!" I could try yelling. "WHAT'S YOU'RE NAME?" I could scream, loud as I can. But then even if she happened to answer, with the noise volume so high, I wouldn't likely hear what she said anyway.

Therefore, when I go dancing, I definitely stick to the plan. I prepare myself to be alone, on my own, dancing partnerless. Then when I walk inside the club and scope out a place where people are congregating, I stand there plainly for a period doing nothing but watching the actions of others cutting it loose. It's an adjustment at first, when I'm there by myself, because I feel a little nervous upon arrival. I've no support team, or groupies, or others to identify with, especially because I'm probably too old for most of the younger adults anyway. And in the event I can't find a suitable place to stand, I bug off to the restroom, kill time, and then relocate to a new position.

Next, as I stand watching the dancers, I grant myself ample time to savor the music and feel the acoustics. I block out my anxiety and gradually begin to feel at peace with the vibe. I permit myself to ease into a musical hypnotic rapture and not worry about who I am or who I can dance with. So as I let the music sink deeply inside me, it bleeds into my character and I become renewed and energized. Confidently then, I head solo to the center of the floor and start moving and dancing to the wonderful flowing sounds.

And that's why I'm there: the energy of the music, the breathing hard while dancing, and the feeling of being whimsically intoxicated while dancing in a smooth melodic rhapsody. Consequently, then, dancing alone can be a satisfying experience. However, despite that I do my best to mind my own business, there're times when I simply can't do that.

Such was the case that night as I was dancin' along and having fun; I was also having a challenging time keeping my concentration. With the slippery mind that I have, it's easy to get sidetracked. Naturally I become preoccupied. And often I'll be absorbed with the frolicking, mischievous activities and scrumptious sights that are all around me. It'd be better to ignore all that tempting stuff and stay focus on dancing and grooving with my higher consciousness. If only I could be steadfast enough to do that. But it's not that simple. Not for me. Not with all the amusing and interesting things that surround me. Hence, distinctly, that was the situation as I recall that evening. Three such incidences kept throwing me off my mission to dance, chill, and relish in my own doings.

* * *

So there I was that night, dancing away on the dance floor. Bodies everywhere, mostly in pairs, but a few dancers were also on the floor dancing stag exactly like me. Meanwhile, as I was busy jumping and getting wobbly, I did a poorly executed stomp step, which I hoped I counterfeited decently enough to pass for dancing. But otherwise during that time, in addition to raving, I was also scoping out my vicinity, of course, just in case I needed to spot any special treats that might be close to my area.

And sure enough, I couldn't help but notice as two frisky women adjacent to me were dancing together, so I watched them--as best as I could--this female couple. Both were blonde, but that seemed to be the end of their similarities. One of the women was more mature, slightly taller than the other, and had longer shoulder-length hair that appeared a tad bit unruly. Her partner, on the other hand, was a slim and younger gal who boasted a short and cute bob cut.

In my head for certain, it was a mismatch of a couple, or so I thought! For while I watched them body-dancing, the trim, younger, shorter lady was seductively lavishing herself onto her clearly older partner. And it was one or the other, I couldn't figure out who--but whoever it was or whatever it was--it defied my expectations of what I thought I wouldn't see. For it seemed implausible, to me, that this sassy young pet would allow herself to be so surely devoted with her cause, because despite of my doubts, she was zealously draping herself senselessly all over her dancing playmate, who just happened to appear so very different--and also, by chance as it turns out, was quite a large, full-bodied woman.

And to be respectful, the bigger lady had a sweet, kind face, but she wore a fairly loose fitting dress that wasn't particularly fashionable for dance wear. Conversely, her admirer, who was the younger of the two, had a lively aura, and she was obviously more fashionably bold as she wore a brown, trendy military-style hat; a long, double-wrap pearl bead necklace; a dark denim skirt; and a pair of outrageous rainbow-striped knee-high socks. Indeed, she liked to be liberal and show herself off like the young and sensuous-looking lass that she was!

Queerly, all around and lovey-dovey, the spry tenderfoot of a woman danced with her older, mellow 'lover' with such vigorous enthusiasm. The relatively undersized girlfriend would laxly encircle and bustle all around her heavy-set companion, yet frequently she'd pause to nestle up tightly against her, as well. And although the older, larger honey didn't move all that much, she kept pace floating side-to-side while observing and appreciating her smaller associate, as her female suitor was actively adoring her very soft, voluptuous shape. Meanwhile, then, while dancing, the younger miss occasionally would lower to a squat, shake her butt, and appear to go down, all the way down, on her cheerfully accepting dancing mate. However, when dancing upright, the hot, thin babe seemed to get a charge out of garnishing the much bigger dame with her smaller physique, and I say this since she often rubbed herself wantonly and affectionately all over the hearty-sized buns of her conservative, well-rounded queen. So then, while I conveniently watched them doing their skit, I even got a chance to nab them in the act--as they rubbed and squeezed their breasts to one another. And boy, you know how I liked it!

Therefore, no matter the size or age disparity, they both seemed to like each other. And despite my preconception of what a good pairing should look like, I discovered I liked what I saw and surprisingly welcomed it too. In fact, I dug it so much, I found myself enamored with seeing this odd couple mixing it together. Women on women! Oh, what a beguiling, fanciful sight! I don't know why I like it, but when I see them, it's amazingly delightful. Seeing women with each other--dancing, or kissing, even holding hands, or perhaps having sex--is so offensively improper. Without a doubt, it turns me on like a switch when I see them that way. So then, it makes me wonder if women are that much different from men. That is, do women also like watching such similar things? How about a man with a man, or a woman with a woman... Does a female find pleasure in seeing combinations like that?

* * *

Then, not much later in the evening, I saw another delicious disturbance. Dancing beside me was a very attractive lady--or so I thought! And if you'll excuse me and give me a moment, I'll try to explain more fully what I mean about that. But for now, as it was, I was having a splendid time devouring the music when I caught sight of her: this tantalizing woman who was neighboring by me. She was enjoying the melody, like I was, yet it was as though she was in her own private world. Except then she began to face me while dancing, and I, by all means, promptly followed suit, mimicking her neighborly invitation.

Then on cue, cautiously I adjusted my posture to align with hers, hoping I appeared to be cordial and friendly. However, I wasn't truly acting that noble-minded and caring, because secretly within, I was going nuts examining who she was and bursting with curiousness to snoop upon her parts.

So accordingly, I scanned my eyes across her landscape, determined to zoom in and clear up the broken image I'd been perceiving amongst the assortment of party lighting and special effects used in clubs. Between all the LED moonflower lights, the neon lasers, and the flashing strobes reflecting off mirrored balls, substandard visibility was rampant. So granted, the psychotic illuminations are ideal for gettin' crazy and shakin' some ass--it all works great, unless of course--there's something you want to see sharply and unobstructedly. And unquestionably, now there was someone here I wanted to view better, in Blu-ray high-definition clarity.

Hence, in this way I checked her over thoroughly from head to toe, and boob to boob, as I started to dance with my newly arranged temporary sidekick. And even with the poor, inadequate lighting, I just knew--she had to be a beauty! She'd milky white skin that looked soft, healthy, and fair, yet not too pale. And that contrasted pleasantly with her chestnut, medium-brown loosely streaming hair, which was also so silky and smooth. Then kapow! Oh, her body was heavenly: nice, fit, and firm. She sizzled like the afternoon on a hot, muggy summer's day. And I felt the hot wind blowing when she flung her fleshy, half-moon contours perfectly in sync to the musical rhymes.

Thus, I imagined she'd the structure that was carved from months and months of doing elliptical exercises and loads of heavy breathing in some sort of aerobic type classes. And her firm, fit frame came delivered in a stretchy and tight dark dress with a stingy length that was cut well above her knees. And even though it was sexy, it was also classy how she modeled superbly that form-fitting one-piece body dress, which clung snugly and flawless to her luscious, robustly-toned curves.

Somehow, I gathered she was Russian or possibly British, although who knows, I'm not really sure of her ancestry. But I fantasized she was foreign and European because she possessed a distinctive appearance suggesting she had an international flair. And for me, such a worldly spice is like whipped cream on a warm, homemade pumpkin pie, very tasty!

So in a way like that, I was fascinated by her apparent beauty for she was eye candy for sure. And yet, as sweet as I thought she might be, I couldn't legitimately verify with 100 percent certainty. No matter how I tried, what I couldn't properly account for was her face. Or to be more specific, I couldn't see enough of her face and eyes with as much detail as I'd wanted. Damn those glaring party lights!

But what I saw, I really liked. So I continued dancing informally with her, while striving not to lose my rhythm or my concentration. And for the most part, I made every effort to conceal my eventual goal, which was to pry deeper and get a better look at her valuable resources. But at the same time, I also wanted to be inconspicuous and camouflage my real intentions; after all, I didn't want to come on to her too eagerly, as if I were a genuine nerd or a dorky loser. What if she rejected me? Oh no, I'd be scarred for life. I just couldn't let that happen!

And yet, notwithstanding my nutty fear with approaching her too forwardly and being unreasonably concerned about carrying on like a lame sleaze, regardless of my noble convictions, I was completely resolved to see more; so I attempted to maneuver a little nearer to her--to see what I could. But as if she was deliberately conspiring to remain anonymous, she persisted in dancing in perpetual motion. So while I was gazing at her, she was off entertaining herself and gettin' jiggy with it, making it absurdly difficult for me to sneak a better peek.

Meanwhile, I kept admiring her from a safe distance; nonetheless, what I saw in the dimly lit dance floor had me obsessing over her and wishing to see more. And although I strained myself looking to improve my line of sight, trying to find a gratifying read of what I reckoned were marvelous exciting eyes and a picture-perfect face--for the life of me, I still couldn't say conclusively--if she was actually as awesomely beautiful or whether she was as perfect as I'd been thinking. That's because her eyes and much of her face were being obstructed! You see, the problem all along, to state directly, was that she was wearing very pretty eyeglasses, which limited my ability to see her clearly, like I'd wanted.

And as one might surmise, yes, even the glasses looked stunningly fabulous on her face. They were vibrant, nearly glowing, bright 'Ugly Betty' red colored, which aesthetically paired well with her hot, bold, cherry-red lipstick. And while from my viewpoint, the lenses were thin enough, but the frames, however, were oversized and so profoundly thick; they seemed to explicitly hide and cover the peripheral boundaries of her eyes and mask her potentially very gorgeous, angelic looking face. So as I tried to get closer to her in the murkiness of the dance floor, the only sure thing I could snag was a partial glimpse at who was precisely there. Therefore, I was left feeling hollow as I pleaded inwardly to know her better while I yearned to uncover more of this dreamy woman hidden behind the veil of her red-framed glasses.

Thus assuredly she'd tormented me immensely with her scantly displayed, riddling facial properties. And yet, despite how frustrated I'd become, struggling to unravel her facial mysteries, I was still lust-smitten with her and very aroused by the predicament she'd laid out on me. Oddly, it was her--and her colorful, big-as-a-barn spectacles--that had convinced me I wanted to have sex. And contrary to the usual triggering, it was my subconscious mind--and not my ignorant penis, that was controlling my urges on that particular affair. Because for me, beautiful eyeglasses on a lovely woman makes my intellect think I could be delighting in sex with a super-sexy, smart-brainy woman.

* * *

Then, lastly that evening, I had more than I could stand. And though I'm hesitant to say it so plainly, in truth, it did make me very, very horny. So I suppose then, of that night of dancing, that perhaps this was my favorite surprise. And there again, I was on my own, tripping and raving on the floor and having a good time, when, ultimately, once again, I was disrupted by another succulent, sensual-looking fetish girl.

So, predictably, like a bad habit, I watched that lady nearby, much like I would've done so before; only this time, as I was noticing her from top to bottom, she was threatening to dance nearer than I anticipated. In fact, she converged on my harmony--and also into my spacing--such that I thought my presence there was largely oblivious to her. Yet for all that, in all honesty, I wasn't quite certain if she was truly dancing with me or merely toying around and having fun while simply dancing alone. Conceivably, she was playing hard to get, I suppose, but there she was dancing smack-dab in front of me! And increasingly, her troublesome behavior was making it painfully difficult to concentrate on my beat, my precious dance steps, especially considering she happened to be so perilously cute--and incidentally, as fantastic as it sounds--she also happened to be Asian!

Well, there it is, ah yes, my lust for cute Asians kicks into overdrive. And sure enough she was perky and hot with a very fresh looking build. In all likelihood she was of Japanese or Chinese descent, which by my assessment, at least superficially, correlated from seeing her strikingly nice Asian qualities. What's more, those spicy oriental attributes were agreeing admirably with my biased appetite for Asian delicacies. Because, insofar as I judged it, she'd the most incredible, breathtaking dark almond-shaped eyes. Plus, those electrify, alluring, slanted eye-openings were sparkling brightly with silvery glittering eyeshadow highlights. And then combined with her polished glossy gray-colored lips, which shimmered under the flashing disco lighting, her fantasy styling, with glistening mirrorlike make-up, reminded me of potential futuristic style trends from scenes in a fashion-forward, surrealistic 22nd-century movie.

Now in rare circumstance like this, when I'm overloaded with external stimulation, I usually survive through it by being stern and blocking out those noisy sensations. So, I went on here and there, shuffling my feet to the music, and I went about endeavoring to enjoy the night that remained. Unfortunately though, my eyes didn't want to obey or follow with my plan since, nevertheless, I steadily gazed at her; curiously, I lingered on, fully marveling her savory shaped outline. Then, like I'd found a new schoolmate, I hung out abreast of her, my new comrade and co-ed tutor. And I continued educating myself with this cutie who was auspiciously nigh me and virtually 'sitting' in my front row.

Indeed, my thirst for knowledge had brought to light what was all too obvious: As she nested herself ahead of me, while dancing away and staying so awfully tight in my grill, I couldn't escape from being ruthlessly mesmerized by the metallic gray leggings she wore. Moreover, if I were to make a guess, there weren't any panties inside her Lycra knitted pants as her petite little buns seemed to be roaming spryly in a free-range yarding. Ah yeah, those shinny, excellent, farmers' market-fresh bottoms were cupping her small meandering cookie-dough rolls. And that little bundle looked as juicy as skinless tomatoes and so hot they could've morally seared my eyes to her rear and roasted me like a Beijing duck when she shook her hips my way. Oishii! Hao-chi! Yummy-Yummy!

Maybe I should've dropped to my knees and ate her out of her nylon snacks or popped myself into her edible looking fabric, except I still had more on my plate yet to sample. For even more importantly, I'd be remiss if I didn't provide the details which would eventually lead to my downfall. It was that skimpy top she wore, which showcased her fine yellow-olive, radiant skin. And on her--that sleeveless, xx-small, Asian-style halter top was an absolute jaw dropper. It was turquoise colored, looked satin soft, and printed with dragon-phoenix motifs. Furthermore, the blouse was cropped at the waist, which revealed a generous heaping of her naked, fairy-tale flat belly, while at the same time the mandarin-collared halter-neck glorified her sleek shoulders and her lovely slim arms. I, myself, love nice body skin--and she was offering me plenty of what I like to see!

In summary, this cute oriental tart, waltzing over me, was a real exotic dish. Plus, to make things more uncomfortable, the foxy, flippant gal wandering in my shadow had the audacity to be yanking my weenie, because as she was dancing, she was also holding a little red candy sucker, just to taunt me that much further. And she held that spherical, sweet lollipop upwardly in her hand as if to stop traffic; she brandished it proudly and displayed it before me as she made her sugary, nimble movements. But then frequently she'd place it in her lips and let it roll suggestively inside her mouth, and I couldn't help myself as I became stupefied with her behavior. I lusted incessantly as I watched her seemingly enjoy popping that candy in and out, presumably to get more flavor.




A Flame in the Night Ch. 04



Yet, while she held me spellbound and ensnared in a web of 'adult toy store' like scenery, I did my best, under the circumstance, to embrace my objectives: to have fun, to dance, and to flow with the musical ambiance. But, then that thing happened--that something, I couldn't handle! Dead ahead and directly beyond my nose, she carried on, getting loose as a goose. She baited me all the while and through and through as she danced a delicious Candy Walk. And after she began using her enslaving womanly body language to insanely tease me even more, instantly I knew that I was toast. Next thing I knew, and as embarrassing as it was, I felt a freaking tingle in my groan when she started raising her arms high and way over her head. She whirled her wrists as she held her arms up, and then she began to push back and fluff up her hair. And I watched intently, while nearly coming to pieces, as she repeatedly adjusted her velvety soft, long dark strands that needed no attention at all.

Thus, it was all too evident; there was no mistake about it. It hit me hard like a malicious push in the stomach. She was vexing me with her uninhibited attitude as she staged herself indiscriminately for me to see even more of her maidenly beauty. Because in what she was doing, she'd been exposing to me her lovely, bare skin in that small shapely cavity located right there just under her arms. And since I didn't want to be weird, I tried not to stare too much, although staring is absolutely what I wish I could do--when I see it. That's right! I love when a woman discloses her smooth, clean, hairless underarms. And she was doing precisely that very same thing. Then unavoidably, what registers in my mind--when I see a woman boasting by yielding her arms apart and baring her armpits--is like an unstated code for all men to understand. It says she's soliciting, and advertising to get my attention. It's as if she's a colorfully beaming fluorescent sign, broadcasting out for those who want it: "Come and have me now!"

Consequently, there she was, jerkin' and poppin' and shakin' her tail feathers. And I feasted on her artistic moves and on her limber mobility as she danced while making trippy phantom motions, as though she was skipping and plucking imaginary apples from high above the sky. And unconcerned with me, she floated unabashedly anyway she cared. She continued raised her arms blatantly for me to notice her, while she kept flashing me with her God-given, glorious profile.

Yes, unashamedly, she harassed me with her creamy, silky naked pits, repeatedly, over and over again. And as she kept pressing herself upon me, practically face to face, she approached me so recklessly and so near I could almost literally smell her scent. Her body's magnetizing pheromones and saucy mousetrap poses created an unfairly strong temptation that was, for all intents and purposes, wonderfully unbearable. It became extremely difficult for me to stay cool, and keep dancing normally, while pretending outwardly that her sexual lure wasn't affecting my composure. But realistically, I was affected because, seriously, I was begging to lay my chops deep into her warm, tender skin.

So awkwardly I danced, feeling out of step and dreadfully distracted. And as though I was dancing with two left feet, my bones were like stones, heavy-laden and dragging on the floor. I got tense and became nearly too petrified to bop any longer, yet somehow she didn't notice my distress or know my flustering outlook as she didn't back down. She stayed in my face, on the brink of my own silhouette, and danced so very damn close.

And if that wasn't enough, to make matters worse, moments later she turned around to feature her backside assets, and then with that opportunity, her jealous hips and fanny wanted to steal me away too. So she unleashed her zesty little derriere to put me on trial, and her juicy tush went to town, gliding about like fluttering butterflies, with the soft jiggling fleshy tissues in her tight, party pants signaling my eyes to fixate on her constitution. Like pretty flag girls and cute majorettes marching on parade--she put herself on public display, and my eyes glued to her show. Then as I gloated over her exhibition, she slew me! She did a one-eighty to face me again, and before I could pull out from her--so to speak--without mercy, she danced whorishly with her arms, lifting them even higher, as she fussed with her rich, poetically black, smooth Asian-textured hair. Immediately, I came unhinged!

She spread those elbows of hers, wide open for me to see--to see everything she had. She flaunted herself daringly at me, and I totally lost who I was. Drawn to her lascivious overtures, I became infatuated with having some unbridled fun with her. And as I fabricated a portrait with me being on top of her, I was filled with visions of my hands strumming all over her figure. I'd an uncontrollable yen to take her down, put her on a bed of rice, and fill my mouth with her chopsticks. Wildly, I was so captivated by her that I became wishful, hoping I could unwrap her as my very own present, wanting to eat her candy and kiss her everywhere. Truly, how I ached to have assaulted her and taken her there in the middle of that dance. And as a fallout, after all that provocation, as should be inferred when afflicted with this type of duress, I felt my dick stiffening as it began pressing upwardly against my trousers. So quickly then, I'd to fight it off--to keep my cock from getting any harder and to stop that big dog from swelling any bigger.

But for the time being, I continued to watch and crave her a while longer. However, nothing more happened with that spunky, brazen lady and I. Not there or anywhere. The song finished and she was gone. So, all I got from her was a crotch full of lust and an uncontrollably horny mind. But I guess feeling terribly horny isn't always so bad. I later went home to mull over what my cock had been telling me. It was hollering extremely loud, and it was not a trivial point to avoid it. I'd to listen to the calling, for my dick was unbent about its drift, virtually being straight-minded and completely linear with its thinking, as it demanded, oh so solidly, to be given more attention.

So then, needless to say, as a result of having all those pestering sexy thoughts still bothering my head, having spent a full evening of sultry dancing, going body to body amidst darling women--indeed, I'd all those mouth-watering delightful memories overflowing--to dilly dally over and bat around with--as I sat idly at home, alone in the dark, and all by myself. And with it all so very close at hand--I bet you can probably imagine--exactly--what I was about to do next.

--end of chapter four--

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A Flame in the Night Ch. 05



A DEAL IS A DEAL

The fetish tale that I (male) had told you (female) put a funny smile on your face. I'm not sure what I anticipated, but your expression seems awkward and you look kind of puzzled. Plus, there's a few odd, nervous giggles and whispering chuckles, and your grin is quite quirky and appearing somewhat mysterious. Then, even more than I expected, you're blushing severely, and your eyes are avoiding me too.

So what did I say that got you so flustered? Was it something you fancy? Was it something you recognized? Indeed, did I say anything pertinent, which makes you uneasy? Whichever it is or whatever it is, I'm clearly not understanding your gestures--after all, wasn't it I the one confessing and revealing my fetish?

"All right! All right, already!" I spank my hands together while pleading you to calm your giggling. I try explaining that the story was all true, but really, it doesn't seem to matter anymore.

Currently then, after being humored by my fetish anecdote, your mood is rosy and light. "Darling-- Honey--" jokingly, you say. "Do you really want me in all of your stories?"

We chuckle some and find ourselves smirking contagiously, ready to break out in laughter. However, it turns out you've something in mind with all of that chuckling, and it's not that you're laughing at me because you assure me of it, claiming you actually liked what I said in the story.

"Well, okay then," I utter, preparing to seek clarification. "So what was it? Which part was best? Did you admire any of my fetishes?"

You tilt your head and answer with a soft, elusive smile. "Not now! ... But I may tell you what later."

I grin for a bit, until adding, "You promise me?"

"Yes, it's a deal," you confer. But then, warmly you caution me, "However, my word is only as good as yours."

Together we laugh it off since also the word you're referring to is a guarantee I made to never look into the folded paper you'd given me. For assuredly, if I happened to read the contents of what's on that page, which is still tucked inside my shirt pocket, then unfairly I'd gain knowledge to one of your private sex fantasies that, at least for now, you don't want me to know.

In the meantime, after our laughter had waned, I offer my hand to symbolically bind our promise. "Great!" I say. "We agree again. Let's call it a deal."

So consequently we shake on it, and thus presently our date is prospering. And for the time being, we continue enjoying our drinks at the coffeehouse. We go about chatting, and really, I'm utterly astonished how this first meeting is proceeding. Comparatively, this is in a different league and so much better, having connected with you in person, as opposed to pairing up on some explicit sex forum in the cyberspace byways.

Hence, the immeasurable contentment I'm experiencing is far more pleasant and more satisfying than I figured it would be. This is why I wish to resist overachieving. I don't want to jeopardize our talk by being overbearing, insisting that I learn all of your fetish yearnings. Certainly, I'd be slaphappy to obtain access to more of your sexual curiosities; however, rather than pressing for it now, I'll mouse around for something less painful, something simple and straightforward, that you might freely confess. From this point on, I'll make my sexually inquiries so trivial and natural, then surely you won't hesitate to answer.

"Hey there, hold on a minute!" My eyes narrow as I pinch the sides of my chin. "Let me review this."

"Review what?" you ask, as you start curling the strands of your hair.

"Now that I think about it, you haven't told me anything specific that I can take to heart. You haven't given me anything helpful that I can take to bed with--sorry, pun intended. But you get what I'm saying. Tell me something I can get off on, knowing that it excites you. Until you mention something particular about your preferences, I can't let you off the hook yet."

Casually you begin adjusting your bra strap. Next, you stir your tea bag around a few times in your teacup. "So what would you like to know?"

I recline back into the support of my chair. Slowly, I swirl what's left of my soy-latte espresso. "Let me make this easy on you. Clear your mind of insecurities and merely state what's sexy to you?"

"Sexy?" Your tone rises sharply, as you wait for an explanation.

"Uh, hmm." I clear my throat. "Basically, try naming a few things you like in a man. Simple enough?"

You taste a bit of your tea and wonder if now's a bad time to sneak a glance at your watch. Do I really want to escape, this? No, swiftly you answer yourself, deciding it might be amusing to be sincere and voice out those things you favor. Shortly thereafter, your mouth puckers. Remarkably, it's as though the tea you've been sipping had freshened to a more creative and taster blend.

"Mmm. Well. I like confident guys, generous guys, and sometimes strong, broad shoulders. But not too big, of course."

"I understand," I say. "Good. Perfect. I'm liking your effort."

"Yeah?" you ask. "Okay then. Um--well, ... I also like a really cute smile. Plus, if a guy makes me laugh, that's awesome." You inhale a few breaths and resume your inputs, "Let's see--I like guys that treat me right. ... And I like him to know what I like, as well."

Apprehensively, a thought interruption occurs when you unwittingly start clawing at the glossy nail polish lacquered onto your thumbnail. Then unknowingly, your eyes drift to gaze out into the nearby window. But there's nothing interesting outside, and soon you've recaptured your concentration and know what it is that you want to say. Hesitantly you announce, "Oh, I just gotta say it. Surely I could go for a nice body. Yeah, especially if he's got a nice tush, so I can surround my hands around it--and squeeze. Ah, that would be fun. Ooooh yeah ..."

I hear you sighing, but from within, I feel like snickering, wondering if my tush has the right architecture to meet your qualification. "All excellent points," I remark, giving you a well-deserved compliment. "You're making tremendous headway. Please do continue."

"Hold on. Let me think harder." Lightly you tap the table with your fingertip. There's something weighing heavy on the tip of your tongue. "Um, what did I forget? Something's missing here." You review your earlier statements, knowing there's a white-elephant absent in your comments, something obvious has been omitted. "Ha! Of course. It had to be that." Again, you're blushing and your grin is pricelessly delightful. "Well, now, ... I suppose having a nice tool might come with enormous benefits. I really needn't have to mention it, but a girl needs her handyman sometimes."

"Got it. Check." I chuckle and then boastingly say, "I agree. As it turns out, I carry one rather large and ginormous 'bang-HER'--everywhere and anywhere that I go. And it does come in handy, oh, so many, many times."

"Ha, ha," you smirk. "Sure, right. I believe you. But don't show me that large thingamajig right now. Please keep your wooly mammoth hidden and locked in the toolbox while we're here. Okay?"

Zip--I make a noise as if I'm zipping my pants. "Thanks for alerting me. I'll follow your advice." I wink and scoot myself closer toward the table. "But let's not end this yet. Is there anything else?"

You grab your purse to find some cherry blossom, perfumed moisturizer. And once it's opened you dispense a few dabs and smudge it into your hands and elbows. "Very well, here's one more for the list. I also like guys that smell good." Your nose floats from left to right, absorbing the delicate fragrance of your lotion.

I lean inward trying to gleam the essence of your scent, however, without warning, frantically you're echoing, "Oh! Oh! I got another one." You bounce your finger like a shaking stick. "My, oh my! I really L-O-V-E a man that's fresh out of the shower! Mmm, yes! That's very, very sweet. I could really get on top of that."

Outwardly you're glowing; your face is beaming bright and radiant. Your visible disposition is truth telling, confirming these things are inflaming your sexual appetite and are genuine turn-ons. It's altogether evident you've disclosed some pretty significant likings and carnal preferences. No wonder then, perhaps that's what sets you off. Now, from somewhere out of the blue, as if to quell this well-worn subject, abruptly you wail out, "So where's my story!"

At first, I'm startled by the outburst. However, I regain my composure and jokingly behave like my memory has lapsed. Dumbfoundedly, I pull the ends of my earlobes and wobble round in my seat. Yet, when I see you staring me down with a sharp and murderous sort of look, I cower and quickly want to cool your temper.

"Come again?" I ask.

"Shh. Don't deny it!" You snap, and playfully lower your eyebrow. "You know exactly what I'm saying. I didn't meet you here for nothing! I want that sexy, erotic story you promised me."

Ah, yes, the crucial moment had finally arrived. The concession to you for consenting to meet me, as we've done, stipulated that I must give you a story.

"All right then." I nod. "You want a story. Something arousing and sexual, am I right?"

"You know it." You give me the thumbs-up, go-ahead signal.

Afterwards, I form my hands and pretend like I'm flipping through pages of an imaginary notebook. Then I give a bow to acknowledge the terms in place. After all, it's been a pleasure getting to know you, so why shouldn't I adhere to the rules of our agreement and give you that slice of X-romantic drama to mentally consume. Moreover, why wouldn't I do my part? Why shouldn't I do everything you request, especially when considering the fine print, and best part of the bargain we made? Conditionally it stated:

In order for us to meet, I have to tell you a sex story, and one so vexing and peculiar it'll win your attention. That's because the consequence of this deal would obligate you to have sex with me--but only if you truly like my story.

"Uh, hmm." I scratch my head and square my shoulders. Then, I steady the make-believe pages as though I've found my bookmarking. "Let's see here, how shall I start this?"

Hence, accordingly, after been given the right-of-way, I now describe a story, a story with a sexual undertaking for you to wholly note and thoroughly consider.

"Er, right! Okay, let's do it. Here is your story. But what you really ought to understand is that this is a different kind of story. That is, it's different because, well, you have to concentrate--and more importantly, you must participate! You need to relax and pretend you're sitting at home and alone. Yes, alone, all alone, and all by yourself. Although I'm here--in my home and far away from you--I want you there, where you are, to start thinking only of me. You should be dreaming of wanting me, wanting me badly! Desperately, how you wish to be with me, and then imagine that I--"

You sit glued to the chair, entirely engaged and clinging to my every sentence. The story continues onwards, as I pace through detail after naughty detail. And at the end, when the story has completed, you reflect on all that I've said.

"Hmm. Not bad. ... Yes, I guess I like that."

Bluntly, you state your assessment. Thus the naked reality is the story did get you excited, and not surprisingly, my temperature seems to have boosted a notch higher, as well. However, immediately upon hearing the words escape from the contours of your lips and recalling that very agreement we vowed to each other--suddenly, it causes you to shudder.

"Oh, no!" Stunned with realizing what you had admitted, momentarily, you flatten your palms and press them firmly into the tabletop. "What did I do!" you exclaim, as you lower your face and bury it within the shelter of your fingers. "Drat! Drat!" you holler. Your cheeks feel red and puffy from a heavy bout of flushing. Though in a bit, gradually, you pry your head away from your fingers and attempt to face me eye to eye with no reluctance or misgiving.

"Did you really like it?" I inquire, quite eagerly.

"Oh, very well. So be it." Gently you gnaw at your lower lip. "I guess you got me. I admit it. That did make me horny, very horny." You inhale a deep and self-cleansing breath, and then add, "So go ahead. It's settled. We agreed to this--and, after all--a deal's a deal."

At last, it's a 'blank check', an open invitation. You liked my spicy erotica and I'm enjoying time with you, my lovely, attentive story admirer. So we honor our commitment. And although we've made this pact, incidentally, sticking to our pledge isn't uncomfortable or done begrudgingly. It's a mutual consideration; in fact, by now we're both willfully curious to see the matter through to the agreed intention.

Inevitably next, before we know it, it's a quick exit. Simple and to the point--we hook up. And for the remaining evening, we're two bodies abounding with sensual body heat. We have sex, and more sex, which wears on throughout the night. And maybe it's the initial adventure of our first lovemaking that incites such zealous passion, but whatever the case, we're rolling in steamy fun, discovering who we are, and sharing our complete and total nakedness.

And then, the sex is over. You go your way, and I go mine. However, one may ask, will we meet again? Can it, or will it, get any better for us two sex bunnies? Perhaps somewhere now, we both are wondering the very same thing.

* * *

Later, back at home and over the next day and evening, you've ample time to mull over everything that happened. Putting it into context, the whole situation concerning our meeting and the sensual night that followed has produced a stimulating reaction that's become unmanageable and difficult to dismiss. The more you review the specifics, and the more you focus on that reckless and freewheeling night, the further it invests in you, making railroading fireworks and mad dashing excitement to sprint unreservedly throughout your awareness.

Oh that night! What a thrill it was to abandon your wit and uncuff your sensibilities. Suddenly, you were spontaneous and daring, uncharacteristically agreeing to gamble on a relationship you knew only via the Internet. And you knew well how it could finish. You knew it might route into sex, but how far would you go? How much would you do? In the end, the plot trick proved too compelling, too seductive, and too intriguing not to test yourself against the snare of a sexual promise.

And now that it's passed and our unions accomplished, remembering our bodies pressed together, and those salient eruptions while mating, has left you vulnerable. Sexually, you've become unsettled and unbalanced. "Yes I'm now home and alone, just as he requested," calmly you remind yourself of what you should do. And as you dearly and lovingly reminisce on my instructions, to the best of your knowledge you recount the objective.

"Let me see now. What else did he say to me?" Becoming clearer, and getting warming, you continue musing on that lustful situation, examining the outline, the summary, and the details of what happened. Your ability has reminded yourself correctly: "Oh yes, now I remember. His story began, and went on, and was sort of like this. ..."

Hence, with that lusty fable clear in your head, you call to mind the naughty lines of that peculiar story, which teased you so well. Now, in this very hour, you let the ideas of that oddly tale entice and encapsulate your senses. You're aroused by the wants of your new lover, thus you ponder the sex we shared--and the narration you heard--and you yearn to indulge in more of those pleasures. Next, vividly and affectionately, you now re-live the memory of that erotic story, the one that I taught you, a story within a story--my sex story.

--end of chapter five--

Hope you enjoyed this. Please vote, comment, or share a favorite line from the story. 



A Flame in the Night Ch. 06



THE STORY RETOLD

Sometime later, you (female) are reminiscing about the arousing story I recited to you. And the narrative of that tale went something like this:

After their night of passion and sex, they go their various ways and return back to their separate homes. During the following day, both lovers reflect on the precious memories they made. And while they're apart, their feelings stir and grow fondly as they wait, hoping to hear again from their new partner.

How did she like it? he asks. Did he enjoy it? she wonders. The day passes unto the night, and even more at this hour when the evening's maturing, they both are curious for one another. Each wants assurance to know that their heartfelt feelings are genuine and mutual. And the two yearn impatiently, striving to re-live the salient details from their night of frenzied lovemaking. In particular, they especially want to remember the soft inquiring touches, the trace of light smells and intimate voices, and the art and beauty of their bodies intertwined and embracing.

Thus, excitement builds in her mind, while her body peeks in and listens. Safe in her room, she then slowly undresses herself and attempts to replay the moments of the night they'd shared. But as she does this, her body wants to rustle out of her shell; after all, it too has reviewed a similar consciousness of what took place that previous evening. Indeed, it begins to recollect everything that happened and all that it experienced: the friction of skin upon skin, flesh burning for more flesh, and warmed saltine flavored bodies unquenchably thirsting for more. And the more she dwells on those lustful pleasures, the more her body becomes immensely restless. Hence internally, an argument ensues over what's more correct. Can we be united, yet also remain distantly elsewhere? Optimistically, her mind thinks, Yes. We can be spatially separate, but still, likewise, be as if we're one. However, her body disagrees with it completely, and says, No! What foolishness is this! Together, we must be joined again at once.

What can she do? Her mind is desperate to appease the body and will stretch all manner of reasoning to mend the battling desires within her. So then, as she's determined to pacify her bodily wishes, passively she lays herself down and lets her mind and body work to resolve their differences. Moreover, in this resting time, she slows her breathing and shuts her eyes to meditate on her wholeness. There, her mind quiets and patiently listens as a doorway to her heart cracks open. With her body waiting idly, she concentrates and discovers that it's now her heart that's guiding her inwardly passions. And furthermore, as her imagination continues to brew, her heart swells and teems with liveliness, as she's giving herself time to indulge and permitting herself to savor a few seemly moments to contemplate on her lover.

How would he want me? she asks. How can he excite me? she questions. She then dreams upon a story told by her adorer. "Hello, my sweet," he said, as he began to tell her words to a naughty little story:

* * *

Here's a tale for you--well, it's not only for you, but it's also about how I want to be near you, to touch and feel your lovely shape, and to hear your charming voice. I want to reaffirm how delightful it would be again, to be up close to you, joining our lips, kissing your skin, and tasting you all over. Plus, I know you must be in need of me, as I'm surely missing and wanting you. Hence, maybe this is why I'm thinking of you and imagining what pleasures I could offer, to satisfy you and to help unburden you of that nagging, carnal uneasiness.

Therefore, let me then into you, so I may open and explore your longing. Allow me to move freely in and over you, and all around your dampish, watery gland, handily located between those beautiful, adorable thighs. Because like you, I confess, I'm having primal longings and indecent kinds of urges as well. I've got an unsettling craving that needs to be soothed and comforted. And as it happens to be, you've become the answer to what I'm missing.

So confidently, I know you'll welcome me and prefer my body to be nearby you, as I desire you in this amorous sort of way. Thus, I say name the pleasure you're seeking and let me fix what needs fixing. Indeed you can use my guy tools or I can taste your warm-water-well, all that you may wish. Or, perhaps I can tempt you and provide you the wild orgasms that you like; or otherwise, you can simply watch me squirm as you choose to pleasure me, if that's what you'd rather be doing. In any case, surely my manhood's ready to play, so let's not delay any further. Let's find a means to collaborate and have our anatomies blending and meshing and mingling together.

But now as we're presently apart--and in two different locations--there's one practical thing you can do for me. I miss your voice, and I want to hear from you once more. Consequently, as a makeshift substitute, while you're being elsewhere, be considerate and allow me to truly listen to your sound. That is, use your phone--so I can be all ears, attentively monitoring your voice. And I'll be eavesdropping discretely, expecting to catch some salacious whispers, and hoping I detect some suggestive bedroom tones as well, 'cause those are always delicious.

In other words, I want to apprehend you clearly and be convinced that this is you--resonating in the other end of my telephone connection. In this way, if we can only meet now, at this hour, by conceptual or notional methods, then somehow, by whatever ways and means, I'll feel blessed knowing you're currently thinking of me and wanting to be close. So hopefully soon, you'll do as I wish and leave a special message to remind us of yesterday and the brief, steamy night that we enjoyed so much together.

You agree? Attagirl, I thought you would. So what will I hear from you? What will you tell me? Will it be unique? Will it be erotic and spicy? Yeah, I'd like that. Make it sexy and personal. And possibly, I've got a suggestion for what you can tell me and how you should convey it.

Alright then, let's start! So, until we meet face-to-face, in the meantime I'll be reminiscing how sweet and nifty it was to hold the softness of your crotch, as I scooped you in the length of my fingers. Do you picture that? Do you remember how it was?

Then appease me now and do as I ask. Follow all that I say when you sit down on the bed to unwind. Next, proceed to remove your outer clothing and slowly loosen your bra straps, as if you see me there watching and beaming at your appearance. Afterwards, feel the reward as you unhook your bra and let your marvelous breasts sprawl out from their cup holders; let them yaw and sway and move about freely. Then remove your silky, sheer panties and remove all that you're wearing. And when you're fully unclothed and completely nude, you should lie down and close your eyes. Use your imagination and visualize with me for a spell. Pretend that your hands are the same as my very own when you see your hands exploring, wanting to touch your skin and searching to caress your curves throughout the entire length of your soft lovely form; then, from there on, know for sure I'm with you, shadowing your movements, creating your touches, and moving you to dip into that secret whereabout place, that tantalizing and seductive territory with the incredible, sensual hideaway passage.

There, can you feel that? Do you sense my hands are present, and now superseding to act and serve as your very own hands? Good! I'm glad you feel me and glad you're engaged to play along. That's because I'm a bit horny and my little master sergeant in my groin wants to be certain you're being properly assisted. So come along to my way of thinking and thoroughly envision I'm over there with you. Furthermore, I'm right beside you and about to offer you my flabby joystick. But first, I give it a quick shake, and add a few timely strokes. Then I ask you to hold my extremity, while I lean in and massage your awesome features.

"Let me pet your pussy," you hear me blowing into your ear. Indeed, you know my thoughts and know what I want. So do it immediately. Use your hands and allow me to experience everything and absorb all that you're doing.

Excellent! Now adventurously, I slip my fingers down the front of your surface, as you keep me close in your heart. My hand slyly skids across your tummy and glides downwardly where I pause to cloak your lower region. Again, genuinely imagine that it's my touch lingering over your crease and little love-button. It's really me who's doing the investigating, while you gently pamper and nurture your slippery gland. And as I do, let your nipples enlarge, feel them growing and stretching, and becoming terrifically firm. Acknowledge yourself changing and turning aroused as you yield to the escalating comfort that's flourishing well inside your core.

There! Are your hands thoroughly saturated and lavishly adorned with a rich glossy balm? By now they should be. I'm there playing this game, fooling with your controls, and resolved to have you quivering. So let it sink in and develop; relax and enjoy yourself while I explore your special physique and make circular outlines about your slim and narrow inlet.

Hence stay on course and follow my every instruction. Do it because you deserve it. And do it believing that I'm getting hot and unsettled, breathlessly awaiting to see you climax. So, finger your slit a bit more and tease it. Then coach me how to duplicate your style and train me how to emulate the flit and flow repetitions that you favor the most.

Moreover, seize hold of your crotch and slide my hand into your genitalia. Likewise, cultivate your lust. Have my fingers tippy-toe atop your raised lofty ridges; have them inciting the erected tallness created by your amply swollen female lobes. Then persistently appraise it and entertain it with brisk, easy strokes. And furthermore, all the while you're hitting that spot, explain to me exactly how you like it.

Yes, in other words, I need you to be verbal and articulate your emotions. Let everything inward come out. No matter the outcome, no matter the merit, express it and say it out loud. Thus be brash and shameless, as though you're giving a play-by-play on your private affairs and privy events, revealing plenty of highlights and describing all the miscellaneous achievements you score en route to the finish.

Consequently then, continue navigating where your fingers need to be laid and let them toil recklessly into your gash. Let me hear your ragged sighs when you're breathing hot and heavy. And let me hear it when you're pouring out those sensual, ladylike enunciations. So, rub it good. Give her a whirl! Take her for a spin and give that tiny nookie a thrilling and sorely needed joyride. After all, you're the managing caretaker on duty. Indeed you're the best--you're a top-grade, A-1 mechanic aptly skilled and one-hundred percent enabled to overhaul and service that terribly deranged and badly neglected pussy. Therefore, tune her up promptly and get her purring again. Allow your hands to become dirty, in a colorful way of thinking. Set them down into that exquisite texture and ride the rails, up and down the track, sinking your fingertips into the hollow seam of your sex-loving, cum-loving fuck hole.

Yikes, that's breathtaking! Whoa, Mamma, what a knockout! There you go, my hot, beautiful woman. How I love your body language. Oh, how I love those stunning poses. Mmm, watch out! Your nipples are singing out. They're serenading me as though they're sweet-talking, fast-talking charmers. Suddenly, I feel confused and headstrong, wanting to be lucky, wishing I could make a fast trip to Vegas and elope with those yummy, yummy poppers.

Absolutely that's enough! No longer will I be a bystander, exhaustively sitting in the front row straining to survey how much those titty-tips have risen. Easily, they're now bounding upwards so buoyantly, seemingly so firm and ready to be bitten. Thus, forever I'm doomed to accept your 'singing' titty-gram invitation, so I knuckle under, and bow downwards to meet your heavenly beauties. Then I thread my kissers onto those tall and fantastic spikes. And one by one, I lift your nips into my lips and bend my tongue on those cute little endings.

There, do you feel that? Answer out, if you do. Things seem to be working well, now that you're responding to this brand of therapy. Indeed, suddenly there's precipitation; in fact, spontaneously, you've gone and gotten all sopping wet from emitting so much of that soft, slippery serum.

So I keep a hand on your cozy, wet 'penis-eater' and with my digits continually playin' around in your muff, my face stays drawn to your cushy, warm bosoms. All the while, as I'm enjoying your mounds and amusing myself and having my way with you, repeatedly, as though each time is a grander and finer experience, I lick--and tug--and bite on those long and dazzling bee-stings.

Eventually though, I wean myself away from your scrumptious bustline. Then I stand to your side and blatantly flaunt what I've got for sexual assets. Moreover, I careen my midsection toward you, and as I'm approaching, my gangly, soft tonsil-tickler is leading the cast, acting like the star and solo hero; plus, a supporting cast of double-trouble wrecking balls is riding the coattails and in pursuit, following not very far behind. What's more, I adjust my units, deliberately, to let 'em hang to within a short reach of your possession. And there, in close proximity, you study my sex and ponder the state of my limpy, unstretched length that's suspended so closely nearby and so boldly near to your touch.

Within a few anxious and well drawn-out moments, you size up my cock's potential and foresee what a bastardly long and pointy thing it will become once it transforms itself and gains strength and girth. And as you further acquaint yourself with it for a while longer, you stare at my package and speculate on its nasty shape-shifting capabilities, anticipating how soon it'll change and emerge into that fretfully large ramming apparatus, which invariably likes to bash into your pussy.

So stroke that extraneous muscle and get it rosy and excited. Hold me at the base of my dick and twist it left and twist it right. Twist it again, and again, and rub me underneath as well. Afterwards, glide upwards to the head of my prick and circumscribe me at the end of my stem. Then bind it and constrain it--and squeeze down on that vital source of my pride and identity. And meanwhile, as you gently enclose my cusp in your fist, carefully choke my gland and patiently strangulate my pulse. Then keep tending to it until it squiggles to harden and is compelled to reform itself into something that's so immensely different and many ways bigger.

Ah, continue doing your good magic and mend my malleable dong to your liking. And little by little, bit by bit, see how I adapt. And likewise, inspect that meek, meager, underdeveloped entity and observe how it evolves and loses all its springy youthfulness. Then as a result, watch as it firms out ... then lengthens and stiffens. Indeed, that come-of-age, vulgar-looking, x-rated man-thing is ballooning. It's outwardly fit and flexing by its own skill and know-how. In fact, that fattened up, been-around, seen-the-world cock is now seeming chock-full and manly, in every aspect and dimension.

Accordingly, as it's grown vastly, my hefty and laden down erection needs a coed sport with heaps of physical activity. So play ball with me, and make use of our genital pieces. Massage my rigidness and iron me into your velvety, smooth curves. Then, point my swollen ending at your chest and slide my shaft around your spheres and across your high, sky-oriented pebbles.

Nice, nice. Very nice, indeed. Feel my sheath and take advantage of your nakedness. Don't hold anything back, merely dip my fingers into your slit and soak them in your sweet and sticky honeypot. Then accept me there and obsess for more and more of that ultimate soreness.

Therefore, add some flavor to your musing and verbally ad-lib some of your innermost emotions. Yes, when you go on--and keep touching yourself--use your feelers and also tell me the real insider story. In other words, feed me some gossip. Let me hear you on the line, chitty-chatting about the good things happening to your aura--and within the depth of your belly. Yum, yum, interpret it all so I understand it. Confess what you're touching. Disclose when you're warming and getting another earth-shaking moment.

Then by and by, as it improves you must be nearing the objective and in the best sort of mood. You're working it over, and rapidly you're bordering on having some gasping contractions. So stay tuned to it and swiftly rock your fingertips, remembering that it's my hand down there--and no, that touch you're feeling--is not of your own doing.

Strictly speaking, now, while you're strumming your hands against the gentle, sleek petal-folds of your pussy, my hand is down there and touching you as well. Therefore, continually flick your nub and generously tease it as much as you want. Then when you're like that--simply relax and unwind; let the sun go down; let the stars come out. Take a long and lengthy lull to regain your serenity, and wipe clean that nagging feeling and wipe away that annoying lust that's mulling around, getting in your hair, and needlessly oppressing you.

So instead, voice it all out and show off your girly-girl accent. Turn up the heat and dial up the loudness. Let me hear you playing with yourself and creating those juicy, sexual acoustics. Ah! now I hear a growl in your groaning. I hear this melee in your moaning, getting hotter and hotter, getting powerfully intense and so incredibly exciting.

So, do it well and let it splatter. Wipe those silky fluids off your platter! Then once in a while, when she needs a firm spanking, open a palm and give her a tapping. Yeah, and if you're whipping and cracking it, and making sounds like you're clapping it, let me hear this, while you're whacking it--slap, pat, pat, pat, slap!

Oh! with that my ears are burning. I hear you shifting and dithering and making odd sounds as if you're flustered and exceedingly restless. So as you're arching and sweeping my hands over your middle, put me into your niche and make everything feel better and wetter.

Then thrust it! and have it crest and spasm. Feel the excited weariness in your shortened breaths; feel the zest in your pounding heart. Your frame is flushing and consumed with sexual happiness, as you face that savory and great completion. So accept it and live it; hold it dear and capture what you can when you come abundantly--over, and over, and over!

Oh my gosh, girl! Up to now, you've done really, really well. However, we're not quite through yet; I need your assistance for a few minutes longer. Namely, there's one more task that I've got to tell you. Specifically, there's one last and final directive you downright have to embrace. That's because I need to hear you closer, but not like before. This time I yearn to hear you abutted to me, with your plush impression ringing through and making love to my ears.

So give me that 3D-like experience I'm so badly thirsting, and do exactly what I request. That's right, my dear. You know precisely what I'm saying, and you know explicitly what I mean. So take grasp of that communication device and plant that phone earpiece directly where I want it. Smack it down squarely--and set it well into the mouth of your pussy!

Nice! Very nice! Really super-duper! Stash that gadget in your pink and sink it deep into your wetness. Cover your pubs with that mechanism, and then grate that speaker into the fleshy lips of your peach. There, rub it and scrub it. Grind it 'round and 'round to make naughty, otherworldly noises.




A Flame in the Night Ch. 06



Oh, dear that's really, really fine. And wow! Look at that! I'm chatting with your pussy, and she's sounding really special! She's flirting and wooing me and telling me so many, many secrets. Her lush and voluminous noise is bristling into my head and chilling my stiffness, as she mumbles and coos and surrenders her very sensuous message.

Now I hear her getting nervous, growing tender, and about to spurt more of her nectar. That thingamajig is caught in your catch, and that machinery is bothering your privates. Surely, now, you're tensing and knotting, and greatly needing that upsurge of eruptions to trigger a new and long-sustaining orgasm.

So hit her again and touch her some more. Then once in a while, when she needs a spanking, use your phone and give her a tapping. Do it loud and make big sounds. Then tease her and clap her, and have it rap--slap, pat, pat, pat, slap!

Whew! There you go! You're doing it good and doing it right. Now feel your pussy seeking me in the phone, nearly puckering out to snuggle closer, virtually puffing and swelling to reach forth and kiss me. So hold her near and mash it into her surface. Dab her into me and lock it down tightly. Embed her flat to that appliance and keep her near to my grin, while my tongue wiggles and wiggles in and out through the handset.

Consequently, be rid of any shyness as your crotch has the quivers and that final explosion is surely on the brink. Recognize how much the sliding vibrations are becoming harder to ignore, and now it seems that I've become impossibly focused; I'm eating your pussy with increasing clamor and increasing purpose--pushing it here and there--going deeper and faster and hitting just the right, wonderful places.

By now, there's a vigorous tang in your system, and furthermore, clustering tiny prickles seem to be shrinking your outer flesh and skin. It's a forewarning of change; your romance is quickening and steaming with passion. The rushing ache in your bare, delicate softness is making her anxious, and as a result, she's becoming so utterly weakened and tattered. Your girl-thing is provoked, and now, even more, you're panting heavy and bearing hard, hurting nipples.

Suddenly, your sex lotion is bountiful! That inner volcano is teaming with fluids and seemly rising with infinite supply and content. Pleasantly then, you're overflowing. Your space is leaking profusely. Your lily is dewing and abounding with delightful, dazzling vibrations. And now, more and greater, your affection and zeal is all cheerfully scattering away from your smooth jittering edges.

Undoubtedly then, you're coming! You're faltering and dwelling in the pangs and throes of an ominous and epic climax. So when you're flailing with ecstasy and getting dizzy discovering your 'O', pace it out and become united with those hearty, thriving spasms. Again and again, wow your womanhood and keep her amused and spewing. Then give me an earful of her wetness and douse me liberally with your luscious lady gifts. Therefore, unleash it and let it gush! Soothe your womanly need and have her teary-eyed, drizzling, and showering totally everywhere, all over your phone speaker.

And it's all well and good, as I'm joined with your dampness. I'm stuck in your convulsing, sun-warming cleft, meticulously eating and licking and depressing my tongue up into that intimate inland. I'm in the heart of this unending adventure causing your pelvis to shudder and go through a myriad of lifting and shaking conundrums. And as your hips wildly pivot, seeking more fulfillment, my face stays affix to your center boosting your bliss and causing even greater commotion.

But regardless of your disarray condition, I don't abandon it. No matter how much I see you shrug, squirm, and shudder, I continue weaving into your splendid slot. I follow each of those heated bodily gyrations, and I snatch more of you and get more of your sweet, sugary substance.

Finally your pussy's feeling ruined and coming perfectly undone. She's been out worked by my tongue and now overwhelmed with joyful stimulation. She's had enough of it! She's losing her grip and dilating to give birth to a thousand more wonderful sensations. It's raining inside her, and she's venting and desperate. She's so moist--and squirting! She's so slick and tender, exposing her bare-naked truth: Her petals have unraveled. She's lost all control again, and I'm there, downstairs, taking her candy.

* * *

Then at last she is comforted and feeling altogether better. With the phone in her junction and her kitty glowing with a fireball of pleasure, she can remember him just as she wanted. Indeed, she feels him nearby, and for the moment, it feels like he's there. Once more, again, she's cuddling, content, and practically right next to her lover.

And thus she's free now, now that the yearning and wanting has no place to hide, and no place to stay. All those restless issues, all those uneasy troubles have ended. They've taken flight and fled, as if the lovesick condition, giving her heartaches and problems, formed wings and moved onwards, soaring far, far away.

--end of chapter six--

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A Flame in the Night Ch. 07



THE FLAME (Act 1 of 3)

Later one day, you (female) and I (male) decide to go out for some entertainment. But beyond the normal outing, I have secretly prepared something special to spice up the evening. Large utility bag? Check. Toothbrush and shaver? Check. Extra underwear? Whatever, check. I close the trunk of my car with everything appearing in place. Yes, we're ready to go!

As for us, we've now been dating awhile and are considered a pair--boyfriend and girlfriend. And adding that the weekend has finally arrived, freeing us from the chains of work and putting us in the mood to have fun on this seemingly typical Friday night, we travel far across town to a respectable bar establishment. A local band is performing tonight and we figure to hear some nifty beats. And although it's not an exceptionally popular hangout, the bar does have music on the weekends and a floor large enough for dancing.

When at last we get to the place, we sit down at the bar and then chat and eat some snacks. We're not usually much for heavy drinking, but while we're hanging out here, we of course order some brews to bide our time and to be jolly and social. At first, it's just a few cold beers to wet our thirst, but then we keep drinking and drinking, much more than usual.

And as we're waiting around, it's not a bad thing to be boozing some since it's now karaoke hour. The amateur singers are giving it their best, and I do enjoy listening in on them. Though I'm content having only a spectator's ear, it'd be nice to parade out in front of everyone, with a mic in hand and singing. But instead, rather than embarrassing myself and taking part in it, I'm resigned simply to anchor down and observe the informal activities.

Afterwards, when the karaoke portion completes, the primary event is here. The band comes on, sets up, and starts cranking out some up-tempo and energetic rock tracks. And we sit behind a small pub table, like many others do, and take in the vibes.

Furthermore, as it turns out, you're dressed particularly sexy this evening. And I do like how noticeably cute you are, but maybe, indeed, your demeanor is a little too frilly and so mentally unfettered. By many accounts, your naive and trouble-free spirit is bordering on being dangerous. So can it be a combination of things which is making you stand out? Like the wild, gleaming colors in your apparel. Like the short, foxy dress you have on. And surely the fishnet stockings are certainly eye catchers. But even more deviant, perhaps--is your hair--tied with two large, bright loony ribbons on both sides of your head, which lift and prop your strands outwardly in twin ponytail bunches. And I don't know if it's the resemblance of Chobits, or a cosplay character, or a younger girl in street-hooker fashion, but your visible appearance is very provocative. In other words, whether you seemingly look like a call-girl or not, I can't resist your streetwalker, hooker-like allure. So if tonight you want to be a floozy girl, then I'd like to take you and have you in just the same way. Just give me a sec to get my order ready, and you can serve and pamper me all night long.

But until that time--before I can bed you--the music meanwhile is grooving. And although nobody is dancing yet, it's no fault of the band. Their ability to entertain is not a factor. Rather, as is often the case, people are reluctant to be first onto the platform. So we continue to chat and drink, waiting patiently for things to get lively, hoping others would go out to the staged area and start dancing.

Then eyeing each other and feeling gamesome, we move closer together. The music is seducing our attention to party, but worse, I'm constantly browsing downward just to have another snapshot of those cheeky leg wrappings. Wow, they're working me over! So fascinating! So exciting! I put my hand on your thigh hoping to woo you into a passionate, romantic mood. And when you notice my profound interest in those magnificently ventilated fishnet stockings, you swiftly counter back, hooking your leg around mine while you brush your foot into my ankle. Then, even as we continue chatting, your eyes cunningly lock into mine and hold fast and unwavering for a span, just as if nothing had actually happened. But soon afterwards, your lips crack a grin and your eyes expand wide, as you begin batting your eyelashes with an exaggerating flutter. And as a result of watching your steamy infectious bribe, I'm inclined to do more than passive talking, and do more than mild touching. I'm ready to get extra physical.

Therefore, here is my chance to be brave and bold. No more of that lackadaisical, karaoke-less non-participation. It's time to bust away from my shell and help get this shindig thing rolling. So with vindicating conviction and heroic intentions, firmly I declare that we get out and start dancing.

And as the song changes, we dart out to the empty dance space and begin capering about. We set up squarely in the middle there and do our part virtually inviting more to join in. But at first it's awkward being on exhibit and being the only ones camped out in front of all the onlookers; however, we soon adjust to the setting. And in no time, we're sharing laughs as we shine in the spotlight.

Furthermore, you're moving around wildly and playfully, and apparently having a dandy good time while you're doing it. Likewise, I'm altogether enjoying this, especially when I'm watching you bouncing and swinging. It's downright inspiring, so gradually thereafter, many more couples decide to crash in and start dancing. And afterwards we're all having a blast sharing the floor together. But, unfortunately, it doesn't keep. Later on, that cordial gathering withers away and eventually our fun couples' crowd is disbanded. Thus we're back to being a solo pair, as we continue grooving to the rocking good sounds that the band is playing. Except, most importantly, with us being the only ones dancing, you now become the headliner; you're the star and principal attraction for the rest of the bystanders left hanging around here.

Yet, I don't mind dancing alone with you. You look so sexy and flirty, shaking and moving while you candidly float about without any visible reservations. Plus, I'm getting such a sundry of treats as I observe you flaunting your stuff. And maybe, in fact, it all boils down to the striking way you look, as you seem to be oh-so perky; literally, you appear tickling and charming--just as though you were some cartooned, buxom-friendly, big-eyed and silly, adorably cute, anime girl.

However, on the other hand--perhaps you're too cute and adorable, and conceivably, you're a bit too difficult to resist. Plainly for me--but also, probably for everyone else as well! That's because, as it plays out, quite a few guys have taken notice to what you're doing and have been thoroughly checking you out from far across the nightclub.

Later, one of the men moves in nearer to get a better, up-front view of your performance. He stands there brashly, judging your score and watching your effervescent torso. He studies your foundation and absorbs the splendor of seeing you swaying and jiggling your sweet lovely booty. And as the man sloughs off gathering your data, his head yo-yos down and up. Then he keeps his eyes glued to your portrait and probes you with a crude, severely wanting stare. And as he shrewdly delays his gawk and pings you with a long, licentious gaze, his burning desire pierces and penetrates--much deeper than you would've expected.

So what happened? Did you lose a grip on caution? Were you too tipsy and flush? I know you've been out of tilt and out of sorts lately, so maybe you're an innocent victim. Then again, and possibly more likely, it was all a wickedly clever act. Because apparently, after welcoming his advances, tactfully you try to hide the truth of what you'd done: Unfairly or not, you were mistaken for being festively drunk, approachably intoxicated, and just itching to tear off your bra. So as he does move forward on you, you attempt to gain approval for accepting the man's propositioning. Timidly, therefore, you turn toward me, to see if I'll respond with the go-ahead to continue.

Strangely, I'm feeling tolerably indifferent about the situation. Partly I could rationalize that I'll be needing to take a break soon, and having a brief replacement for me shouldn't matter too much. Plus, as I look at the man and then look at you, especially for tonight, I'm not even concerned. Frankly, after I evaluate everything, I'm generally not bothered in the least. After all-- Well, after all-- Maybe I'm going to enjoy this, by night's end--even more than you will. I mean, this does present opportunities which can meld nicely into the agenda. Hence, uncharacteristically, I sort of nod okay, giving you some freedom to indulge.

Immediately then, with my affirmation, you shift your focus to give that stranger your undivided dancing consideration; however, it doesn't take long for other guys to notice your promiscuously breeding attitude. So soon after, two more come along to surround you in dancing. And they all share the same idea and goal, which is to wedge in tight and try to gain your favor. Next thing I know, I feel a little pushed to the outside and slightly misplaced by all this. At the same time, I'm getting tired and feeling somewhat achy. And besides, as you're having such a ball with your new audience, I decide now is a good chance to walk to the bar and give my sore feet a rest.

Not surprisingly, under the circumstance, the recently found fame of being at the center of three greedy wolves has gotten you abundantly excited. It's petting your ego to the point you don't want it to stop. With all the males lusting for you and practically drooling with their tongues sagging out, you do your best to keep them all happy. You take turns giving your hips to each man, and it lights a fire under their wishful asses. You see them working hard to entice you, and they begin clowning as if they're cavemen in a winner-takes-all courting ritual. They strut around, ostensibly touting their physiques. And like wannabe alpha males, each presents himself as a facade, using makeshift poses to try being inescapably attractive. One tucks in his gut and says he's got a six-pack. One apes around while he flexes his chest. And the other stands tall, making obscene gestures; he points at where his penis should be and claims he's hung as a bull.

But maybe even worse, cheerfully and joyfully you encourage the merry madness, as though you want more to pile in on this orgy affair. However, be that as it may, in spite of your impressions, I gather you applaud their indecent desires so flagrantly because you know I'm nearby and keeping an eye on you. So you go on getting daring. You masquerade your virtues and paint yourself in a less than flattering image. Which is to say, it's a little beneath you, how you're now dancing and availing yourself; you're looking like a nympho does, when she's a day or two short on her rent.

Yet meanwhile, as you're romping here and there free as a filly, you hope I too am amused with this game. Glancing occasionally to find me, you draw out and heave me flirting kisses from across the way. But right on cue, quickly you rejoin those hounds in bumpin' n' grindin' and shaking that ass.

Well, I'm not getting tripped up about it. I know for you, this is stimulating and good for your confidence--but regardless, enough is enough! This has gone on longer than it should. I'm plenty aroused and preferring to have you alone. Thus I clear you a path through that horny mob of guys, and tell you to kiss me. No more fake kisses this time, I need the real thing. Then promptly, and without indecision, you obey my summons. And in that brief yet meaningful kiss, I know you give yourself away to me.

Following that, we stride off the stage heading toward the exit. There, where it's quiet, I veer in to get close to your ear while dropping off my secret. "I've a surprise for you--for being so good on the dance floor."

Puzzled by that, you ask, "What is it?"

But I refuse to tell you and reply, "We must go!"

* * *

Later, while we're driving home, you're feeling a little uneasy. You recall the things you'd done with the other men at the bar and are considering if possibly you might've exceeded yourself and gone too far with the flirtatious gesturing. And wanting to show that none of that matters and in an endeavor to cover it up with a silent apology, you display your feminine side; you lean toward me and begin snuggling my arm.

I second guess your attempt to vamp me. And after pausing, I decide to quiz you about the experience. "So how was the dancing?"

Hesitant to say much, you don't say anything at all. Instead, you continue to snuggle at my side as we drive farther.

"I think we need to stop somewhere," I announce somewhat abruptly.

I pull into a nearly deserted motel and we get a room. The lodging is small but clean and there's ample privacy for our stay. Then, once inside the room, you're feeling a little apprehensive yet also excited by the mystery of why we're here.

"Is this my surprise?" you ask politely.

But I scold you, "You'll get what you deserve!"

"What do you mean?" you say rather sheepishly.

"So tell me!" I demand. "How was it like, dancing without me?"

Shrinking in stature, you feel partly ashamed. But more alarmingly, you're becoming increasingly certain that you're having feelings of guiltiness. Still, undeterred by the souring conscience tugging on your heart, you muster the courage to be honest and answer, "I kind of liked it."

"Well then," I say in disgust, "if you want to be a slut, today you're going to do it my way!"

Right away, you realize the iniquity is real and that you might've selfishly enjoyed the gents at the dance, perhaps a little too much. Evidently you overdid it. By becoming too involved with that crowd you permitted yourself to get unduly intimate with your cohort of sex-seeking men. Perversely you lavished in trying to accommodate them all, allowing yourself to get off on being a caretaker for that horny bunch of dudes. And sadly, as your lust ran away with you, you became overjoyed knowing that, at the end of the night, the only thing those exuberant males were looking for was a mindless vessel and an easy chance to extend out their dicks.

Therefore, as you concede your indiscretions of the evening, alas, you're ready to beg for redemption. You've been bad and behaved like nothing more or less than a common bitch, gone a-huntin for a fuckin. However, that said, you're truly sorry for your disgraceful actions and now hope to mend the lapse in judgment that materialized earlier when you were acting so immodestly and displaying yourself aimlessly like a drunken harlot.

Henceforth, wishing to regain your good standing, you'll now deny your liberty and be owned and collared. Willfully and consensually you'll submit to being a bondservant to my sexual neediness. Thereafter, you can expect to be punished for straying away and failing to heed me as your main priority. For tonight, it's been made clear to your moral sensibilities that you're not entitled to anything better or deserving of anything else but to be at my complete and utter mercy. After all, that's what happens to bad girls when they're naughty--they ought to be rebuffed, scolded, and retrained on how to be good and loyal maidens. So then, preparing to cling to my instructions for how you're to be chastised, carefully you listen to hear my following demands.

And here is my initial request. I bark it out excitedly, "Take off your clothes!"

Voluntarily, you do exactly as you're told. You unclothe yourself as commanded. You strip off your wildly colored apparel, including your short, foxy dress and marvelous fishnet stockings.

I point to the bed in our room. "Now lie down! And don't move until I tell you!" I snarl while lifting my fist, leaving no doubt that I intend to be taken seriously.

Again, you do as you're told. You lie down in fear and doubt as you see me leaving. I walk out of the motel room without even glancing back. And just before I shut the door, leaving you all alone to ponder--I switch off the lights!

* * *

There in the dark you lie nude on the bed, nervously awaiting my return. Not long after, you overhear a sound from our car, which is parked outside and directly in front of our room. And the sound you heard was the trunk of the car as I'd just slammed it shut.

Later, I open the motel door and turn on the lights. You see me for a fleeting glimpse as I enter with some things in my hand. But immediately, when I see you watching me, I shout, "Close your eyes! You're not worthy to see this!"

Automatically you execute the mandate. You close your eyes tight and listen for my steps to approach you. Subsequently, however, the sounds you hear next are noises as if I'm dawdling around and searching to find something buried inside a large cloth bag. Then, once you detect that I've stopped digging, shortly after you perceive me hovering above your face as I pull a blindfold over your head, which effectively covers your eyes.

Another barren and trying stretch passes where all you can do is listen to my movements and distress on what I intend to do. For as it is, you're now unseeing and in perfect darkness; even with your eyes open there's nothing to see but an unending sky of blackness. Moreover, without sight your environment shifts, and instantaneously your abilities have to acclimate. You understand touch, smell, and hearing differently now. They are enhancing, adapting, and becoming dramatically keener. So given what you have to work with, you use that recently enlightened awareness and frantically attempt to process the dash of commotion I'm making--in more gathering.

Thereafter, when I seem to have finished what I'm doing, the room quiets to a disturbing stillness. In fact, when it becomes so quiet that you can't hear anything else, mostly what you hear is your heart--galloping rapidly, thumping loudly--and beating sharply within your anxious and aching chest. The frozen deadness of stark secrecy and absence of sound has chilled you to the bone. And increasingly, even more and more, your intuition reminds you that it's just too immensely quiet! Something has to give. Something must happen!

Then suddenly, ... it's terribly unnerving ... the sound it initially makes ... when you have no idea that it's coming. The torrid sound you hear is from a match--striking and igniting--closely near to your ear. The bursting, newly-lit fire violently attains life as it consumes the apex of the wooden stick, and there's something primitively frightening with the way it erupts and swiftly whisks into your soul. Instinctively, your skin crawls in terror, at first, from the thought of a flare being so close to your face, and you feel your heart surging out of pace, as if there's imminent danger to your safety. And within that fracture of reality, the blaze on the match acutely evolves and swells in energy boasting to have muscles that will grow into a bloodthirsty roar. Yet in seconds, as it battles over the rights to its very own existence--inevitably it deflates, and quickly tames. Burning with a much cooler temperament, it now speaks in an almost silent murmur. Afterwards, for a moment, you hear nothing again, and your nerves are relieved that you only needed to endure the panic of the pitching flame for a short period of time. But in the dark, empty quietness, you notice something very, very interesting. In a complete reversal of fortune, your fortitude has been distracted; your head becomes lost in an entirely different spirit of things. There's a new diversion, and something else is in the works. With that same fierceness and startling intensity of experiencing a match lighting suddenly in the dark, you're now cured to worries, having become totally absorbed in pursuing this brand new discovery. Something adoring is in the air! And like sipping on a magic potion--you become emphatically filled with awe. "Oh! What is that?" you exclaim. And what you've encountered is a fragrance, which is both dearly pleasing and tranquil. Prominently, it's all around and it engulfs your every thought. The savoring trace you smell is of a mellow flame, burning maturely as it extols exotic scents of spicy sandalwood and minty patchouli. And like it's a soft bed of roses, you cuddle into the delicate fumes of the candle and let the floral incense swirl into your imagination. The sweet, balmy haze of the incredible vapors is acting like a catalyst. Like a sexual agent, chemically it cranks on your motor. And like a potent aphrodisiac, its mission as defined is to seduce you to party. Thereby, all your emotional horrors and uneasiness of the dark simply fade away. And the burning candle, which permeates the room with its wonderful soothing aroma, becomes your mate. Impulsively, you latch on: you become wed with the bouquet of garden scents and make love to the goodness of nature's bloom.




A Flame in the Night Ch. 07



And in addition, incidentally, while the wick of the candle continues to simmer, you hear me again rummaging in a bag and later arranging things out. Then, in your viewpoint, unexpectedly you feel me forcefully grab hold of your wrist and forearm, which is resting near to your waist. I hold your arm firmly down to the bed and gauge your reaction. Sure enough, you jolt and resist my hold at first, but largely because you've been startled. The sedating candle has comforted you; therefore, you convince yourself there isn't a compelling reason to oppose me, so you don't fight back. You relax yourself and never saying a word, you give me your arm unchallenged. Nonetheless, your body quakes when you feel my next move. Shortly after, as I'm holding your forearm, I place a thick and leathery strapping onto your wrist--then I buckle it, and pull it, until it's snug and tight. And ultimately, in a similar manner, I repeat it again. Putting another strap on the other arm, I apply the same equivalent fixture. And again, I shackle it down firmly onto your wrist.

Though you're not yet fully secured, I wait until you steady yourself. Then stoutly I proclaim, "Tonight you deserve all that I give you!"

Immediately after, I follow through with the task at hand. I bring your arms together and link the two leathery cuffs with fasteners. And now with your wrists locked to each other, I lift your arms and lay them directly above your head with the palms facing upward. And what's more--I then tether them down to the bed posts!

Equally important, just as I calculated, you're now in a menacing plight with your arms raised above you and your elbows fanned out like wings of a butterfly. But precariously, instead of disliking the vulnerability, you start to relish being this succulent and defenseless target. Indeed, with your chest uncovered and your body bare and open, you feel inspired to be free and easy. And like a model uncovers herself for a Victoria's Secret ad, you're ready to be viewed and appreciated. You feel hot and fresh for the taking. And like a flower stands ready to be pollinated by any bee that hops onto its petals, you also are here nicely laid out--and available to any man with the wherewithal to jump you.

"That's how I like you," I admit, as you're looking so youngishly innocent and sexually tender. "Tonight--I am your master. You are my property and I'm going to have you--anyway--that I want!"

My overly controlling tone gives you shivers as you lie there buck naked, blind, and consigned to the whims of my temptations. In a mix of concern and amusement, your meat tremors as you feel anxious tingles spiraling down to your quim.

"It's a certainty. At this point, it's irreversible." Mentally, that is to say, those are the words you're thinking because at any given second you expect to be thoughtlessly exploited. Still, while that may be true, you also crave to know specifically what I meant by my latest declaration. And even though it's an improper time to disrespect my authority, you wish to start a dialogue to get an explanation. So then ambitiously you dare to echo, "Yes, Master."

"Quiet!" I remind you. "I don't need any back talk!"

You take a gulp and bite down on your jaw, trying to mute your voice as you freeze your pose.

Not long after, once more you sense me moving above you. Then taking a deep breath in the darkness, unaware of what I plan to accomplish, you feel electrified with delight at the first touch of my mouth as I start to arouse your nipple. Your legs flinch as though you've never been touch that way before, and a surprisingly agreeable sensation sprinkles all throughout your body. Gently, then, I nurture myself on your succulent bosoms, and as I partake in nibbling on the wholesome ends of your excited peaks, you allow the gratification to disseminate everywhere into your being. Again you revert back to fidgeting and squirming to ease some of the tension.

However, I'm not ready for you to enjoy this, so easily. You can't solely be having this much fun yet. Your wrongness can't be rewarded until you show the anguish and remorse befitting your crime. So to discourage you from gaining any lasting security, I sternly reprimand you again, saying: "Listen up! I said to stay still!"

Like a good and loving wench you do your best to obey me, but despite your willingness to do so, your body is rebelling and pleading you to break that oppressive clause which forbids you to open your mouth. Thus, just as women do so intuitively well, you ignore what men say--and you liberate your vocals. You go overboard and express yourself by letting loose with some passionate, amorous moaning. Colorfully in this telling manner, you air out your inner feelings, and reveal it with delicious sighs and mini songs of graphic pleasure. And so again and again, it seems to reverberate as you pant in deep intonations; however, while you continue making those soft, lowly whispers, you hope the barely audible tenor will slip beneath my notice.

But incidentally, as you continue to squalor and carry on like a bird chirping in the morning sun, the yapping chatter you emit doesn't escape my attention. Absolutely, I know your non-silent friskiness is in violation of my order. But figuratively, I let it slide in that way--because I like your backdoor way of asking for forgiveness. It's a fine start to an apology, and hearing you moaning in a state of lovemaking suits me well.

Hence, I don't scold you for that piece of disobedience because, honestly, I don't wish you to stop. On the contrary, the deep, stealthy pitch I discover is inherently rich in feminine substance. My heart is hooked on those sexy grunting noises, so I want to hear you creating even more of those distinguishing chants. Ultimately, then, I need you in restless heat and prefer you gasping out of breath, huffing and puffing, and speaking with babbling troubled patterns.

Consequently, as I re-engage my priorities, I continue onwards idolizing your body and admiring your lovable skin covering. Amazingly, I can't understand why I find your breasts to be so beautiful. Their magnetic powers are far reaching and so fascinating, and their persuasion and influence expand beyond my comprehension. Though what I do know is, the more I adore you and gaze into those two circular nipple spouts, the more it appeases my eyes and fills my virtually wanting belly. Then little by little, trying to gather your unique flavor, I sample your budding boobs with my tongue and feel your terrific outline within my palms. Namely, I keep gliding along your suggestive surface, and like I'm on a merry-go-round, repeatedly I sail round the circumference of your smooth, shapely pillows. Meticulously, I study the topography of your lofty mountains and allow my lips to tour up and down your bosoms. I kiss the valleys. And I kiss the softly textured hills. But before long, I return to the swollen summit tips, and I alternate milking your hard and pointy nipples. Gladly I tamper with your erected form while letting those tasty, corn-niblet nips satisfy the enormous hunger in my mouth.

Internally, you holler, "Oh, I like what he's doing!" And by now you're longing to use your hands to take hold and finger work those suffering parts of your pussy. But with the way your hands are strapped above your head, that's impossible. Alternatively, instead, you fritter away attempting to pinch your thighs inwardly, just a tad, as you yearn to squeeze that tingling irk that's romancing around in your inside.

And through the disoriented and blackened void in your eyes, you have to cope with the variety of smooches you receive to your skin. There's no vision to frame your perception, so every kiss and lick feels wetter than it should. You're edgy in excitement and gushing with urges. Pleasure whirls into your nerves. And like a handheld shower-head, hanging upside down and wrongly placed, it's set to massage and vibrate on your aching aches--and you feel it provoking you and dashing you with pleasure.

"Oh do me!" You resort to fantasizing about that nasty shower spigot. With the would-be dial notched at supersonic spray, the supposed water jettisons outward in little pearls that briskly bead into your soft, flustering tissue. And you imagine yourself being fucked as the drizzle simultaneously goes pitter-patter into your sensitive ridges. The warming glow of the splashing, make-believe fluid has heated your insides and now feels like creamy butter melting within your loins. "Please, yes!" you shout out to a fictitious Fireman Joe willing to direct that spigot to just the right angle. You feel the aerosol of the shower water dousing your skin, and it makes you want to yowl, "Assist me Joe. Come on and fuck me! Use your hose and thoroughly blast my pussy!"

And with that, your nookie is knotting and your clam is cracking. You're almost there and coming apart. "Give me more, ... I want a little more!" You experience a small series of climaxes of sorts, but really what you need is that big outstanding orgasm, which slowly oozes and torments to a bitterly sweet happy ending.

But unfortunately it's too early! You'll have to make do with holding on and waiting longer. Though your arousal is on a climb and your pussy has the 'caffeine' jitters, for whatever reason, the stimulation rudely ceases. Specifically, I'm no longer grazing my hand on your skin or gently kissing your pretty tits. That mode of affection has ended; because for now, I've stopped playing and teasing you.

Again, the odd, eerie silence causes your intellect to race. In a flash, you vividly recall your position in the dark. And stripped of any decent means to protect yourself, you feel helpless and naked. What now? You want to beg for more, but as you've learned, you know you dare not ask for anything. Privately within, as your pussy throbs like the pulse of a heart, you're thirsting and craving madly for me to do something to end the mystery. Hence at first, you're glad when you hear sounds as if I'm proceeding to undressing myself, and with that there's a relief in guessing I've softened my aggression, taken pity, and am now ready to consummate the evening, with you as my better-than-a-virgin gift. But afterwards, your brief optimism takes a dreadful turn when you hear that awfully familiar disturbance. That sound--you recognize and come to know--means I'm snooping for something else. It's that bag again! And clearly you know, whatever I find might very well be used to further mistreat you. But again, you'll have to wait to find out what it is and know for sure.

Then, in the absence of anything eventful occurring, for what seems like a needlessly long pause, every second gets wasted in idle vain and the hollow stillness therein kindles an emptiness that adds more to your nervousness. Moreover, without having negotiated a save exit, nor make any other provisions for your safety, you feel unsettled and uncomfortable with the enigma of accepting this journey unconditionally, without even an ounce of struggle. So patiently, as you yield in blinded bondage--submitting and trusting I'll be gentle, though suspecting I may not--you are, however, confident I'll be responsible, and I'll not unjustly punish you for more than what's required.

Thus, as you anticipate more suspense and misgivings, you try to prepare yourself for all things imaginable. And as you fathom the end of the night and whatever will happen to you soon, in mixed emotion you ask yourself, is being here, is this a really big mistake? Or yet, will it lead to something luscious and memorable, and be in many ways exceptionally good. Obviously, you wish for the later. After all--to be shamelessly subjugated, bound with mystery, fully nude and forced to discover unforeseen sexual pleasures ... well, when you consider your naughtiest, darkest cravings, being here now, right as you are--subdued and in the cuffs of a reckless uncertainty--well then, ... aren't you enjoying this? ... Isn't this just like you wanted it?

--end of chapter seven--

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A Flame in the Night Ch. 08



THE FLAME (Act 2 of 3)

In the brief interlude, as I'm getting additional supplies to will my dominance over you, you are lying down on a bed--bound and subdued--and waiting to be disciplined for your wrongdoings. But even now, as you're blindfolded and naked, you deliberate in your own darkness while thinking about this evening. Moreover, you reflect upon the prior things and events, which lead to this predicament, especially including: the men whom, earlier, you inappropriately and inordinately danced with; the fragrant candle, now burning pleasantly at your side; and the leather bindings fastened to your wrists, constraining your arm movements.

Meanwhile, although you haven't any eyesight since your eyes are everywhere covered, still, even so, you're envisioning what you must look like from within the room's lighting; with your arms set high above your head and elbows spanning wide and level to the bedding, your private parts must be well-lit and highlighted, and entirely vulnerable to my hankering appetite. With that, oddly you ponder if your skin is glistening from all the kisses you've received to your breasts and further wonder, anxiously, if I can see how your slit has become wet and so heavily saturated that the beading water will soon dribble away from your crease. And as you sense the excitement growing in your crotch, humbly you're concerned with how well you're performing for me. You remember the strict instructions that I dictated to you, and now you're scrutinizing whether or not you've been keeping yourself still and motionless adequately enough for me to adore you.

Consequently then, hoping to atone for the lewd, suggestive acts you made, and woefully lax misconduct you showed, now, solemnly, you renew the vow you swore to yourself, which loans me total and complete control of your fate. And in addition, included in that pledge, you promise to remain still and quiet--no matter what! After all, you've convinced yourself that whatever punishment given to you by your master, you'll receive it and it'll happen because you truly deserve it.

Nonetheless, in spite of your resolve to be calm and passive, it's unnerving when once again you experience me groping above your topside. Every which way I choose, I fondle your outside trimmings, until eventually, I place my hands upon the tops of your hips. From there, slowly I glide my palms downwards and skim along your inner thighs. Gradually I knead and pamper the supple, cushiony meat in your groin and quadriceps and continue sliding my hands over and about your soft, wholesome skin.

Finally, I reach the ends of your shins, and by now, I grip and hold down your right leg only. I then place a leathery style shackle securely onto your ankle, and it's similar likewise to the ones that are also binding your wrists. And I tighten it, snugly, sealing it so that it can't be removed off your ankle. Next, seconds after, I affix another matching leathery band around you, and now this time, I make it so your left ankle is bounded soundly as well.

Thus, while you're waiting, you begin to visualize my next move, predicting that I'm about to plow my cock into your slippery, awaiting cunt. Your heart patters with clumsy, nervous beats as you're outstretched on the bed and utterly aroused. But then, instead of my cock laying siege to your wide open insides, you're caught off guard because now, without warning, I'm making out with your neck.

"Ah, that feels really, really nice!" You think about those tantalizing touches shimmying around on your landscape. And it compels you to breathe with larger and unsettled breaths, as it tickles some when I start tracing long, snaking lines with my moist, salivating tongue. I lay a foundation along your collar and casually ascend upwards alongside your delicate, gentle neckline. When I reach your ticklish underside jaw muscles, I do a turnabout and shimmy back down to the opposite side of your neck. And, again, I repeat my licking and tonguing to fully satisfy your neck and collar surface. Hence, indeed, you're won over and captivated by the soppy grazes you're receiving, yet also you're a bit perplexed that by now I still haven't clasped your feet together to the ankle straps.

Alternatively, in place of locking you in, I continue smooching round your shoulders and broadening my traces onwards to taste and sample the cusps of your earlobes. There, when I'm close, you hear the obscene, heavy pants of my manful breathing and feel the soft brushes of my tongue as it charts in and about your ear shell. And moreover, while I'm gratuitously licking your skin, I'm also massaging you and groping your breasts with my active, wandering fingers.

Thus, thoroughly and completely the obscure sounds and unseen touches have provoked you. And further, with it all summing together, the relentless taunting and teasing is sending you into a frenzy, making you want to grab my balls and heave me into your wet, cock-waiting cum-hole. However, if only you could do that--but you can't. Your arms and hands are tied down and presently useless.

In the meantime, over and over I continue tasting your earlobes and soothing your breasts with my hands. And I go on doing it, until you begin doubting your willpower and questioning your endurance, as you wonder how much longer you'll be tormented with ridiculously excessive foreplay. Then, when it seems that I have finished, at last I whisper into your ear with a long-drawn-out and patient voice, "I want to eat all of you. Look at this--you're my kind of woman!"

Goose pimples spike up from your skin, and my declared message has you dripping with bloated fantasy and tremendous expectation. Subsequently, I give you a deep and long, lingering kiss, and you take me in wholly while your mind simmers in high living. You want to return my kiss proactively and with more endearing passion, but at this instance you're totally overwhelmed. Currently, inhaling and exhaling is arduous and demanding, as your lungs are competing with a host of delectable feelings, and each brimming to near maximal capacity.

However, being unfazed and unbothered with the inconveniences of your struggle, I pull away my embrace for a time to monitor your dedication and to study your misfortune. But then to you, it's a cruel act of silence and full of more merciless, agonizing suspense. Again you're alone in your thoughts and lost inside a black terrifying darkness. One after another you've sustained emotional and physical uncertainty, having to second-guess everything I'm doing. So lesser is better, or to you, a shorter delay might improve your circumstance. It's been challenging enough recovering from bouts and bouts of roller-coaster riding, body fatiguing, mentally draining ecstasy. So holding on, waiting passively to suffer more of this silent commotion is turning you insecure and badly unconfident.

Accidentally and mistakenly, therefore, it slips out; desperately, you whine aloud, crying, "More! ... Please sir. Kiss me more."

I lean in and slap my dong across your beggarly-looking face and smudge my flesh gently on and around your nose.

"Shh!" I demand. Then lightly I pinch and roll your nipples while grumbling, "You know better than that."

So I censor you for your absentmindedness and restrict you from nagging for anymore of me. Then resolutely, once more, I remind you of your womanly role, which means you're to surrender completely and be dutiful and subservient.

Obediently, after I chide you, you sniff the pungent, manly odor of my cock; then slightly, you tilt your head back and broaden your mouth, suggesting I allow my elongated organ to plummet deep into your throat. It amuses me to see this, so I descend myself down into your kisser. And I give you a taste of my family jewel, thus letting you know I'm good and hard, and capable of fucking you at the flick of my wrist. But all the same, after you get a worthy 'bite' of my noble sausage, I withdraw my tangy stalk from your lips and step back to give you another of my passionate kisses.

For now, being pleased with your attentive manners and your loose-lipped, open-jawed girlishness, I commend you for your right-mindedness by saying, "Good girl. You've learned to do this well."

With that, you blush with satisfaction at hearing my charitable compliment. Though at this point, being visionless you're unsure of what you should be doing. Hence, once again you niche a hole in your mouth for me to thread my cock into your puckering lips; however, when I don't give you anymore and deprive you of my hardness, you think it best to let me lead and not say another word.

So you close your mouth and refocus on that oath you made, to be well-behaved and yielding. And rather, you sort through your convictions, hoping to regain a handle of what it means to be collared and leashed, and a completely submissive servant. Except, regardless of your good and fair intentions, when you realize I'm touching you again and solidly clutching your ankles, you grow overly concerned about it, and temporarily, a condition of fearfulness surrounds you.

From the sternness of my unyielding grasp, wildly and anxiously your body spasms everywhere, from the restraints on your wrists to the restraints on your ankles. Furthermore, in that short yet scary moment, you encounter me pulling your legs wider apart until they look like the prongs of a V. Moreover, then, strangely you hear something clasping to your ankle bindings, and suddenly you notice that I've just locked you in! And here from this position, a new breeze of air eddies between your thighs as the passage has been made clear and free of obstruction. Your ankles are cuffed and affixed with a steel bar lodged firmly between your feet, forcing your legs to remain spread out and gaping.

Ah, how your pussy's already in a frantic muddle! It's jittering uncontrollably with looming anticipation of it being manhandled and the target for abuse. You want to breathe comfortably again, however, your belly feels skittish. It's discernibly shrinking with tension and reacting as though it were knotted and twisted, making breathing seems unnatural and difficult to do. Nevertheless, you make an effort to compress your snatch shut by forcing your legs and knees inward. But it's pointless! It's locked opened, and you're fully exposed for me to do as I want.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" you burst into a trill of erotic phrases as I immerse my face between your lower limbs.

I see you quaking like a wet, nervous puppy, but I warn you again, "Your pussy is mine and it's nobody else's!"

With my face and chin embedded in the tangle of your V, my tongue pairs up with your lower lips and licks circular lashes outlining your narrowly slitted gap. A little to the left, some more to the right, my tip probes fanatically all around your perforation. I lick and glide over the boundaries of your sensitive, sensual tissues until finally I head to my destiny--and directly, I have a go at your middle.

I gloss it a little, and I buff it a lot. I taste a hint of you. I lap a dab of it. And I kiss that heavenly between thing and eat away at your beautiful little bump.

And by now, you're inspired by the earthy, floral scents of the candle burning not far away from you. The provocative herbal fragrance is altogether satisfying. It makes the mood seem light; it makes the darkness seem lighter. The night feels perfect. The time seems right and never better.

I observe the outcome of love-sweet-lust erupting inside you. Your body is more rigid, and contorting tensely and furiously in desperation. Your legs and feet are trying to jerk and wrangle free of the bindings bound to your ankles. But your ankles aren't going anywhere, they simply won't budge. Even to move them, or lift them, or to do anything different might cool or temper some of this nonstop, paralyzing pleasure.

So namely you're stuck here and compelled to endure everything. And rather than getting away or loosening your ankles, instead your toes are curling and your fingers stretching, symbolizing that you're at the limit and in the pinnacle of spine-tingling, nerve-shattering intensity.

Your face begins to pale. Uncontrollably you start giggling and protesting, and boldly pleading for dear mercy. Then daringly you cry out, "No! Please don't! ... Sir, please! Please, please, don't do it anymore!"

I hear you begging for me to go easier. I watch you squirming and getting wilder. But it's not mercy I intend to grant you. So I don't stop. I continue to eat and eat and eat. I'm into this. And badly, I'm into you and liking what I'm doing. Therefore, I feed myself with your pussy and do any freaky, deviant thing I want. Though comparatively for you, there's nothing to be seen in this debasing, depraving experience. With your eyes all the way covered, you only imagine all the naughty and perverted things I'm doing.

Specifically, I bear-hug my arms beneath your hips and yoke you into my lips. Then sufficiently my mouth covers the gash of your quim as I prepare myself to delve in further. You brace for me when you detect my spongy scooper getting frisky, becoming pushy, and so off-the-wall jolly to be tapping into your space. In fact, my sassy, swiping, slithering tongue slides on in there and starts burrowing and scavenging and going inside deep, to thoroughly lick and clean out your helpless little cunt.

And it tickles and it teases, and it simply feels wonderful. With me constantly, and continually, sucking and gnawing away at your entrance, you come to find the end is nearing. You can't hold on; you can't brush it off. Your balance has gone rocky, and your reserves are out the window. Suddenly, the only line of defense left for you to do is to express that pleasure and come into my bush-licking kisser.

Soon then, in your total darkness, with the sweet aromas in the draft and my erotic touches in your fold, your senses build and collide all together. A potent force is gathering causing waves of enthusiasm to rise and unite, and thus it inundates your interior with a torrential inflow of hot and tangy bliss.

Urgently you discover your pussy's been meddled with for far too long. Systematically you feel the repercussion of being mouthed inch by inch, tongued scrupulously inside and out, and devoured tirelessly all the way here to the cliff on the mountain, and to that crowning sexual ultimatum where there's no reversing back.

Thus, your ship is sinking. This battle to safeguard your virginal dignity is old-fashioned, behind the times and out-of-date, and surely a losing cause. So you give in and give it up, and take it like a woman. You close your fist and let your nipples stand tall, as high as they will go. And also, your knees relax and your legs go limp in genuine full submission.

Thereupon, I take my spoils of war away from you with my pillaging pussy-feeler. And while I do, triumphantly, I hear the surrendering shrill of you groaning and moaning; and plus, along with that, this wondrous seismic turmoil has you uselessly wiggling and rattling your extremities and vainly trying to shake free of my orgasm making trap.

Yet victoriously, I keep eating you round-the-clock, round-the-world, up and down, back and forth--and all inside your tiny wet wrinkle. I'm lovesick and turned on for this. It's a prized chance, a windfall draw of luck--to be orally on duty and tucked between your loins--when you're in the throes and in the spate of that sumptuous, glorious moment.

So I make good of it. I tear into this delicious, flavorsome opportunity, and I lick, kiss, and catch every drop of you, while hoping your fling is unending and never ceasing. Although apparently, however, that considerable claiming moment hits you way too severely. And I can say this because your legs are trembling and squeezing in toward my face. Your butt starts rocking and pivoting, and it does all sorts of herky-jerky circular maneuvers to steer away from too much of that lip service, too much of that vulva sucking, and too, too much of that ruinous, face-to-clit contact.

But there's no stopping your dainty cream from entering my mouth. Instead, I ignore your physical convulsions and forget how your butt is perpetually trying to shy away from my intrusions. So I whip my tongue thick and fast, repeatedly, over and into your pussy. I continue looting her resources and snatching up my nicely earned bounty. And when you hear all the lapping sounds while I guzzle and nosedive into your inlet, you're flattered by it and electrified with another jolt of exhilaration. It's good for another spree of tingles and makes you mist abundantly, yet again.

Consequently, it keeps you going and flowing as your torso quivers and crunches; which again, expresses another turning point, and additional out-and-out bodily fulfillment. But still, after a while the delicacy wanes and there's less and less for me to sip and swallow. So I finally let your tensions ease by slowing down my licking tempo. Except by now, your lady cum has made me very, very horny!

With the face of my hand, I deliver two crisp slaps to your watery damp cleft, and immediately, then, I climb on top of your shackled down body. Swiftly, I submerge my hard dipping-stick far into the barrel of your silky, slick snatch, and how unbelievably cozy and comfortable it feels to be stored inside there. Straightaway, my dick feels at home, as if it's placed exactly where it oughta be. Hence, my mad, crazy, excited cock howls like a wolf, bellowing at the rich, full, whiteness of the moon. Plus additionally, coded within that howling, hysterical rage, it orders me to whomp that sexy, wet banana-holder, which is hemming and hugging my unit.

So I listen to the hound of my dog and do as I've been told. I fuck it! I pound your slippery slot! I can't hold myself back, and I can't go any slower. I'm stuck at sprinting, going at 100-meter racing speed, where all I care to do is to lean in and break that first-place finisher's tape and jam my meat into your little pink taco. And gladly, you have to indulge me and let me play in your lair because you're fanned out, sprawled open, and girdled down to the bedding.

Then more and often, repeatedly I poke, punch, and plunge my end into your kitty and shag you like my member was meant to be used like a jackhammer. But after being so brazenly foolish grinding my knob into your teeny-size slit, and doing it with such an irrational pacing, fleetingly I know that this lively and wayward horseplay won't keep up, and soon I'll be in a whole mess of trouble. And sure as sperm swim in semen, I'm overpowered and outmatched by it: your oval entryway is like a prickly infernal pit; it's a hot, fiery trap designed to ensnare my affection and enslave my cock with all kinds of rapturous, sensuous pleasure. Indeed, my endurance is eroding from all that bitter friction, vigorously abrading the length of my erection. So sadly I understand I'm not going the marathon distance, especially when I'm continuously touching your body, holding your arms down, and endlessly shoving my hips into your middle.

Plus, even more bewildering, you still have that saintly perfect look--as though you'd just finished coming, from only minutes before when I'd been licking your mound to a climatically great ending. And I see it in your face, and sense it within in your body. You've got that submissive girly look, that splendid suggestive aura a woman has when she's just gone through a fraying orgasm. So I keep evaluating that--and watching your radiance--and it gets me more desirous, and that much hornier.

And as we grind our intimate possessions together, you extend your face upwardly, blindly seeking to kiss me. And although I can still taste your womanly cum in my mouth, I return my admiration and kiss you, the way you wish I would do it. Hence we share your otherly saliva on our lips and forever I'm reminded of your delicious sensuality.




A Flame in the Night Ch. 08



Therein, my mind celebrates how you're still restrained and can't get away from my horny riser. And with all those flavorful imaginations dancing around in the wit of my cock, your hot box continues to work on me. She presses me, and squeezes me. And she tries to bend my sore, sturdy arrow. But we go about with our lovemaking, while simultaneously my big bulging boner flares wider, warms hotter, and flips round 'n round with excitement.

Except, eventually I've struck base. And as of now, I've run aground with that spongy, tickly sensation inside the tight squeeze of your scoop. And with that, fatally I turn enamored with your body--and your hair, and your arms, and your mouth, and your entire everything.

Physically and mentally, I'm used up. It's all too much for me, so I'm doomed to terminate! No longer can I handle the reddening, lovey-dovey stimulation that's all around the swollen gland of my sensitive dick. That's because your slick sex-tube is far too wet, and well too lubricated. Forcibly then, my balls are gonna explode and make an awful, hasty spilling!

Consequently, my defeated, beaten body reacts with vibrations and tremors from all the internal squishing and relentless pressure being applied to my throbbing, glowing instrument. And as men might do at times like these, I release my frustration accordingly. Thus paining with insufficiency, with my shaft smoldering under hot coals and my nuts on the verge of imploding, incurably I start swearing and hurling lewd and vulgar obscenities.

"Fuckin' hot pussy! Fuckin' tight hole!" I yell and holler and shake my head in stunning disbelief. Your inner bareness is absolutely amazing and overall, inside and out, here and there, your touch feels superbly gratifying. And so, with whatever strength I can muster, I go for broke and helplessly sink myself into your pleasure. My back keeps arching, my hips keep pushing and pulling, and rocking, back and forth. And again and again, I gasp, and pant, and groan desperately, saying, "Shit, yes! Shit, yes! Oh, please! Give me all of your fuckin' sweet cunt!"

"Yes, baby." I hear you just beneath your voice, softly moaning in a low, secret-telling whisper. "Take me. Enjoy me. ... Have everything you want of me."

And right there! Marked at this very second! You're way too sexy--and all too fucking easy! So I come! I come head over heels with my straining hardness bucking and thrusting, and faraway upwards inside your center. Overly delighted and overly aroused, I see your arms lifted so invitingly, and so erotically sky-high above your shoulders. Thus my dirty sack of seeds continues to lactate and leak and spew out more of that sex-laborious gift. And naturally, of course, you receive all of my ball busted spillings into your gentle, caring cup.

So it jets and gushes, and I pump out enough cream to fill your pussy. And pleasantly, I stay penetrated deep, sheathed and wrapped in your paradise. Our bodies remain joined in delirious euphoria with our sexes sliding internally, reaching crescendo after crescendo, chasing successively huge and more powerful eruptions. And it goes on, wonderfully, for a long and blissful duration, but like all good things do, gradually, the squirting and gifting and vigorous hip-thrusting lunges, finally, in due time, it does come to completion. And feeling happy and content, my tired, humbled hose sits resting majestically in your smooth, secret shelter, still floating and pulsing in pure sexual elation.

* * *

And moreover, now after coming so thoroughly and satisfactorily inside the warmth of your crevice, with your silhouette intermeshed with my own, everything is reset to right. Remarkably, the damaged bridge, which was an unmendable barrier rifting between us, has become restored and hence forgiveness is abounding in the air, and everywhere around us. Somehow, in this romantic process, reparation has taken place and your punishment is over and completed. Therefore, I remove your blindfold and free you of that temporary blindness. And subsequently, next, we mellow out, take it easy, and absorb our compassionate feelings. And even more, we return anew to kissing, respectfully, fondly, and generously.

I run my fingers through your hair, and tenderly, I caress your face. "Wow, that was fantastic."

"Thank you, sir. I'm pleased you liked me." You bat your eyes and grin. "And next time, I'll try to be better!"

"I know you will, my puppet." I smile and take another lick at your nipples. "To me, you always seem better."

And for a few more excellent moments, I stay here lying above you. We lock our eyes together and read each other, like we're gazing into the windows of your souls. Then I resume with petting your arms and also with adoring your face and body. And especially, I pay timely, precious honor to your chained-up, sexy appearance. For this seductive, gracious, and all-giving image I see of you, which is bestowed upon me, here and now, I want to preserve and cherish in my thoughts, today, tomorrow, and neverendingly.

Yet thereafter, being at peace, having received ample restitution for your prior infractions, we proceed to make up and become totally reconciled. I kiss you some more, and likewise in return, you kiss me back. Then, once and for all, ultimately, I unlock the shackles and release the binding from your wrists and ankles. Quietly afterwards, I roll my inwardly-heavy, immensely lethargic body to lay myself down at your side, ready to fall fast asleep after this very eventful evening.

However, the night is far from ended, since nearby the wick of the candle is still flaming earnestly. Moreover, the moon, so high above us, is still bustling at peak; and the morning sun, now queued on deck, is on hold and waiting, patiently, for only us.

In other words, and to speak clearly and plainly, this day isn't over--and that rest may not last long! You've been spurred with sex! And you're not at all very sleepy yet.

--end of chapter eight--

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A Flame in the Night Ch. 09



THE FLAME (Act 3 of 3)

Our adventurous night has been filled with dancing and candle-lit lovemaking. There's even a large bag full of many sensual things. Though for now, the bag sits closely nearby us with more things inside it, most of which is still unbeknownst to you. But thus far its contents, including a candle and restraining ware, have added an exciting element to the evening.

However, presently, we're lying on our sides and resting on the bed with the lights on. Indeed, I need this dearly beloved and precious time because, seriously, I need the opportunity to recover. Currently I'm limp everywhere. And in some places it's even worse, as I'm much limper there than anywhere else, having unioned our heat and having shared our passion.

Essentially then--and all too clearly to me--we were frantically going at it, and humping like happy rabbits in a carrot garden. And to me, it seems like it happened only a few, mere, Twitter-length seconds ago; so believe you me, I need the spacing of seconds, minutes, or hours to refurbish myself. After all, a man's gotta have a little time to loll, laze, and relax once the deed has been completed, otherwise ... measurably, ... he's upwards to nothing! He's pointless in length, and both useless in width and volume.

Thus frankly now, my cock is a total downer. And therefore, ... hardly, ... I haven't anything stiffer or longer to work with than what a female has got. So ignoring all dickless and penisless fetishes, and dismissing any small bulge, little dude obsessions--a guy having a slack, willy beansprout for his sex unit--well ordinarily, this isn't how a woman wants her man in the bed.

Consequently, then, although the elapsed duration feels far too brief for me--for you, on the other hand--the game is in overtime! There's some unfinished business and an unsettled outcome. Time is accruing and it's severely delinquent; hence, you've got account receivables that badly need a lengthy audit, and perhaps, a large goodwill deposit. So, like an expired library book, you're ready to be renewed and reread. And the last thing you want now is for your pages to be sitting around getting untouched, as if you've been lost on an old neglected shelf.

Therefore, with nothing better to do, in the moment to entertain yourself, you gently chuck your leg up against mine and lightly let it slide and ease down my slope. And you do it without any particular cause, reason, or intention--you're just restless. Then, by and by, after a while, you start touching me and caressing me with your soft, caring hands. And little by little, at first, then with increasing focus and desire, you feel more playful with every sweeping pass and every loving stroke you paint on my body.

Conversely, as we're facing one another, I'm responding to you laggardly, at best. I'm dopey and slow, and having more than enough trouble following your playmaking; however, I'm trying to mind you and return some of my attention, but unfortunately, I'm shot and spent. And I feel so awfully, awfully tired!

Nevertheless, you pinch my chest and in a cozy, sportive voice you say teasingly, "Mmm ... what's the matter? Aren't you in the mood for me?"

My brain is ready for a holiday, or at least a good siesta. So I pause before answering since, really, all I'm trying to do is survive. Like I'm treading in deep water, I want to stay afloat for a while, thinking somehow, someway there'll be a rescue. But that question you posed might be hair-triggered and loaded; surely it could lead to trouble, if I'm not tactful how I respond. Except with all my weariness, I'm coming up blanks with any original ideas, though maybe, I hope, some satire will calm you. I inhale a large breath, and lightheartedly, I try crooning out in song:

"Girl, ... I think about it every night, and day ... I'm addicted, wanna jump inside your love." Then I wag my index finger left to right and whimper aloud, saying, "Only, ... just not right now, okay?"

"No, no!" You spank my ass and shake your head. "Sorry, so sorry, dear. Black Eyed Peas won't be showing up here to help you."

Later, you lean in and give me a peck on my cheek, but adversely soon afterwards, I begin to close my eyes again, at first blinking them at half pace, until eventually they shut completely. I attempt to settle into napping, trusting you'll see I'm doggone tired and ignore me as I succumb to the long night that has shipwrecked my effectiveness.

Yet, despite my obvious and apparent impoverishment, you're beginning to enjoy the challenge of trying to reignite my spark. Therefore, you relocate your body closer to mine and gravitate over to kiss my chest. Then, what's more, you skim your fingers ever so slowly along the upper perimeter of my side. And likewise, you allow your fingertips to take a stroll, and walking them inch by inch, finger by finger, they casually tread atop the vertex of my waistline.

But regrettably, even with all the ribbing you do to me with your fingers, I'm still not behaving to your liking and satisfaction. Thus, haphazardly, you snap your head in my direction and flog your hair strands into my vacant, uncooperative face.

"Oh, stop it!" I open my eyes and mutter lightly, attempting to be gentle with my rejection. Faintly I'm grumbling beneath my voice and complaining of exhaustion: my fuel cells are low and shoddy, and I just want to recharge myself by sleeping. And after considering my condition here--that is, if I were to first describe the way I'm feeling, I'd say I feel like a mummy, wound up in wraps and unable to move. But on careful and broader review of the situation, I'd be better told and even believably accurate to say that I'm feeling like a mouse--being stalked and cornered like prey!

Like a nosey kitten, you rub your whiskery-smooth face in my skin and peek at me with those mischievous feline eyes. Plus, you stretch out your paws to fondle my genitals, and while annoyingly smirking, you use those cat-like mittens to molest my balls and dangle my cock. Then, with a condescending look, you play around and tussle with it, and momentarily, you admire your 'golden' jewel piece as if it were actually scented with catnip. And surely, it does satisfy your curiosity--for a tad, until you've become bored with my inactive limpness. Hence, a little later, your hands are roaming again, and they drift around wherever they want, making soft, grazing brushes that cover the entire span of my front.

However, soon after, you see my eyes drooping and growing comfortable as I'm about to take a snooze. So then, abruptly, you shove me over and level me out on my back. And as I look upwards at you, with my tired, bleary eyes, I can almost see the claws in your paws as though you're preparing to pounce on your new mouse toy. Yet, before you bushwhack my plaything, you opt to grapple my nipples and test my resistance even further.

I continue making weak defensive blocking swings, praying this will discourage you from being a pestering nuisance. But by now, I'm convinced there's something more to this. Something is spurring you to be very persistent. Thus, I'm left with no favorable choice but to beg for mercy.

"Please, no more!" I yawn and express even more of my tiredness. Then I barely lift my arm and spread my hand, while weakly protesting, "Give me five minutes. ... I just need a little more rest."

But rather than that, you straddle over me and drop your hair into my face. And while your head is still lowered, you start running your tongue all over my nipples.

I feel like I've got to scratch, or itch, or perhaps shoo you away like you're a gnat in my face. Again, I try ignoring you--for as much as I can--but your soft touch tickles me!

And with that, I'm forced to use more of my valuable and scarce energy reserves. But even so, I nudge you away once again. However, all too evidently you're still not done with me yet!

You crouch back and sit into your hindquarters, seemingly getting ready to take flight and spring. And just before striking me, I sense you giving me forewarning, but then, quickly you 'leap' to my rib cage and arrest me. Thus, as you're pinning me down and restraining me from getting away, you seize control of my will and torment me with long, stroking licking patterns that haunt the extreme limits of my senses. I shudder and tremble as your damp tabby-tongue laps all around my belly, cleaning my abdomen and searching for new ways to provoke me. And while you're at it, repetitiously you're heckling me, and saying, "Come on, come on! I want to play with little brother."

For me the harassment is much too intolerable. Dearly me, I just can't get any sleep! So once again I retaliate and push you off my gut. But dreadfully this time, I know I'm in trouble because, indeed, the pussy's on the hunt. And when you move closer towards my ear, I swear I hear beastly whirring tones that nearly sound like you're purring. But actually, in fact, you're just necking in my ear and whispering, "Baby, baby. I wanna play!"

Sadly, my body's not in the mood to play, or move, or do anything useful. However, after hearing your perky voice, I get cold shivers all the way down to the base of my spine. Surely then, I know exactly what you require and it simply frightens me.

As a consequence, I corral enough strength to kiss you, wishing this will buy time and cool you off. And we kiss for a bit; except, my plan to slow your pursuit doesn't work well. You're all played out of that romantic, sentimental nonsense. You've moved on from kissing my lips and from tongue washing my anatomy. Better than that, with full and ample breaths you inhale and exhale and blow hair-raising breezes into my lazy flesh and lifeless bag of bones. And again and again, you declare out, "I want you!"

Suddenly, and without additional warning--you make your finishing descent. With your mouth graciously opened wide, you swoop lower and go for the kill. There, you proceed to draw me in while devouring your incapable man-mouse. Emphatically, you suck my limp, dangling meat until it's completely within your lips. And as you engulf my snubby little pacifier and consume my member whole, impatiently you wait, expecting your toy thing to grow and inflate to a more competent dimension.

But, disappointingly, I'm a flop! I'm failing Sex Ed 101. I haven't produced the chain reaction that's sorely needed. However, things are altogether different now. Upon feeling the smack of that dive and the slurping jolt of your face chowing on my noodle, I'm certainly more awake. In fact, I discern new life in my brain--and in my drowsy organs as well. So there's no need or desire to be pushing, swatting, or blocking you away, and surprisingly, I'm much more receptive to your tenacious henpecking and nettlesome foreplay.

Hence, I settle in and behave myself like a good host, and let you nurse me back to my health. And although I was tardy in appreciating your efforts, I'm more than happy now to be lounging about receiving your stimulation. But, everything is not fine and dandy yet. There's a small problem that still persists: My staff isn't flying! That erection isn't there! It's stubborn, diminutive, and slow to get going.

Meanwhile, you run your hands steadily on my torso and give consummate kisses all over my privates. Again and again, I encounter your turbulent, orally-powered vacuum, as you seem to repeat the sucking routine that you've created. After wandering around the 'diamond' and exploring the 'ball field', you circle back to home-base and suck the root of my bat, fiercely and earnestly. With a touchy persuasion and a firm resolve, you're determined to fortify my puffy penis. You go on and on, tonguing the crown of my dick and downing my stem to the very end of the base, until then, finally, you feel it--you see it--it begins to swell! And now, anxiously, you wait for it to expand even bigger.

With my energy level out of the red warning zone, I can drop the zombie act. I'm breathing and functioning, so I can return to the living world and start doing my manly chores. And as the male of this household, my immediate duty is to--lie back, relax, stroke your hair softly, caress your shoulders gently--and let you repair my saggy, broken-down penis. And within time, the results become obvious: the sucking and licking, over and over, has hardened my valuables. I'm geared up and prepared for the task. I'm packing mass, with just the right length and stiffness for the gigging.

Consequently, your persistence has paid remarkable dividends, up to double or even triple fold! And to be compensated for that fine labor, you're eager to be rewarded. You're wet and ready to do some romping. Hence, you guide me up and lead me to the other side of the room where there's an unarmed chair. This is where you want to 'dress up' and play housewife.

So in haste, you sit me down in the chair, and in nothing flat you're ambushing me. With your legs straddled over my erect, soaring pole, you drive your wet fuck-hole into my voluminous cock.

"Let's fornicate!" You cheer out, being filled in high spirits. You look into my beat, bloodshot eyes and again you say, "Fuck me where you wanna!"

I feel my manhood gathered up by the angry tornado in your snatch. And as you funnel that storm onto my big capybara, you make yourself at ease sitting on top of me. Your thighs and arms are wrapped all around my physique, while you hold me down for ransom. Then, as you seesaw back-and-forth on my hard, elongated member, I'm held nearly motionless while your body is smothering me and your boobs are smearing into my chest.

But I like having you pressed into me. And being in your stronghold is particularly delightful. Forcefully you're directing your pussy to thump me strong and heavy as you thrust your hips onto me and nail me into the chair. And while I can't move much when your aggressive cunt is squeezing tightly and bucking against my hard-on, I try my best to reciprocate the intimacy by kissing your chin, nibbling your ear lobes, and tasting your neck.

However, when I get stuck gazing at your sexy hair, over and over--which, by the way--is still tied flirtatiously in twin ponytails with bright, loony ribbons--I'm now captured by another means. Your hair makes me feel sinfully guilt and overly amorous. I just want to run my hands through those lovely, lovely hair fibers and remain firmly seated inside your dandy, savory ditch.

Plus in return, as I brush and comb your hair with my fingers, you accelerate the bouncing and bucking. Even more fervently you knock into me and relentlessly offer your busts to my face. Then, while you're getting busy blanketing me with those inflamed eye-charmers, my hands perform exploratory overtures along the entire length of your back.

And incidentally, while we're on the subject, the intercourse isn't always so erratic or heedless. Occasionally, we slam on the brakes and put a halt to our sex motors. Then we woo and coo as though we're stopped at a crossing light, waiting for elderly grandma to gingerly cross over the road. We wait, figuratively, for the traffic signal to change while we nestle fondly and cuddle in our passion. And during the intermission, we highlight our loving feelings as I study your arms, caress your legs, and truly admire your breasts. Calmly and smoothly, I find what's in reach, and delicately, I touch and kiss it.

But soon, and just as unpredictably as when we came to an abrupt stop, the light changes from red back to green. Then in an instant, you're back and raring to go! Subsequently, you step on the throttle, putting the pedal to the metal, and anxiously you steer your cunt to get going. Therefore, suddenly it's like we're racing aimlessly, because you're crashing into me and banging away on my dick again.

Furthermore, as you've got me pinned down to the chair and with you in the driver's position, you become empowered to get crazy and set free your inhibitions. Wantonly and frequently, you're flipping your hair around, flaunting your body, and teasing me with your hardened, fully aroused tits. Indeed, you saddle the ride and jockey me; with a bouncing fanny and forward tilt, you lean in and take the reins, as though you're heading down the final thoroughfare to win top prize at the Kentucky Derby.

But it's all good. I'm having fun carry you around as if I were a pack mule. With you inserted onto the point of my tall, upward-pointing rigging, I fancy having your pelvic underside bearing down on my extended self. Moreover, as you continue to rock up and down on my riser, you hear me moaning and toiling, and struggling to hold back my pleasure. But those ecstasy sounds that parallel the timing of your dipping movements are increasing in loudness and significance. Badly, I'm fighting to delay what's building inside me and trying to prevent any of it from gushing unexpectedly.

"I want to come," I confess my agony and my aching desire. "I want to come inside your pussy!"

You're into this moment and that's all you needed to hear. You've been weather-beating my feeble, tired pickle, and now your self-combusting pussy is primed for a climactic event. You take my hands and place them behind my back, and careening in with the full weight of your body, you cover me with your fluffy bra-fillers. I'm thus made to adore you as you engross yourself with sexual feelings and concentrate on getting yourself to let go. And while you feel the sturdiness of my bone, bobbing inside you, plucking at your puppet strings, and taking you on a cruise, you feel your breadbasket warming your oven as though it's baking fresh batches of endorphins to spiral and permeate your middle. Hence, feverishly you begin to moan, and rough and raggedly drop your bush on my knob. Plus, notably, your little cunny appears to swell and fit tighter with each push, making that meatbone feel harder and harder. And now, suddenly you're there! You've changed! Bursting with satisfaction, you reach your wondrously coveted 'O.'

At once you try to savor it; my manly gland inside you feels considerable and perfectly blissful. So you sit on top of my tip, trying to flatten that long skyscraper that's lodged deep in your barrel. With your peak at the crest of full motion, your vagina pulsates and oscillates by its very own doing. There's a monsoonal rain in your cloud lining and it downpours within your channel like there's new breaches overrunning the riverbanks. And as your wet pussy is plunged down on my cock, you take the pleasure and play games with the aptitude and intensity. The thrill flows in your circle while you sit mostly stationary thinking about my big dick stuffed thoroughly inside your love hole. You roll your shoulders back and around, and you twist and turn slowly at the waist, angling to get my stern, sizeable stick to ravish more of your sore interior. Gently and easily then, you rock and squeeze my erection that's caught up inside you and let all the hot liveliness flow away naturally, as it should.

In addition, while your cresting snatch releases her come, over and over, I feel your watery sex fluid dripping down on my stock. It's splendidly warm and pleasing having my shaft lost and buried in your crevice. Plus, I feel your tummy molding against mine, and I'm cherishing how your bottom cheeks are smashing against my balls. And over time, your orgasm must have blended with normal everyday happiness because presently our bodies are taking our time. We're moving leisurely now and teeter-tottering passively with a slackened locomotion. Apparently there's no need to rush or do much, namely we need only to enjoy ourselves and nurture our circumstance.

But as you continue squeezing down on your hypersensitive walls and feel that trailer hitch mingling against your surface--then out of the blue, you floor me with sensual backlash! Otherwise, I suppose I'd forgotten what a woman is capable of accomplishing, such as the things she can do--which I simply can't. Because just like an all-you-can-eat, all-you-can-have buffet, you're already back in line and serving yourself to another helping.




A Flame in the Night Ch. 09



My jaw drops with astonishment as suddenly I see you viciously badgering your clit. "That's right," I yell, encouraging you to keep at it. "Do it again! Come again on my cock!"

Vigorously your fingers sweep recklessly across your nub, appearing as though you're fiddling with a banjo. So I maul your nipples and restart thrusting my hips, hoping I can ruffle you and get you more excited. And again, apparently you've overdone it because you're now screaming and shouting all over again.

"Sss-hhh-iii-ttt! Sss-hhh-iii-ttt!" you cry out, as your super-speedy fingertips vibrate your nerve endings. "Oh-fuck! Oh-yeah! I'm there again!"

One more time I watch you getting off, and I'm gleefully glad to see you spring it. I'm elated seeing you go wild, especially when I'm encased within your marvelous, fantastic gripper. Even more, I get to be a looky-loo and be nearby, while you're fingering your flower to a personal and comforting achievement.

Thus, likewise, the enjoyment of being linked to your climax has also put me on the brink. There's no coincidence here, it's just I'm wired to mimic that same sort of pleasure. My dick is glowing from seeing you aroused and also from feeling your heat. So it's all too apparent now. Soon, I'll have the necessity to be creaming my load.

Meanwhile, you also see what I'm doing. And through narrowed eyes, I'm staring back at you and trying desperately not to ejaculate. But wanting me to share the orgasming experience, you take your girl knockers and begin to scour your hardened nipples into my front; then on and on, you push and shake those pointy chicas into my chest, as if you're striving to press them into my heart. And you bounce on my endangered cock while quizzing me adamantly, "Do you like it? ... Do you like me and my tits?"

My cock twitches at your voice. And again, it twinges once more as I get caught auditing through the strands of your hair. Seeing those double trouble, cute ponytail locks in your hairdo has ended me. Therefore, there's no holding back my excitement. "Oh baby!" I hoot and howl and voice my affection.

Nevertheless, perpetually you smear your boobs into my skin and drown me with deep, face-sucking kisses. I'm throbbing all over and needing to release my nozzle, to put out a fire with cum. Indeed, I have the wicked urgency to take anything I want: and what I want is you! So, I grab the fleshy roundness of your ass, and then clasping it securely with a strong, manful brace, I force you into me.

"Oh daddy, yes!" you yell, as though you're bubbling over with excitement. "Give it to me, baby! Give me that cock! Make your cum and squirt my pussy!"

Ultimately it starts to blast from my quivering dick, and I fill your slender container with a hefty wad of my bodily seed. Then you sense me reaching, and grabbing, and trying to achieve more gratification as I bind your butt into me and work my rod into your distressingly cramped cul-de-sac. But I'm already into you as deep as I can get it, so I can't increase the pleasure any better. I must wait it out and let the outbursting progress on its own measure. Thus, I convulse and shake and spurt again, one followed by another--gradually, over and over.

Moreover, I go on spilling and draining my essence until I expel all my pussy-lotion into your warm, accepting cunt. And with that, I feel my balls tiring and getting bitter with frustration and fatigue. They've worked exceedingly hard and more than they should, pushing out every drop of my liquid; yet all the while that I'm spilling, your jelly-box keeps taunting me. She doesn't back down or feel any looser on my poor, worn-out scouting-tool. All that tight, sugary stuff in your thruway is prolonging things, making me wiggle and jerk, and forcing me to have more of those mushy, love-sick contractions.

And as my unrest is ending and the last of the cum spurting subsides, I happen to notice how you're looking at me with the same privileged contentment I had experienced earlier in watching you. Then our eyes meet in paradise, and we sit for a spell embracing, complementing, and even giggling. And as you're parked above me, with our sex organs still fully coupled, we begin to move gracefully, as if we're dancing side-to-side with our hips. But it's nothing like before. This time now, we go slowly, very slowly. The music has changed; the pace has changed. Our needs are different, so tenderly we move our bodies to a kinder rhythm and a sweeter tempo. Thus, we dance in our minds and with our laps, lovingly caring for each other late into the night, for a long, long time.

* * *

Later on we turn off the lights and lie down on the mattress. It's time for bed and time for sleeping. We're ready to unwind from our night's outing, so we bundle up in the dark spooning, with your back to my front, preparing for nice dreams. I wrap my arm around you, and our minds and bodies are now relaxed and feeling peaceful.

"Ah, that was fun," you reminisce about the entire evening while you begin to doze off in the darkness. You yawn once, for good cadence, and you're ready to close your eyes and fall asleep.

But there's a faint disturbance to your slumber. Your eyes are catching the glimmer of the candle that continues to burn a soft, glowing light. Exhausted now, you're cleared to dream, yet the candle light is so interesting. It flickers away hypnotically, and your thoughts follow the wavering light as it sways gently to and fro, drifting amidst a subtle current. Your eyes fixate onto the yellowish and orange radiant hues while your mind continues to reflect more about the flame, "It's so pleasant ... and so quiet. What a nice little candle."

Tired and sleepy, you hazily start to ponder about the candle's origin and the mysterious way it'd been presented to you earlier in the evening. And somewhere--as you fade away into a deep, deep sleep--you happen to marvel onwards about one last and final thought.

"Hmm," you whisper to yourself, "I wonder what else is in that bag. ... Oh, I guess I'll wait and take a look at it tomorrow."

--end of chapter nine--

Hope you enjoyed this. Thanks for voting, commenting, or sharing a favorite line in the story. 



A Flame in the Night Ch. 10



HIS DREAM

We finally go to sleep, and now I (male) am dreaming. This is my dream story:

It's dreamland. And in this dream I'm feeling horny. I feeling dirty and kinky, and I'm looking for something a bit more deviating than usual. I need ass! I want a wickedly tight shit hole to match my equally filthy mood. The more I think about ravaging a poor little girl's tail with my big Hummer, the more desperate and horny I get. And desperate and horny is what I am, so I ponder over the dreamscape setting that will allow me to live out my lewd, lustful desires.

I guess, then, it's only natural for you to be here with me, given that you always give me so much pleasure. However, there's also someone else here, who's presently with us. It's a sweet, sexy younger woman named Amy. And Amy, by most standards, is a kinky little treat, a real fuck toy. She is lean, fit, and health--and a nasty girl for sure. I think of the sparse patch of pubic hair that leads a baiting trail to her coitus-banging kitty-quarters, and I'm reminded of how much she says she likes cum. Amy tells me how a spoonful of cum makes a great lube for her taut ass. I'm not about to disagree with her. That sounds mighty fine to me, and so much so I feel myself swelling. I'm getting hard in my sleep thinking of how much fun I could have with her.

Yes, it's so true, a tiny arse dripping with greasy cum lube will have easier access. And that means I can nail that poop chute even better with my ass hammering tool. Oh, that's a happy thought! I thinking of your butt filled with sloppy goo, and it makes me so hot. My dick wants to cream for real or, at least, wants to cream in this dream. So, I insist to you that I need your behind.

You politely warn me, today, your rear end is extremely tense. You don't want to be stretched too much when I slide my log into your receptacle. And I don't have a problem with you needing some extra time to make it easier on you. I also don't want you getting hurt, so I bend you over and begin rimming that fragile anal-pussy. I know you're anxious about your entrance there, so I ring your opening very thoroughly. This includes lots of tongue and lip sucking to loosen up your ass. Yes, lots of tongue probing in your hole should get you ready. Your bum will be begging for something firm to take away the tingle, and that's when Amy comes to the rescue!

Amy gladly kneels under you at just the right moment. She moves her puckering lips toward you as she inspects the terrain that she will nurture. She finds the banqueting area and starts feasting in your dish. I'm licking your rump gutter; she's tasting your pie. You feel--in both holes--our hungry mouths cleaning your interior. Then, being especially surprised at how well Amy hits your spot, you grunt out in hysteria, "Eat me!"

Your openings clash at how best to deal with the agitating double-teamed pampering. So excited you are, you reach out with the need to touch flesh. At first, you find Amy's firm, but tofu-soft tits. I take a look and see you fondling her rack and pinching her rigid little nips. You try stretching out to finger her pussy, but Amy thinks it better to re-align her body under you, for you to enjoy sixty-nine. You can't resist her benevolent pussy offering, so you kneel down on top of her and bury your lips in her water-logged snatch--eating her out as she eats in you--and all the while with me, the third wheel, kissing your ass.

Amy attaches to you like a leech, sucking and munching as though her whole existence depends on draining you. The nibbling sensation in your nookie is getting too intense; however, before you have a chance to come on her mouth--I cram my big fucking cock in your ass! It doesn't hurt, initially, as much as you expected: your rear hole is more relaxed now and wringing-wet from absorbing my kisses. Nevertheless, though your butt canal is slick, you still experience the intense pressure growing as your hole reluctantly expands, trying to accommodate me. In the moment, to you, my cock feels bigger than it ever has. And maybe it's all because I'm so freaking horny, but now with my enlarged size, you're struggling with my girth. Every swollen inch I slowly, gently push into you--hurts.

"Damn it!" you cry, hoping I stop. You internalize the pain and withhold inside the stinging remarks you want to unleash at me. It's a powerful bullet of sorts; it's a sexual invasion attacking your gate. You want to give up, but you fortify your will and take more, much more.

I plummet myself in your hole, forcing it deeper. Then I notice my family jewels bouncing on Amy's lovely, smooth forehead as she indulges in taking care of you. My sack brushing on her skin is inflaming me; every thrust feels better than the last, better and better. Moreover, nasty Amy is being turned-on with my tea-bags bumping into her noggin, and she knows I'm working hard to hit her as a target. I keep hammering my burning dog in your buns while intentionally trying to swing my wrecking balls into her cheeks. She senses my extra effort and craves every striking blow of my nuts. Amy begins to come--and you taste all of it--on your lips.

As you continue eating her, the dew on her petals is overflowing into your mouth. The excitement of Amy's triumphant orgasm has jolted you. You begin moaning in rhythms. The deep pussy licking from Amy has done you in--you let go! And with you now coming, I encounter your butt hole clamping down on me, making your hole unbearably snug. The squeezing puts me on edge. Then, as I discover my nuts sliding over Amy's skull once again, I know I need to spew my load!

I withdraw my distressing pecker from your hindquarters and give it to you to suck. I'm hoping by being out of that trench, I can hold it on the happy edge for a few precious moments longer. But reluctantly, once I get into your soft mouth, I catch another adrenaline rush--and it's over--I come! I take in the sensory vibes of you gently blowing and softly sucking my dick. My come wells up, and I shoot an enormous load, overfilling your mouth with my sperm gift.

I, then, sense my cock agonizing even after I spray you. My cum had been discharged and forcefully ejected out my narrow straw hole so fiercely that it left me with a tantalizing residue. I have a nagging tingle in my crotch, and my cock is still throbbing because it's still rock hard in this dream. I review in my thoughts, how sweet your gaping ass felt, snugly gripping my bewildering dick. And sadly, the intoxicating memories of being inside that forbidden anal crack along with the cock warming experience of emptying in your mouth--keeps on replaying. I'm still unfulfilled, and I ache for more!

I see the cum casually drooling from your mouth. Oh, what a wonderful mess! My cock flinches upward as I look at your sexy eyes winking at me. Then soon after, I'm amazed to uncover my heart is sprinting. I've just spotted you reaching into Amy to start kissing her innocent lips. Damn, I need to fuck you! I put you on your back, hoist my still cum-oozing stick into your pussy. Then I start boning you!

But the fucking isn't enough. Because I've bamboozled myself into thinking your pussy would cure my itch. But as of right now, I need even more! As I'm fucking you, I must also keep my eyes locked on you and Amy. I don't want to miss seeing you playing with her. I look at you and I see her lips, which are now basting with my white pasty goo. Maddeningly I'm gratified by that, so I have to keep looking. You go about sharing my cum with Amy. You transfer my seed to her mouth, and I watch and fuck while you two French-kissing lovers play with my cum in your mouths. The visual stimulation is enough to keep me hard as I keep screwing and watching you smacking.

I'm thinking this can't get any better, but then I notice Amy spitting the cum from her mouth and catching it with her soft, petite hands. She reaches down with those dainty elfin hands, and we sense what she's trying to do--trying to edge her fingers in your pussy while I'm still fucking you. I can't describe the strange inkling and somewhat alarming feeling, I felt, when my dick first encounters her fingers reaching to break through. Your pussy is stretching beyond reason, and frankly, you don't know what to make of it either.

Unrealistic? Perhaps. But in this dream, it feels ever so real. You shout with confusing excitement and wonderment about how deep Amy's tiny hands might probe inside you. The abnormality of it boggles your mind. And moreover, Amy's exploration is causing me to panic, as well. I'm battling with the extreme pressures her fingertips are putting on my dick, as she continues to prod into you. She makes your pussy perilously tight, and I have to deal with those interrogating tentacles with every thrust that I make. Her small, thin fingers are traumatizing me and making my meat tender. Oh, yes, I need to burst! I can't handle any more of your pussy and her fingers rubbing on my shaft. I have to come once again more!

I pull out a little and my love-hydrant goes to work, shooting horse size portions of manly-milk. Buckets of cum completely drench you, saturating your twat in a stew of nature's protein. And when, finally, I'm fully drained, I gleefully look at the monstrous feat. I marvel in the result and admire how nice and slimy the wet pool of my spunk looks covering your peach. Amy notices it too and cleverly decides to "go green" and recycle that nice silky cum. She smears it into her hand and makes the perfect sexual lube. Then, unexpectedly, she petrifies your anatomy and baffles my wits when she ambushes you. With one hand, she makes a solid thrusting motion and embeds her baby-like fist deep into your unsuspecting vagina!

You have a gag reflex and holler in shock, "Ooh! My!" What just happened? You try analyzing it. Where did that pain and pleasure come from? Did she really get that hand inside me? You don't really know how to cope with what happened. Your pussy is so confused that immediately, though incompletely, you have an orgasmic-like coming experience. "Oh Shit!" you yell. You feel her small hand swimming inside your womb and it forces you to scream once again, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck yeah!"

The loitering fingers roaming within your inner vessel seems too unusual, so unfamiliar. You have nothing to base for comparison. You succumb to the bizarrely strange, tickling phenomenon. You come repeatedly, again and again. In rippling waves it happens, with each tidal swell, seemingly, perpetuating more--even better--waves of paradise.

Then, when the tsunami in your dwelling calms, you think of poor Amy. She worked so hard to please you. You want to reward her, the best way you can. She needs a good muff diving.

I watch, you demonstrate your generosity. In the eyes of men, you are a thing of beauty; as if a ballerina dances to please her audience, you grace the stage to entertain Amy and me. With such charm and pose, you pirouette tactfully to Amy's nest and cheerfully bow your head straight into her sparsely-haired stuff. Kindly, you go down on her nearly bald cunt and exam her as you grind her down. Fuck-happy Amy is such a rarity for a woman well past her teen years. So much so that, as you eat around her baby-peach, you are practically making names for the scarcity of her pubs. "Oh there's Ms. Ohio, there's Ms. Delaware, and Ms. Georgia is over here... Oh, look at little Ms. Rhode Island. Ah, she's right near the tip of her slit!" And with all your goodwill bent on pleasing her, you stay on her genitalia, giving her a lifetime worth of things to remember. You suck her tender, supple lips extensively! And like a goddess-of-love, you dole out felicity to repay her for all her delightful earlier deeds.

I, on the other hand, am still aspiring to recover from spending myself all over you. Nevertheless, I'm watching you and--wow, what a thrill! But my sex worm is bankrupt; it's not very useful in its limpy condition. Still, despite my sexual handicap, I'm still a horny dog--dying to hump.

Therefore, in this dire situation, I'm compelled to be a bystander and passively look at the good things you're doing to Amy. But for some reason, I am envious: you're making her moan over, and over. I can't put a number on the count, but those sugary, ear-candy sounds are churning in my head. I see her frequently cringing with unending gyrations. And while you dine in her teeny, pink pussy, her legs are struggling to understand their purpose, because they're running senselessly in midair. Then, like a pervert, I hunger for lust and secretly applaud as I see you degrading her. And although I'm craving for depravity, seeing you assaulting her in this way is getting too much for me to handle. But, when I can't hardly standby and witness you molesting her any further, you throw me under the bus and find a more creative way of defiling her.

You put Ms. "amicable" Amy on her knees so that her moon shines in my eyes. And resourcefully, you then reach down into your crotch, and with your hands you scrap off a large heaping portion of that old, neglected cum, still cleaving to your skin. I do back-flips in my head as I watch you greasing poor Amy's rear chamber. That backdoor hole gets stuffed with the hand-me-down cum when you finger-fuck her passage. Afterwards, when you're through lubing her hole, your tormenting skills break me! You make Amy a prisoner of my own carnivorous desires. And I grimace and rupture with an animalistic rage as I catch sight of you digging into her ass with your fingers. With both hands, you pull her apart and make a large, gaping hole in her butt that's wide enough as if for all the world to see. I burrow my sight into the dark, deep mystery, and I get swallowed by the mighty gorge that's been formed. I become a madman, a filthy rapist, ready to violate her helpless, tiny sanctuary!

Yet, I look down at my feverish cock, and it's still a worthless piece of shit. It's so useless and so insufficiently weak. But that soft feeble thing ain't gonna stop me. My mind has a raging boner. So being flaccid isn't enough to keep me from grounding my short, shriveled stem into Amy's garbage sewer. I stand over her rear and center my aim, hoping to strike gold and puncture her delicate insides; however, when I try to enter her gutter, my spongy meat bulges and fails to hit my target.

I quickly reset and go at it again. I level my hips to align with her soft cushioned cheeks, then, determined, I thrust my pelvis into her, laboring to get my wimpy dick into her cum-lubed ass. It wiggles like sperm swimming for eggs, but then I get excited when the mushroom tip of my pecker breaches her crack. Jackpot! Bull's-eye! I did it. I'm in her gully, I'm inside the poor man's castle!

However, Amy's gate feels like a pinhole, so I'm burdened still to wrestle with my hungry worm to get it in deeper. I lather my cock with more of that used cum, and inch by inch, I finally stuff that rascal all the way in her greasy pit. Fuck, she's tight! I'm glad, for now, my cock is only pint size. Her powerful muscles behave as vice grips, chocking the circulation of my manhood. Carelessly, I lunge into her--hard as I can. And when I'm doing that I find myself savoring her soft, round buns as they press against my belly and thighs. Your soft flesh makes my cock balloon like a puffer fish, and the constricting pressure in her anal lining has now made me the victim. I scream in my head, wishing I could yank my shit out. "What a mistake!" I babble, nearly regretting I ever got into Amy's mess. But the sexual forces that be, won't let me out. I'm obliged to endure and do the only thing I can, and that's to ride her fucking butt!

I'm desperate to come, badly. I'm grabbing Amy's rear and doing some reckless offshore drilling. Wildly I bore into her bottom well, trying to appease my itch. I want to enjoy my cream exploding again, but my balls won't cooperate: they're so exhausted from coming earlier. So, I know this is going to take hard work, but I'm now up for the challenge.

Outwardly, Amy's showing signs that she's objecting to having her ass penetrated. She's screaming foul words and obscenities every time I slam into her seat-pillows. I know her waste-way is getting sore, and while I could feel sorry for her, I don't. In fact, the more I hear her outbursts, the more addicted I am to making her squeal louder. It's truly hard to be sympathetic at pounding her rectum--Amy isn't hiding very well that she doesn't likes me bruising her hole. Despite all her verbal complaints, she's really not contesting enough to safeguard that poo-poo crack. Literally, she's lifting her "virgin" tight ass, as well as she can, to make my access into her easier. And making it worse, she's rocking into me, in sync, as I make bulldozer like thrusts. Mechanically, I keep colliding into her container with deep, hard repeated swings. My manhood is aching to spew and father her hole; but I can't just yet--you want to abuse her valuables too!

You've watched all the fun I'm having, having my way with Amy. You decide to have your way with her too. With one good hole that's not being exploited, you know exactly where to start. You lie down beside her and facing upward, you begin examining her sex starving cunt. Using two fingers you slide into her warm slash and start finger searching for groves and ridges to excite. Amy fidgets from your advancing touches, and you know that you're going to have a good time getting her off. You add another finger, making it three. She's wet and hot, and because there's so little friction in her defenseless snatch to present any deterrent, your fingers slip in easily. Then, you curl your fingers like a hook and start jigging in her clam.

To your surprise, the aggressive fingering makes Amy's vaginal secretion splash, and her water falls into your face. No, Amy hasn't come yet; she's merely overflowing. And in your mind, you admire her overly abundant supply of love lube, thinking it must make for great pussy banging. Then as a consequence of over thinking about her gifted sexual ability, you have the urge to take care of your own needs. With your free other hand, you wipe Amy's wetness off your face and start admiring your own bundle of nerves. Yes, you begin to fondle your clit.

Amy is like catnip: the more we play with her the more crazy we become. And same as a love drug, she is inciting us to lose our senses. I feel crazy! My dick inside her is working hard as if it were a drain snake: it bores in deeper, and deeper, to get at her scrimpy pipes and dilate her crudely repressive passage. You also feel crazy! Her drooling box is now loose as a used condom. All of that jamming and cramming in her butt has relaxed and stimulated her fraternal twin sister. Yeah, her other, more acceptably attractive hole, is withering and turning raw from your fingers hooking her opening. Meanwhile, you rub harder and harder on your pink pearl and discover yourself becoming wet and raw just like Amy. It excites you more, and suddenly, you have kinky urges you've never felt before! Your equilibrium is out of whack. You're hot and nasty, and more importantly, you have no more mercy for Amy. You take one last look at Amy's soggy bush. You tighten your fingers to a point--and drive your fist into her fuckhole!

"No! Way!" Amy shrills in a nervous, high pitched voice as she seeks to squirm away from your ascending arm. But she's caught in the middle; her ass falls backward and bumps deeper into my big stick already stuck in her rear. In any case, the yelling and struggling is all too late--you've already buried your knuckle inside her!

Amy's eyes water, but she has amazing fortitude; she's an amazing tough cookie and gives it her all to hid the discomfort and painful soreness we're inflicting on her. Frankly, under kinder circumstances, Amy loves being the naughty, bad girl and subconsciously that makes misusing her sex holes even more appealing.




A Flame in the Night Ch. 10



Your hand fishes inside Amy's cubbyhole looking for good things to touch. Then, like tiny ants your fingers crawl around in her womb, and it turns you on, being so deep inside her pocket. Amy's trauma has calmed, and she begins to appreciate your fingers massaging her cavern. With one hand all the way in her snatch and your other strumming zealously on your nub, you've hit a peak. Your body starts shaking and wanting to come. Fiendishly, you search into Amy and happen to find her delightful g-spot, and without remorse or leniency you molest her there.

Amy stiffens under the duress, and I observe the gap in her ass shrinking. It's now snugging even tighter onto my cock. Then I know, like you know, she is peaking. She unleashes a repetition of endearing sex words, "Eat my pussy! Fuck me harder. Yes. Yes. Take me. Eat me."

Playing with your pussy while playing with Amy's would seem like enough to keep you busy. However, although in my head I know it's impossible, I swear, I then feel your hands, from within Amy's pussy, turn around and begin groping for my dick as I fuck her ass. "What the fuck are you doing?" I scream to myself, feeling perplexed at the warming sensation I detect. Damn! It feels like you're giving me a handjob! And now I peak too.

Yes, it's all very crazy; it's all very hazy. But that's what wet dreams are like; it all boils down to nothing but good feelings. And right now, I feel overloaded. I'm saturated in lust, and my horned, confused condition has fogged my judgment. I feel my dick moving in and out of Amy's tight ass. I sense your hand oscillating up and down on my cock. I feel your body vibrating as I watch your misty, shinny hands chucking vehemently across you pussy. We're all immersed together, and in fact, Amy feels all those good things that I feel. Just as you, somehow, feel all those things too. In one way or another, we're all linked together. We all, in some way, are seeing, feeling, and experiencing the very same things.

Oh yes! Your pussy, my cock. Her ass, your fingers. Her pussy, your pussy. We all effect and stimulate each other's parts. I want to come in her ass, you want to come on your fingers, and she wants to come on us both. Oh shit! The first one who comes--is going to make everybody come!

"Uh oh!" It's almost like she's apologizing. Again, Amy's water reaches you and sprays you in the face. Your pussy warms and trembles as feeling her warm mist excites you. Fuck! Amy's ass gets tighter. My dick swells and wants to burst. More water overflows in your cunt. Amy yells, and you see her nipples enlarge. You feel her pussy cinching down tight on your wrist and like dominoes cascading, there's a chain reaction. Damn! Who is making us all come?

I'm losing control of everything! All I feel is cum flowing everywhere and it's in all the veins of my body. Yet nothing is really coming out of my hose. Even as I now have the biggest, baddest load in my bowling-ball size nuts. What exactly am I feeling? Am I in orgasm? Or is it actually one of you two? Well, I think it must be you who's the one in heat. My subconsciousness says your pussy is spraying. But I also know, you have got Amy excited, and are making her come, as well. I hear you shouting. And then it's Amy shouting too. I don't understand why I feel come everywhere, but it's not really from me. I need to finish this thing and come now for sure. Violently I ram into Amy's ass and squeeze her boobs, desperate and determined to get off.

"Fuck me!... Fuck me!" Amy yells. She takes hold of my hands and rubs them deeper into her aroused tits while encouraging me to try even harder.

I do try harder by fixating on your hand, deep within Amy's pussy. And I imagine it turning toward me again. I can picture it so vividly that your hand is now jerking my dick! I feel your firm handclasp while stroking me up and down. And still, I feel Amy's crushing anal cylinder liner--all at the same time! I'm defeated. I sense a thick, molasses-like-syrup that feels like my cum, my sap--slowing--inching out of my shaft. I'm coming at last, which would be fantastic, except I'm all clogged up inside. My balls are anxious, as though I'm thirty minutes late arriving to my finals exam. Am I doomed if I fail this? Will there be another chance? Urgently, I work doubly hard, straining to get my member to leak. But it's not out, and yet--my cock feels like a corkscrew as I endure a new twisting swirl of exhilaration. My dick feels like a wet cloth being twisted to wringing out the moister. It's so strong and forceful it dwarfs my existing struggles. I have to come again, only now even harder. Oh dear, Mother of Nature! Help me get this out! I would swallow the sun if only I could release this! Oh, how I yearn to feel the gushing flow of my seed uncapping like a belching volcano.

You feel my toiling and my anguish, yet it only serves to gratify your body more. You come again, intimately aware of my body's predicament. You take it too personally, my glowing experience and intense buildup. As a result your pussy uncoils and she releases a beautiful fountain spray. Amy sees your wonderful flushing face as you spray the delightful rainbow into the air. Your water reaches her mouth, and she drinks anything that reaches her. But the secretion bath that sprinkled onto Amy also makes her become girl crazy. And it triggers her to come, once again, just like you did.

Fuck! Amy's water is everywhere, and her butt is so stuffy and cramp. But I keep humping her rear and plowing her tissue rails. Savagely, I bang in and out of her with my piston rod. I thrust and crash into her ass while I grab her tits, gravely hoping to get off--wanting frantically to end it! But, it's somebody here, I know it; somebody else keeps coming and prolonging the outcome, making me suffer even more. I recognize the ecstasy within us all, and it's contagious. We all have an unsettling urge to squirt. And I need to squirt--like you and Amy. But the chunky paste I have for spunk is backed up and irritably clogging the bulb of my bone.

Oh, I want to spend it; I need to blow it out badly! I bury my cock within Amy's fortress and I visualize how great it would feel like to be coming. I cup her breasts with my hands and think about your hand in her pussy. I stare at your tits too, while you tickle your bush. And as I center my core in Amy's oppressed little butt, I see myself plugging her squishy tight hole. I see gallons of my cum blobbing out her ass--and then you, sucking me off when I finish. Shit yes, I'm so close. I feel the jism advancing higher in my stalk. Just a bit more and I can feel it funneling out of my lance. Damn! I need to get it out. Please, help me get it out. I really need that come spurting out from me now.

I want to come. I need to come. I want it! I need it... Want it... Need... Want... Need...

Then, somewhere after, in the midst of all those orgasmic highlights--I, slowly, wake up to the reality that surely I may had been dreaming. My brain is still processing the situation and trying to fully separate--which if any--of my nasty yet blissful feelings are actually the real deal. And when I've broken it all down, I'm a little disappointed to discern the truth--those wild nasty thoughts and feelings were nothing more than a dream! It was all in my mind. It was all in my mind--that is, except for the very real sensation of what my dick is currently experiencing.

I hear your pleasant voice announcing, "Good morning!"

I open my eyes to see the morning light and see you lying and smiling there beside me. I'm awake, and clearly now I know why. It's all thanks to you, for promptly waking me in my dream. Your loving hands are wrapped all around me and clutching me tight. Erratically tugging back and forth--this feeling I have is all about your hands--fisting on my stiff, semen-clotted penis!

* *

And with that ends the story about what I dreamt that night. And while I promise there's much more to say about what will follow next in the morning, before I continue with that adventure, I must digress and tell about another. I need to share the truly amusing story of what you dreamed that night.

To be continued...

(If you enjoyed this, if it made your skin flush--please comment and share your favorite line in the story.) 



A Flame in the Night Ch. 11



HER DREAM

Over the night, like me, you (female) also had a dream. In your own words, this is--your--dream story:

He and I bought a very large mirror, and together, we are bringing it inside to hang in my bedroom. My man is walking and carrying the mirror at his side as I start to prance along beside him. While the more I merrily gait in front of the mirror, the more I become infatuated with my own reflection. So much of my soft-skinned legs are showing prominently in the view, and combined with my sexy, delicate demi bra, and sheer chiffon top, I also have on a very short miniskirt. Not surprisingly, the fragile clothes I'm wearing have me feeling feminine and sexy. Moreover, I can see my entire figure in the image, making the larger than body-length looking glass perfect to check out and see how hot I look.

I stare at the likeness of me in the mirror and fantasize. I place myself on a busy street being eyeballed by some hunky construction workers on lunch break. Ignoring their dusty clothes, I focus on observing their fine, broad shoulders and strong frames. I picture them idolizing my legs and ass as I stroll by them wearing high heel shoes. Stroking my hair as I walk, I perceive them stripping me down in their thoughts. "Yeah, I know I'm good stuff," I say to myself, knowing just what those guys are thinking. I admire myself more and continue ogling at my reflection. "Hot Mama! What a cutie pie!" Then I adjust my flimsy bra as I add, "Yeah, I know, boys, you want this bod,... but you're not getting any of this!" I walk on by those husky blue-collar men, and slap my butt once for good measure.

Meanwhile, as I'm gazing at myself, I spin around playfully before the mirror and continue flirting foolishly. My man takes notice of my actions and catches on to what I'm doing. He looks downward and into the colossally-sized imager that he's holding and sees me and my exposed panties as I twist around quickly. I enjoy him watching me, as I trot around and skip along, remembering my teen years when I felt light as a feather. And I enjoy inspecting the illusion in the mirror of having long, sensuous legs accentuated by my skimpy little mini. He grins at me, and I continue horsing around, prancing and dancing, as my dress flutters in motion. Oh, I feel like such a little girl!

Unfortunately, however, I may have gotten carried away with my silly, girlish behavior. For while I'm making one of my childish spins, I bump him causing an accident. The mirror falls to the floor! Briefly, we are both in a panic, but miraculously the mirror isn't broken. It must be thicker than I thought. Perhaps it's made of hard plastic or some kind of unbreakable glass. Whatever the case, this is a dream, and the compounds are of little consequence.

What is relevant is that, with the mirror lying flat on the floor, it seems to be unharmed by the fall. So I kneel down to inspect it, and yes it does appear to look fine. And we laugh and giggle at the slip-up.

"Mirror, Mirror on the floor--" I begin to quote.

My man breaks in, spoofing, "...there's a whore in my video store."

"That's not right!" I quickly correct him. "It goes, 'Mirror, Mirror on the floor, now I love you even more.'"

"Ah, that's sweet," he says, but wryly adds,"How about, 'I love you--to take a better look to see if the mirror is okay.' Kiss! Kiss!"

Well then, armored with our newly found luck, I take this good omen to thoroughly inspect the toughness of the glass sheet more closely. I crawl onward into the center of the mirror on all fours.

"Wow, it's really strong!" I yap hap-heartedly, intuitively knowing already it would support my weight.

"Yeah, it's kind of cool," my guy acknowledges the astonishing durability of the mirror, and he descends to my level and kneels in front of me. He beams at me for a second. Then he says in jest while proceeding to crack himself up, "Hey... Maybe it's a magic mirror!"

"Alright!" I chuckle. "Okay, you said it. It's got magical powers!" Jokingly, I swiftly remove my top, exposing my frail, unscrupulous demi-cup bra. Then, over the mirror I sway my chest and cleavage. "Look! Now I got four boobs!"

He looks goggle-eyed as he stares into the mirrored reflection; he sees the cloned second pair dangling within his reach. But to him it's no joke. To laugh at those melons isn't his first reaction; rather, he drools over the four udders in his sight.

"Be careful," he comments, "I think your friends are gonna drop out of those skimpy looking cups."

Tempting fate, I bounce and jiggle a tad to give them a lift. "I'm not worried about my friends. I know you'll give 'em a hand if I need help tucking 'em back in."

He smirks and we continue exchanging flirtatious glances. Furthermore, not only does he keep lingering over my overexposed breasts, he can also see a lot more due to my crawl stance position over the panel and because all my limbs are spread open. My entire frame is there for his viewing, although the angles he's seeing aren't in the typical presentation.

I watch his eyes as he scans me thoroughly. He is busy interpreting the story of the picture he sees, but I can guess what he discovers: along with the multiplicity of boobage, he catches my dainty panties under my short skirt, reflecting beneath me in the mirror. I flinch from the unexpected admiration. Then, he warns me of the temptation my pose is presenting him, but he still proceeds to ask me to spread my legs wider.

"Why?" I ask. Knowing why--but being naughty--I ask anyway.

He confesses that he needs to see more of me. I oblige and open my legs wider for him to view me. He tries explaining to me, ambiguously, that something he sees in my curves looks beautiful to him. So, I glance beneath me and into the mirror and gather to see my form just as he sees it. And I tend to agree: I do look good!

My cupcakes are dangling with easy access, my legs are looking smooth and delicious, and my petite fitting mini-skirt provides the target for his focus. In the reflection, I see him working hard to find, in my shear thin panties, a bulge or wrinkle outline affirming my clit folds. He announces he's getting excited looking at me. And I'm certainly starting to get turned on with our precarious predicament, as well.

I lower my shoulders and raise my hips to show off my frisky, luscious fanny. "Do you like what you see?"

"Oh yes," he says, "I can take care of that for you."

He loiters around studying my ass and then reaches around me to fondle my titties. However, soon after he stops and abruptly provides a firm slap on my rear, to reassure me of his intention to take care of my booty.

Mutually having the sudden passion, we strip off our remaining clothes and begin kissing. I sense he wants me badly, and I'm happy to accommodate his need. My man tells me he wants me to watch him in the mirror and enjoy it as he fucks my pussy. I'm ready now to be taken, so I do just as he asks.

I look underneath into the mirror and see him behind me with his partly aroused, semi-elongated cock proudly pointing toward me. I gaze at the potential lengthiness of his pudgy tool within the mirror, and I'm thrilled to see his sexual extension directed at me. I steady myself and patiently await feeling him encroaching up my rear. Yet, as I anticipate his probing manlihood filling my opening, I'm startled to see him, instead, lower his head and proceed to start eating my succulent, tender peach.

At first, it tickles some when he embeds his slightly stubbled face in my crotch. But as he finds my li'l spot, I'm overwhelmed with awesome tingles from his zealous tongue indiscreetly bathing my inner space. "Wow, that's hot!" I surmise. "Oh, so delicious!"

However, although I'm giving him full access to explore, I feel somewhat awkward here kneeling down on all fours and spread open. I'm trying to hold my position firmly while I allowing him to infringe in my area. Yet, at the same time, I do my best to keep track and observe what he's doing to me. Therefore, I continue to watch him at my rear by peering underneath into the mirror image, and although I can't see all he's doing, I do see his face, which is indecently meddling about in my sensitive place. Oddly, in a way, I just want to jump off the glass, but I can't. Not yet--I want more!

"Eat my fruit! Munch my nectar!" I implore him to immerse in my stuff.

I keep my head bent lower and pay attention to the oral examination he gives me. And with all this happening, I'm a bit confounded since mostly all the things I want to observe are in an upside down view. So, within the reflection I see, I'm working to scrutinize exactly what I really know. Surely, there is dampness along my inner thighs. But is it more that I'm actually feeling his salivating kisses, dripping alongside my legs? Or am I just so excited by the sensation of him eating in me?

Well, I manage to accept what is now fact: my pussy is drooling! So, I let it dabble all over his face. And I let it dribble all over the mirror. Oh yes! What a delightful mess I'm making. I feel my thighs quaking nervously. My belly is knotting and frantically trying to separate apart from my anguishing, tense pussy. I'm inflamed and my edges are raw. I let my passions melt and give way. With no other recourse, I honey my man's generous but excessively active face.

"No more," I demand. "Please no more!" I try to catch my breath, but he's still not finished.

My man turns on his back while strapping his arms over my hips. He then raises his head to get better centered in my pussy. And as he settles there in me, I again notice more flushing and more swelling rippling within my build. My nipples harden with arousal, so I rub my hand gently over my bosoms, hoping to soothe myself. Persistently though, his tongue continues to encircle and make flickering passes across my purring kitty. He keeps baiting my little pussy bump, enticing me again, to come on his tongue. Relentlessly, he burrows into the depths of my crevice, then he uses his slithering, agile tip to polishes my outlet and fluster my feeble outer lobes.

Oh, I can't resist the calling any more. I have a gentle irritation in my crotch as though he's been chewing in my interior. His head stays planted between my thighs, gnawing and drawing a constant tension which is churning my thingy. He won't stop kissing it; he won't let go of my nub. Oh, fuck! The swirling massage he's giving goes around and around, over, and inside my pussy. He's sucking, then eating; and those erogenous touches titillate in my gap and spindle up in my intestines. The riveting pleasure can't be ignored anymore. Too much is just too much, so my overreacting and awfully horny pussy becomes possessed and retaliates, filling me with lewd cravings, infecting me with a nasty itch. And one more time, I'm desperate. I need to hit my spot!

I arch my back and widening my stance. I open the door to my problem area and let him gorge in my dripping mucous. My helpless, weakened pussy trembles for her encore performance, and I begin to precipitate on my man. It sprinkles slowly at first, and my man surely tastes the new condensation. But while I'm getting carelessly distracted appreciating the loyalty of his wondering tongue, constantly bashing my tender lotus, fixated and obsessed on entering my tiny keyhole, I inadvertently vent out on him. Unintentionally, I let loose and saturate his chin with my lubricating sex fluid.

"Oh! I'm coming! I'm coming ... again!" I boast.

My snatch flows like a geyser as I empty my lovely lady oils. Yet, my man keeps at me, licking and scrubbing my orifice, demanding me to keep delivering to him. As if lapping the last bit of cream pie from the bottom of a dish, I feel him driven on a mission to suck spotless clean my slit and vacuum dry my inner moister. Incessantly, he ruffles my soft tissue into a delirious commotion. Guiding his tongue firmly along the groves in my creases, he scouts meticulously, searching to find and play delicate strings that will resonate "fuck me!" tones in my teeny pea-size sensory-loving apparatus.

Furthermore, his energetic, swashbuckling tongue continues wiggling about like a worm and ventures around in my patch of fertile soil. I then grow deeply troubled by the aggravating prickles I keep accepting on my contents. I react to the alarming stimulation with outward cringing and moaning. I fidget more over my man's hounding face, yet I don't shy away. Instead, I keep my pubes glued to his lips, so I can keep receiving his very talented licking.

Uh-oh, I feel the urge again! A pleasant tautness grows warm to an exceedingly comfortable tingle. And with my man at me--clinging earnestly to my clit, thoroughly eating in my crack--my overly anxious, simple-minded pussy, naively, palpitates like an adolescent and shamefully gushes from the liner. My core numbs in a hotbed of senses, and I know I'm at it again, spouting! My liberated slash buzzes in a natural high and overflows with a seemingly never-ending oasis.

Afterward, when the wonderful spouting eventually fades, I'm completely consumed, and at last, I can no longer give away any more of my happy water. By the end, my man, grudgingly slows up and backs away from me. Momentarily, he does this so he can survey my bent, submitting hiney. Obviously, he sees that I'm soggy wet, but I assume he likes what he's seeing. Why else is his dick looking so hard and rigid? Consequently, after pausing to view my rear, he then slowly comes at me again; however, this time it isn't his face that I see approaching me.

Within the image of the mirror, I see his fully aroused phallus looming over me. His cock hangs stoutly, appearing long and firm: it's a perfect complement for my soft, wet receiver. I want to be filled with him, so I'm thankful to see him finally approach me with it. He aims his fat, sexual gland at my small pussy hole. He mounts up to me, and I experience his mighty probe breach into my passage to happiness.

I savor my man and all his essence as he enters me. His strong hands firmly take hold of my mammaries while he leans over me with his chest. I'm still crawling on all fours, and he surrounds and covers me like a blanket. I brace my pose to withstand the bearing weight he applies as he gently stretches over my back.

He looks around my side and down into the mirror. Then he explains how alluring it looks to see his hands on me within the reflection. Whispering in my ear, he tells me he likes my wet pussy and that it's gripping tightly on his dick. And immediately after hearing that, I feel even more excited--especially, now that he starts bumping and fucking me.

"Harder!" I scream. "Deeper! Give me all of your cock!"

He releases my front from his hands and strokes my hair. Then, my man grabs hold at my shoulders and implants himself further inward into my pocket. He must have found something he likes inside there because he's now hyperactive. I discover him attempting to ride me faster. He's getting increasingly wilder and more erratic as he bumps into me, determined to satisfy himself.

The gravity pulls on my breasts. They hang loosely and shake under the force of his hips pumping into me. I see my man intently staring and admiring my mounds bouncing freely. His rhythm is intense and powerful as surely he's engaged in making them flutter. I look under to see the likeness of my bobbing bustline in the reflector, and try viewing myself as he sees me. Yes, I do look good! I do look sexy. And I'm beautiful and desiring.

"Hump me! Breed with me," I blurt out in reckless abandonment. "Fuck me right! Fuck me good!"

"Damn it, girl! You make me wild," he exclaims while he continues to eye me in the mirror. "Fuck! I can't get enough ... I love seeing your tits shaking!"

My physique flames red as I hear his passion for me. I love everything he's doing to me. I love him in me, and I want to reciprocate my affection for him. I squish down on his love-stick that's crammed securely in my chamber-barrel, and I encourage him to gift me.

"Come in my pussy!" I tease.

"Oh, baby... I love... I love your pussy... " He tries to grunt some adoring words, but admittedly it's the faltering tone in his voice that touches and makes me want to be easy for him.

"Take me. Fuck my pussy!" I continue to provoke him. "Give me your come!"

Desperate to get in me deeper, he muscles my body downward flat, facing forward onto the mirror. My constitution is warm and nearly perspiring, but the mirror feels cool as my tissues lie pin down upon it. I feel my nipples chill against the cold, slick surface. And I would be so comfortable relaxing here for awhile, but I cannot rest yet. He still needs me.

His male stalk is stiff and full of life, and my man is energized to fuck me. I feel the tense muscles in his arms flexing to hold himself above me, yet still, his weight is heavy as he lies on my back, trapping me onto the glassy slab. My man is now confident, strong, and powerful; and I enjoy administering to what he wants.

I do like giving him what he likes, but in fact, I also need something too. At the moment, I have a sinkhole needing mending, and I need the massive tool of his to fill my gap. I want that cock in me, and I want to feel it ravaging in and out of my empty shell. And fortunately, he delivers just what I want when I feel his pelvis, repeatedly, thrusting on top of me. His large cock plows in and out of my receptacle and arouses my insides. He knows how to use that big dick to satisfy me as he works his love all over.

I plead with him again, "Come inside my pussy. Come inside my hole!"

Oh, how I like being here on the cool, smooth mirror. My anatomy is spread all over it, and my skin presses firmly against the nippy, smooth sheet. Oh, how I like him riding on top with his cock rubbing in my pussy. I want to come on his dick. I want to come, right now!

"More! Give me more," I chant, repeating over and over.

In my animate heated state, I breathe harder causes the mirror surface to begin steaming in front of my breath.

"Fuck! You look good," he murmurs and gently kisses my shoulders.

He holds his head next to mine while he fucks me. He watches me pant and puff as I fog the mirror film.

"Fuck me! Please, fuck me," I beg and scream boldly. "Yes, oh yes. Take me!"

I look into the mirror again, and I'm startled to see my face flushing. I watch myself in the reflection, and I can see the ensuing development. Indeed, I can literally see myself starting to come. I appreciate his swollen, oversize bone sliding inside the sheath of my pussy. I holster his dick within the depth of my passage. And his warm chest slides gently on my back. I see him covering me in the reflection, and I know he's being satisfied by my shape. I'm hot inside, so I don't hold it any longer. I let myself go!

"Oh, fuck yes! Oh, baby yes!" I holler excitedly. "Oh, shit! Yes! Yes!"

My pussy jitters and I'm compelled to release my girlie water on his manhood. I concentrate on the fleshy smooth texture of his hefty organ, and let it serpentine in the barriers of my slender, narrow cock-holder. His big meaty stick pokes in my groin and my very sensitive gland excites me. So, I come on his cock! I come with it wedged tightly inside me. I feel the outpouring between my hairs, and I feel the delicacy of my waters spilling onto the mirror glass. And as I rain, I watch my felicity and observe the flushing rosiness in my face--as I unravel. I continue to view myself, coming in the mirror reflection, and I look at myself until I no longer can.

Then I close my eyes and squeeze down--hard as I can--clutching my man's fat, throbbing cock in my cunt. I absorb my pleasure; I absorb my man's love for me. I open my eyes once more, only to be pleasantly surprised. I look into the mirror image, and I see the appearance of my man's face. I see him pining to withhold his climax, but his affection in loving me overcomes him. And now I know he's ejaculating into me. He is coming also, just like I am.




A Flame in the Night Ch. 11



Finally, many moments later, after we both have calmed, he eventually stops his thrusting. His work is finished, and he carefully shifts his weight to lie down beside me. We start to breathe slower and more normal. Ah yes, I feel satisfied. My body is content, and I'm feeling very comfortable. I rest here quietly, relaxing and thinking on top of this remarkably large and frosty, flat pane surface. And as I'm contemplating how pleased I feel, I also consider how thankful I am with my new acquisition. Oh yeah, I confirm to myself. I really love my brand new mirror, and now I love you even more.

To be continued...

(If you enjoyed this, if it made your skin flush--please comment and share your favorite line in the story.)



A Flame in the Night Ch. 12



THE NEXT DAY (Act 1 of 3): MORE IN THE BAG

Our night of slumber had been filled with many fantastic moments. You (female) and I (male) have each been vexed with primal dreams encompassing many suggestive and imaginative pleasures. They sprinkled into our minds and they disrupted our rest. And with each enjoyable notion, musing, or idea about fucking, our bodies twitched restlessly, putting us on edge until the next morning.

So here we lie next to each other in bed, in our motel room. You are awake but now fueled by an internal dampness in your loins caused by the excessive nastiness that you've created from dreaming. And likewise, I soon will be awaking as well, except for me, rather than dampness, I'll be greeted with the annoyance of having to deal with a pesky morning-glory. That is, I have an early-riser, an autopilot hard-on that I just can't control.

Thus, it's a new day and a new morning. And as you get up, you're not looking to start it without checking on me first. Thereby, you turn over and touch me, as I lie on my back, to see if I'm also awake. Your hand traverses over my chest, and by the lack of my response, you figure I'm still snoozing.

Except as you continue to feel your way around, you notice the capriciously large extension that has involuntarily lifted itself away from my body. My unruly cock stands there proudly, distancing itself from the rest of me, almost proclaiming to have independence as if it's autonomously powered and a self-governing limb.

So indeed, even as the rest of my body is in a deep sleep, my nocturnal cock is busy hailing you. Literally, or near abouts, it's giving you the high-five and even more it's touting you to reply. Then, if already having a moist puss wasn't enough to derail your morning, the feel of my stiff prick providing so much resistance complicates matters. By design, you're prone to want to push against it and stew about it--making it difficult to shy away from that arrogant object.

And while you're giving additional consideration for that stern lever, you start to imagine what I might be dreaming about in order to work up such a powerful and majestic woody. But no matter, the why isn't as important. Instead, it's the by-product of the dream, the engorged condition of my male anatomy--that, and what to do about it--that's what concerns you.

For a moment, you think about saddling up and taking that mighty bone for a ride. The cowgirl within you wouldn't mind bouncing on top of that pony for a spell. But you don't. For now, you pay respect to my incidental invite by gripping that flagpole and encircling it with your curling fingers. You begin to coddle it and gently squeeze the bulbous width near the endpoint. And after awhile you let your hands gravitate down the beam, centimeter by centimeter, only to reach the base, where you slowly ascent back up the tubing and return again to casually meddle with my halo. Nevertheless, however, upon feeling insatiable with making those tranquil, lazy rhythms, you then proceed to start stroking my cock faster. You alter your grasp and use a more determined handshake and by expelling a little extra passion on it, you fondle my hard-on just like it likes to be handled, granting me a most befitting morning salutation.

Promptly, I begin to awake.

"Good Morning!" you announce rather cheerfully.

"Uh," I stammer. Then as I open my eyes, I see you deliriously grinning at me like a Cheshire cat. Quickly, I try to gather my thoughts to discern what is happening to me. "Good morning... What time is it?" And when I do gain my wits about me, I discover what's been kick starting my consciousness. Surprisingly, but pleasantly, I realize the glowing itch I feel is from your hand, tugging on the tip of my member.

Meanwhile, as you continue to twist and caress my knob, you look about the room and see the morning rays of sunlight beaming through the fringes of the curtains. You absorb the exuberance of the light as it warms the atmosphere in the room and warms your spirit as well. You become preoccupied by the birthing of the new day and begin making plans to fill it with activities. Then, suddenly, you remember your last thoughts right before falling asleep.

"Hey!" you blurt out, brewing with excitement. "What else do you have in that bag?"

Your curiosity has piqued as you trace your thoughts back with last night's memories. And you recall that yesterday evening I had placed a large utility bag, filled with sexually enticing items, on a table, adjacent to our bed. Furthermore, just before blanking out and going to sleep, you had promised yourself, come morning, you'd examine the bag to see if it had any more adult goodies to toy around with.

"What's in the bag?" I start tapping my finger on my lips. "Well, all I'm gonna tell you is that it's something very tasty."

"Yeah? Is it something for me? Or is it something for you?" You sit up abruptly, hastily about to head over to have a look.

"Hold on! Not so fast!" I catch hold of your elbow, preventing you from bolting out the bed. "Let's think on this for a minute."

"I've thought about it all night!" you say. "Why do you want me to wait longer?"

Your grappling hand is making me feverish. I have a swollen cock that's rosy and flush and begging to crash a party to start a three-way, together with you and I. However, I know my situation. I know at the moment I'm sensitive and way too responsive. I may burst too quickly if I don't get a breather. And more importantly, I don't want to be impotent, yet. Not now! Not when I know what's in that bag and what we'll want to do after you look inside it.

"Let's sleep a little longer," I say, almost regretting I proposed it.

You turn around and face me, grimacing with obvious disapproval. And to be more convincing, you start rubbing my erection even faster and harder. You pummel your fist up and down on my stock, seemingly timing your piston-like cranking to match the syllables you're speaking.

"C-o-m-e on, I w-a-n-t to know! What's-in-there!"

I don't sidestep the issue any longer. "Dear, I need to shower ... you know, to cool off." I point to my rocket launcher, threatening to fling a shipload of sex missiles. "I'm hotter than a Jiffy Pop seed in a three-minute microwave. Ya know what I'm sayin'?"

I think you get my drift. You smile again and kindly release your grip on my crowbar. And honestly, a fresh shower before moving on to other events isn't a bad idea. So, after giving in to my request, we set off to take a nice morning shower.

* * * THE NEXT DAY: SHOWER * * *

Wet, soapy shower play! It's just what a sex doctor should prescribe to invigorate the mood in prelude of doing some erotic romping.

With that same idea, we enter the motel's compact shower stall and heat the water to a warm, satisfying temperature. We stand close to each other and watch the water streaming down our exteriors. Bathing with you is always exhilarating; it's as equally rejuvenating and equally effective as having a good ol' fashion cup of java.

Then, naturally, being so close inside this cozy cubical, we start to get touchy. We pass a bar of soap back and forth, and we lather our hands with it. Mutually, we rub the suds into our skins and then onto each other as well.

No ifs, ands, or buts about it--I can't get enough of doing this kind of cleaning. I touch your soft, smooth skin and cover my fingers with the organics of your shape. And while under this shower water your contours are so much fresher. I skim over your surface; I feel your feminine curves magnified beneath the palms of my hands, reminding me of why I like women and confirming to me that I love your very essence.

So, I continue having fun doing this simple, healthy exercise. And as I cleanse you with my happy hands, they enjoy going the scenic route and happen to pass over your personal possessions. They wander about, in a round-about way, taking a long safari across your vast and beautiful, milk and honey hillsides. And as they do, I feel the hardening process your brassiere-less front makes when becoming aroused, which of course, gets me all goosed up as well.

Consequently, when you notice that I've teased your tits far longer than appropriate, you step into my outline and lean up against me, flattening those warm, soapy girl-cushions against my ribcage. Like you're slow dancing, you cha-cha left and cha-cha right, and you crowd your womanly form against mine as you polish your boobs into my wincing flesh.

My acorns crack while I try holding myself together, but your taut, erasure-like nipple-tips are cutting bloodless wounds into my torso. I consider strong-arming you and putting you on the floor where I can bump and mingle your insides with my long and veiny pussy-tickler. And having taken stock of your silky badlands, I now stupidly want to frolic about on your frame and get off on your lush, nectarous presence.

Ultimately, however, despite being enamored with your shape and form, eventually--and prudently--we regain our spacing, giving you the means to lower your eyes to survey the hanging apparatus of my male parts. And with it being somewhat neglected in our bathing routine, you considerately take action to place the soap bar under my ballast where you start to foam up my dirty fucking-tools. Almost motherly-like, you scour and launder my pride by scrubbing my weasel and shining my stones, leaving me spec and span and clean as a kosher pickle.

Of course, in due time, I take a crack at returning the favor; I turn you around and bend myself over, selectively planting a half-dozen or so kisses to the cheeks of your bum. And because I'm browsing about in the neighborhood, I let my hands get lost under your moons as I gently soap and spruce up your hidden places. Moreover, in fact, I circulate around on your little button top and zigzag across your bumpy crease. Repeatedly, I buoy over you, smoothing out your crotch and crevice until the soapy film dissipates, making certain your cute cunny is squeaky fresh and tidy. Job well done!

Now granted, surely we could go on with this foreplay in the shower for a longer period, continuing onward, getting more deviate and personal; but, at this moment, neither one of us is looking to monkey around--becoming foolishly absent minded and carried away. After all, we do have a schedule to follow. We have a date in the other room, which requires us to conserve some of our energies until later.

Hence, after we finish showering, we towel dry ourselves; except, I do assist you with drying your hair, and you in turn aide me with making sure my butt gets blotted dry. And without further ado, you take my hand and lead us back into the room where the bag of goodies waits for us.

There, finally, at the table, you open up the mysterious sack to see what's actually inside of it.

"Oh, wow!" you exclaim, stirred by the countless possibilities. "I like this! Let me go first!"

* * * THE NEXT DAY: SWEET TREATS * * *

Inside the bag there are several tasty treats to be sampled, and if it were supper time you might even consider this to be a dessert platter. Assuredly, there's a mega assortment of interesting substances to be tried, including jars, tubs, and containers filled with sweet ingredients, such as whip cream, fudge ice cream topping, powdered sugar, honey, cinnamon spice, and more.

So in lickety-split time, we cover the bed with a waterproof mat, and you prompt me to lie down on it. Then, as you peer down at me with eyes as wide as Asian pears, you pucker your lips and run your tongue about the entire perimeter of your mouth. There's a definite hunger in your face showing that you're sweet-tooth enabled and primed to fill your mouth with splendiferously tasty dessert.

"I dunno. What should I try?" You scratch your head, being overwhelmed with so many choices.

"Ahem ... if you're gonna let me have a say, how about trying the marshmallow? I'd love to see your mouth decorated with sticky white yuck."

"Oh, yeah! I bet you'd get a rise out that. Ha, ha!" You snicker and raise your index finger upwardly to make a sexually suggestive gesture. "Okay sir, this is your lucky day 'cause I think I can accommodate that request."

Afterwards, you remove a container from the bag labeled whipped marshmallow topping. You open the jar and out springs a fresh scent of sugary, candy-like marshmallow fragrance.

"Whoa, this is gonna be fun!" you exclaim. And shortly after, you dip your three-middle fingers into the container and swirl them around inside it.

For the moment, my cock is relaxed and hanging limply. However, as I watch you place your marshmallow battered fingers between your lips, my flopping dick gets the willy-nillies and quivers in anticipation. Perhaps it senses the future, knowing soon it might get pampered, much like you're now licking your tips and gobbling down on your fingers.

"Mmm! Yummy in my tummy." You continue to suck the mush off your digits. "You want some?"

My back chills and I don't know how to answer you. I want some. I want some and even more!

You extend your hand to give me a sampling of the confection on your fingers. Then, again, you re-dip your claws into the jar and like a clay artist you begin sculpturing a new art piece: You paint my maleness with your sticky fingers, applying it thick and heavy, leaving my dong looking ever so ghostly white and pale.

When you have finished adorning me, you cast your eyes down on my glazed penis. And then gloating with disrespect, you begin cooing as if speaking to a newborn baby. "Oh dear, you look--soo--cute! You're like a little Pillsbury dough boy." But, after sizing up my doughy white dumpling, you open good and wide and put harmless looking Mr. Dough Boy completely into your mouth.

Shazam! That's how I like it! I experience the power of your vacuum as you pull me into your oral cavity. Once inside, your siphoning facial movements go to town sucking pudding off my stub and roughing up my nerve endings. I feel the gummy paste in the lining of your jaws-of-pleasure sticking on me as you yank on my privates and inflame my jewels. And with you sucking and munching on my sugarplum--then, like saying abracadabra and snap to it--presto, my cock matures into a fully developed hard-on, adding more calories to your dish.

"Yum, yum, yum," again, I hear you teasing me with barely distinguishable phrases. "Mmm, mmm, mmm ... Taste good!" I hear more muffling as my dick is entrenched in your throat. The sappy tar of the marshmallow snack seems to crackle while you gag and slobber on my man-size grub.

But after a while, when the dessert begins to wear thin, you pause and clear your mouth of the sweet caulking. And when you can speak clearly, you look at me and ask, "So how is it?"

Your lips are exceedingly white and overflowing with marshmallow residue. I stare at your chops in wonderment, enraptured and transfixed in an altered reality. From my perspective, you're wearing cum for makeup. Nasty, nasty, I see a sea of pearls and a steamy foundation that's making my generous darling look as though she's a Hollywood glamour girl.

How is it? "Excellent!" I say. "You look fucking phenomenal!"

"Fucking phenomenal?" You smile and laugh with me. Then you boldly proclaim, "I think I can top that!"

Unexpectedly, you abandon my sexual organ and swiftly charge into me to smother me with a big sloppy kiss. Your lips subdue me and hinder me from getting away as you spread the marshmallow flavor over my lips. We share the dessert topping while you stuff your tongue in my mouth, and you even seem giddy about what you have done to me.

Later, you leave my lips and sit up. Then with the jar still uncovered, you dunk your fingers inside, and I anxiously watch you waving your soaked hand in front of your face. Before I could swallow my own spit, I witness the mayhem of you putting those succulent fingers into your mouth. You push them in and pluck them out, and you sip on them as though you're feebly sucking a thick malted shake through a congested straw.

My cock stands in attention, frozen up like an icy Popsicle stick, nervously waiting to see what you're up too.

"Fucking phenomenal?" you shake your head, taunting me with my own words. Then with a precision strike, you take hold of my dick and insert my lanky-beanstalk into the opened jar, blanketing it with that sticky concoction.

Incredibly, in no time at all, you're grabbing my stones, which are also covered in marshmallow paste. And with your grubby hands attached to my scrotum, you drop your head into my lap. Immediately, I feel you barreling down on my marshmallow-lubed erection, and here with your mouth full of white goo and sugar, you feast on my frosty coated penis.

Oh, my, my, you're dabbling in my mess, sucking on my straw and tickling my ticklish wiener. Over and over you blow on my tenor sax; you lick the marshmallow meal and slurp up the melting cream and use it to groom the puffy, heart-shaped headgear that's bulging at the tip of my outlet. Again and again, my shaft gets beaten down by your tacky covered lips, and I feel my cock becoming weary from your velvety sweet treatment.

Shit! Fucking Ms. Cookie Monster is giving me head! I'm going batty, and I'm losing my marbles. Your mouth is humbling my arrogant dick, figuratively putting it on its knees for you to spank it and run it down with your high speed feeding motor. Deeper and deeper, you stuff yourself with my pastry, making my usually happy-headed stub turn moody and emotionally drained, wishing it could get out from under the darkness and feel the morning's bright, shiny light.

"Gulp! Gulp! Gulp!" Instead of warm sunlight on my shaft, I hear you gagging and overworking my deeply distraught terminal.

Prideless and hopelessly raw, I swell up in arousal, knowing full well what happens next, when that prickling irritation in my sack gets unmanageable and disorderly. Like that burger clown McRonald says, "I'm lovin' it," which means I'm about to demonstrate my sexual rage. I need to do as volcanoes do: I need to erupt and set free my stress; I must uncork the white magma, letting it well up my toboggan chute, and send it gushing out my vent.

And sure enough, a storm cloud forms at the crowning apex of my peak. My cock fans out and becomes oversized, blooming as though it were a big beautiful mushroom in early spring. Indeed, I'm in late-season and about to be harvested by the romantic wiggles of your tongue.

"Mmm-mmm, mmm-mmm ..." You bludgeon my mind and twist my head off! Surely you know I'm coming, yet you eagerly cheer me on with obscene grunts and juicy ball-bursting noises.

"Fucking phenomenal!" I yell. "Fucking awesome!" I squirm.

My hips bound upwards as I attempt to feed you more of my enlarged manhood. I clutch the bedding in my hands, and my salty white fluid begins to eject from my agitated nuts. But you continue to lick, gnaw, and grind away on my hurting stem. Again I scream, "I'm coming! ... Shit! Shit! Fucking -- Awesome!"

I empty my cum into your kisser and give you my homemade orgasmic soup. Literally, there's marshmallow topping and "daddy's" own secret sauce nicely mixed together. Yes, a rich, liberal heaping of lily-white ejaculated slop and sweet creamy topping has consensually been inseminated into the depth of your orifice. Plus, the wonderful, sticky paste is now all on your lips, all over your nose, and even leaking down from both side of your chin. Astonishingly delicious! What a beautiful, beautiful face!

Shortly after, you sit up and look into my eyes, making darn sure that I see you. You smile with wittiness and then try speaking, but you labor to do so as your mouth is still mostly loaded with the sticky white stuff.

"Fucking ... phenomenal" you mumble, as some of that liquid escapes from your mouth. "Your marshmallow ... is very ... very ... tasty!"




A Flame in the Night Ch. 12



Then, not more than a few seconds go by after completing your sentence, when--abruptly, you pounce on me again. And as you approach my lips, I try to hold you off--but you've caught me off guard. I'm way too late! You've reached my face, and you douse me. You give me a once in a lifetime kiss, filled with passion, sugar, and much, much more.

* * *

Some time later, after Frenching with you for as long as I can indulge you, I stagger up and wipe my mouth clean. I've been caramelized with too much of a good thing, but I'll let bygones be bygones. However, I'm a bit antsy and not wanting to lie around here for too long; after all, it's my turn now. I've got the munchies, and I get to choose a new recipe for dessert.

I go to the large bag with the selection of goodies, and I gander about, pacing my decision. I tower over the bag, looking at the wide range of the contents.

Impatiently, you put your hands on your hips. "Now's not the time to be going on a diet."

"Gotcha." I nod my head and comb through the bag, babbling as I look. "Let me see. Nope ... Nope ... Nope ..."

"Here we go," I say, as I've found what I'm looking for. "Hmm?" I consider. "I wonder if she likes chocolate."

To be continued...

(If you enjoyed this, if it made your skin flush--please vote and comment.)



A Flame in the Night Ch. 13



THE NEXT DAY (Act 2 of 3): MY TURN

"You must be kidding, right?" You grin at me with a flushed, glowing face. "You know how I like chocolate!"

"Well, yes, I--know--you like chocolate," I reply, "but you know I haven't had my breakfast yet. And whose turn is it to be snacking anyways?"

Certainly, the bag of goodies, which is on a nearby table, has an array of many delicious choices. Within the bag there are many slippery emollients and flavorful substances waiting to be opened and tried, including tasty salad dressings, golden honey, scented oils, powdered sugar, and more. And of course, there's also the aforementioned chocolate: yummy gourmet, syrupy chocolate sauce, packed with enough aroma to make it seem like it's Mother's Day at a See's Candy shop.

Meanwhile, as we're standing and facing each other, we're also both completely nude and hankering to get things started.

I pop open the lid of the jar to unleash the chocolaty "pheromones" and let it simmer underneath your nose. You inhale the bold, rich fragrance and like a Sonora desert bee drawn to a cactus blossom, you become excited and immediately holler, "Ooh! Can I taste it?"

"Yeah, yeah," I agree. "Just don't forget to save some for me."

"Ha! It's okay, don't think about it," you reply. "Just keep in mind that a happy woman is much sweeter, don't ya know."

"Huh? Really? Uh, you mean like 'the nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat.' Is that it?"

"Pfft, no!" you retort. "It's more like ... like ... 'the happier the heart, the sweeter the soul.' 'The happier the woman, the sweeter the embrace.' Get it?"

You lean over and give me a brief squeeze. "See what I mean?"

Meh, I won't argue. Your hug is nice and maybe I get it. 'The bigger the smile, the sweeter the booty.' And that sounds fine to me.

So, I proceed to dunk a few fingers into the glass container to give you a sampling of the wonderful chocolate flavor. And while I extend my reach, you take hold of my wrist and begin to slowly suck the syrup off my tips. Then before long, I'm reloading the chocolate and applying a film of it to my lips. And for a moment, we embrace and kiss, and share the culinary goodness between our mouths until we can no longer taste the chocolate, but only taste the bare texture of our facial cells.

Then, after we finish smooching, we gap apart and put a distance between us so that we can peruse our naked bodies.

"Feeling happy?" I ask.

You start rubbing your boobs and looking heated. "Thank you sir for asking. I think I'm happy--but why don't you take a look and make sure."

Your pointy nipples are surely making me happy, so without more delay I lay you down on the bed and into position to make best use of this gourmet substance. I spread your legs while you lay your head on the pillow, as you're now prepared to be seasoned. Then I kneel at your side and begin to doodle on your awaiting muff with layers and layers of dark, sticky, liquefied chocolate. Indeed, I frost you up and pile it good and high, and when I'm through, I sit back and observe my handiwork.

"Gracious me! What have I done?" Feeling proud of myself, I tilt my head and nod while marveling at the newly created masterpiece. "Check it out!" I yammer. "Take a look! It looks ... it looks just like a piece of tiramisu pie!"

"Yeah? You think so?" you ask. "Well-- ahem! I hope your eyes aren't bigger than your belly 'cause I don't want my pie to be wasted. "

More than ever, I can hardly wait to get my brow up close to the succulent treat that's sitting in the pit of your wishbone. Hence, I lower my head into your slight breach and nestle my mouth into the split of your suggestively parted limbs. And while in the midst of your chocolaty basin, I can smell the savory fragrance of cocoa and your natural perfumes, and I can begin to imagine that when I eat through to the crust of your pie it will be sweeter than peaches, healthier than cake, and just the right supplement for my diet.

"Mmm... sweet. Mmm... very good!" I murmur carelessly while slurping the fudge from your dent. Having tasted your pussy condiment in my mouth, I've become enamored with blending even more of it with your female wetness. So I plow my tongue through the tiramisu filling and proceed on devouring your dessert presentation.

"Hon, remember your manners," you sigh, trying not to blush. "Don't lick the seed, before you eat the cherry."

Well, with that, I jovially munch all around in your flavorsome pie trying carefully not to make a pig of myself. I use good table manners and restrained etiquette while refraining from pinching down on your mound prematurely.

So, steady, steady, I go, pacing my cadence as I consume the syrupy sauce from your chocolate covered pussy. And as a result of me smothering my head in you nutritious dish, you extend your hands out to massage my temporal lobes. Gently, you cuddle my face with your hands and attempt to draw me nearer to you, almost as though you're guiding my face like a rudder, steering me as if I were a boat needing to safely port into your hard to find target. And while you harbor me in your landing dock, my head bobs up and down on the ripples of your tide while riding the lines of your sugary creases.

"Oh, easy, my prince. Too much sugar may spoil your dinner."

I love how you're concerned for my welfare, but I'm not worrying about supper until I finish off my breakfast. Namely, let me enjoy this morning licking rich chocolate swirls and eating sweetened topping from your tender labia lips. Let my tongue lash waywardly on your sensitive folds like I'm a homely pet. For a time, I need to stick right next to you, adoring you, staying terribly close to your womanhood while I lick your nooks and crannies and whirl your pussy into a puddling mess.

"How's my tiramisu flavoring?" you jeer. "Is it sweet enough for you?"

"Yum, yum," I mumble. I can't quite answer clearly since I'm busy smacking on your clit. Instead, I reach for your wrist and clutch it, briefly, which is my way of confirming, yes, your pussy tastes just right. It's perfect!

"Shh, my chocolate lover. Don't say anymore." You shake a finger as if to scold me. "A gentleman doesn't speak with his mouth full."

My hands rub your outer thighs while I flicker my tongue horizontally across the tip of your pastry. I shore up my manners and stop muttering about your chocolate sweetness. But while I'm still being ill-mannered and rude, I stoop to a lower level and set my heading southbound. I go to the barren backcountry, to the balding boondocks outback, down under, where I orbit around your darker cookie. I use my nimble tongue to tickle your frigid, uptight anus, as though I'm trapped within a labyrinth maze. Strategically, I rim along a risky path looping around the edge of your backside opening, as if the challenge is to go deeper and deeper without actually letting my tongue fall into your vortex, least the game would be lost.

Afterwards, I detect your ass seeming high-strung and jittery, desperately squirming to get away from my touch. Your legs start kicking and your hand pushes against my forehead with increasing force. I sense you're about to burst into giggles, so immediately--like the gentleman you say I am--I pull out before it's too late.

I raise my head, momentarily, to see where I've been and to see what I've done to you. Clearly, the chocolate paste has melted and thinned, leaving your pussy looking undressed and naked.

"Superman, are you done?" you call out. "You don't want anymore?" With your index finger, you draw a small circle into the watered down chocolate filling. "You shouldn't have seconds, dear, until you finish your plate."

Well, in fact, I'm not through; I'm just catching my breath. So promptly, I find the jar of gourmet chocolate and refill me a new serving. I smear on another layer of that syrupy goop to your nether region, and using my hands I spread wide the door to your pussy. Then I tag my face into your hot spot, and let the chocolate fill into my mouth. My tongue presses against the roof of your tunnel wall and, aggressively, it wiggles around inside your pussy and squiggles about as if my tongue were made of many tentacles. Like an octopus or a fish out of water, I flounder erratically on your tenderness, as though some kind of Japanese sex toy was entangled into the hairs of your quim.

Your weight shifts from side to side, and I hear your breathing becoming heavy and seedy. And when I hear the lower vibrato emanating from your pitch, my bowser stiffens to a manly dimension. My fuck-member is brewing with a renewed excitement as I realize your body is bloating with sexual arousal.

"Oh darling--" You lift your legs and wrap them over my back. "Don't eat what you don't like."

I push my tongue deeper into your crack and swiftly whisk up and down on your ridges. With my face crowded within your thighs, I'm eating and licking and working to discombobulate your middle. You feel the mayhem escalating in your groin, and the electrons within your crotch are bustling about and making you a bit dippy. You massage my head and you massage my shoulders, and you sit back and try to enjoy the titillating sensation that's welling within your vice.

"Eat my grits," you whisper in your soft, sultry, womanly voice. "Lick my plate," you sigh. "Eat my tiramisu and I'll make it taste really good for you."

Moreover, you fan your legs out wider and grant me complete access to your cherry. You flip your hair, once more, and fluff the pillow beneath your neck. And as I eat in your interior, you sprawl your elbows across the pillow cushioning, setting the mood to amplify your pleasure. Leisurely you launch into fondling with your breasts, and impulsively you start to vocalize your moaning. "Oh, yes! Eat me my pet. Eat all of me."

Then, there, while your pussy is warming, you think about the previous night, when you had been seductively dancing with three obnoxiously persistent men. Thus, you recall how horny and handsome those conniving gents had been, merely only an evening before, and when I had taken a break from dancing with you, you had been pandering with the desires of this male threesome. And you linger on remembering more how those studly males liked to rub their pant fronts from side to side against your surface. Repeatedly they brushed themselves on your exterior as they danced and indiscreetly imprinted their jewels into your flesh, giving you an inkling of the treasures within their briefs. And as you brood over the outlines of their meaty glands inside their trousers, you stew on remembering the jut of each man's sack, leaving you to imagine the sizes of their tools and the weights of their testes.

Abruptly, while you keep dwelling upon their filthy members, it hits you like a squirting lemon. You flinch your body and squint your eyes and prepare to have those lovely sensual spasms. Gently, you tug my ear, for a moment, giving me the clue that you're on the cusp of it and on the way to having that natural high.

"Oh baby! That's it," you acknowledge. "Eat me, eat me," you scream.

Increasingly your tissues are jittering from being jiggled here and fro making your center fill with jubilant contentment. Thus, you lower an arm to dip your fingers into the midst of your snatch and cover your index and middle finger with that wonderful, adorable chocolate pudding. Then, as you tinker with trying to help me out down there, you visualize that the men in your mind, the ones whom you had danced with, are now by your side, nude, and whipping their dicks out. Still, even more, they encircle you. And with their hands clasped firmly around their swollen pieces, they stroke themselves, fervently, hoping they might impress you with the lengths of their buoyant sticks. Each man is now aiming to get off on you as they watch you becoming aroused and getting orally gifted.

Conversely, however, the third, larger, alpha-male is more aggressive with his jerking, and he decides to straddle his long, oversized dong to make it hang annoyingly over your face. Then as he broadens his hulky chest and stands burly looking over you, he swings his big stub from right to left to capture your attention and dares you to start sucking his humongous hard-on. Consequently, you respond to the obtrusive calling by retrieving your fingers back from your muff, when you happen to notice how your fingers are now completely covered with gourmet chocolate. Inventively, you open your mouth and fantasize about it: your rich, darkly coated fingers--are one and the same--as that fleshy meat which is hovering right above your nose. Momentarily, then, you close your eyes, and slowly, very slowly, you sniff his scent and submerse that deliciously sweet and well-endowed, dark, thick cock into the bedchamber of your jaws. And with immense satisfaction, you begin to suck his virile, masculine talent while admiring his exceedingly-sizable, ebony "black" colored log.

Mmm, mmm, mmm, you blow your fingers and contemplate on his hefty, plum-sized looking balls, which are hanging ah so near to your chin. And being anxious to make him unleash the essence from his massive barrel, you work heavily around his tip, itching his ending and inciting his tube. You scratch his nuts and imagine him becoming excited; then, very soon, you know he'll be surrendering himself to your mercy, leaking and unable to control his trigger. And when he needs to burst spontaneously, he'll deseed those large, husky, dark berry bags and spill his creamy seedlings all over your person.

But meanwhile, as you dream on playing with his cock, and at the same time you're giving head to your fingers, I'm admiring your delicious, gourmet topping. My lips are caught deep in your gash and I'm happily consuming the confectionery mixture within your slick, smooth linings, making you confused with pleasure and restless to end this. So, in short, even your jowls are fatiguing from accommodating the imaginary width of his segment, but still you continue to copulate on his monstrous unit. Indeed, you drool and run your tongue over your fingers and on the fattened head of his earthly erection and precariously attempt to push his bulky creation down into your windpipe.

However, as you keep going about gagging on his sex muscle, you become enthralled by how much you're leaking. My tickler is swirling like a drill and flicking endlessly atop of your tender, sexually glowing pearl causing you to expel volumes of your sensual lady mist.

Suddenly, endorphins flood your mind as the other two men standing about you have also reached their climax. Their cum ejects from their cannons in high arching trajectories, and your skin crawls as you sense their nasty yuck plummeting down onto your breasts and tummy.

"I'm coming!" you bellow out. Your legs begin to quake with seemingly random erratic pulses, which leads you to proclaim it even a second time. "Oh, chocolate lover ... I'm coming!"

I zig and zag my lips over and over your area, pressing harder and eating faster. Moreover, my piggishly clever snout roots around in your messy congee while giving you liberal cunnilingus. Even more, as I hog about burying my nose into your sensitive morning flavor, I feel myself becoming more determined and stubbornly obsessed with having my face in your catch, as if I were your own personal vibrator and motorized to make you shake.

"It tickles!" you shout. And with an urgent need to seize my attention, your voice rises to a nervous and tense pitch. "Dear-- You're tickling me!"

But naturally I don't yield away from badgering your kitty. Not yet. Not with you on the brink of reaching another clitoral orgasm. Rather, I stay affixed to your narrow aperture as I continue to swallow your nub and keep messing with your lobes. I scoop up the chocolate leftovers and the sugariness in your junk and go about getting my fill of you as if I hadn't eaten your taste in weeks.

"Enough!" you plead, and your toes begin to curl into a tight claw as you howl out once again. "Please-- Please-- No more!"

Desperately, you clamor about a little longer, but with your sex pinging to be pampered and liking the kisses that are invading your lips, you surrender and give in to be serviced for more pleasure. Therefore, to fulfill your need, you remove that oral pacifier from your mouth and alternatively you place that big brown dick down alongside your oily oyster. Here you take his meat and scrape the fat end of his thickness around your pussy seam and browbeat his amply weighted cock against your watery passage.

Seconds later, you're contracting and trying to shut your thighs tighter, but still I keep pursuing your girly interior. I stay up in your crack and swipe my tongue atop your small railings. Like a musical metronome, I repetitiously beat back and forth scribing out figure eight symbols onto your clit as if that pattern of infinity was literally meant to be made again and again forever. And now with his mammoth cock bearing down on your outline and my tongue dipping inside it--you've had enough. Like a changing season you experience switching sides, from wanting to having, from yearning to aching. You're in the clouds and soaring in the sexual winds.

"Ah, ah, ah... Yeah, yeah, yeah..." you scream and flush while reddening flames of gratification tangle up in your crotch. Moreover, it erodes away at your modesty and causes you to cry out abruptly, "Fuck me! Yes, baby. Fuck me!... Fuck me with your big stick."

Then, in your mind, that richly colored serpent--slithering at your vagina opening--pops his balls and pads you with a creamy slime. Immediately, you squish him closer to your surface and let his slightly bending hardness depress into your tender lining. Even more to enhance his feel, you raise and lower your hips up and down and guide his warm, man-made lube further down into your groove.

"Oh, Betty! Oh, Susie! Oh, Mary Ann!" you continue to moan and groan and banter out endearing and silly words: "Am I made of candy? Am I ice cream? I feel sweet. Baby, yes! Eat me right there! Eat my pussy like it's peanut butter." And not long after saying that, you release all your lady-come right into my eager, welcoming face. And there with my mouth and along with your fingertips, we tease and play with your chocolate flavored cherry until you've had all of it that you want.

* * *

Later, then, once you've settled and needing to recover, your legs invariably relax and you liberate my head from your leg vice. At last, I lift my head revealing that I'm still huffing and puffing and nearly out of breath. But my deep dive has finally completed, so as I wipe my grin clean and gather myself, I happen to catch sight of the early morning sunlight filtering through into the room. And together, we both smile with mutually good feelings and pause to reflect the makings of the new day.

"Damn that was hot," I say, out of the blue, as I glance down once more to eye your chocolate pudding. "Whatagirl!" I announce. "That's a very nice pussy pie!"

"You think so? Really?" You recline your back and stretch your arms. Then casually you reach back down to feel the sogginess that's decorating your slender inlet. And gently, you pet it just a little bit more because it still feels good to do so.

"Well, thank you, and good job, my dear," you affirm that you enjoyed my gentlemanly deed. Then with flawless timing you blush and blow me a whimsical, playful kiss, and with your legs still slightly parted, adoringly you say, "I hope you liked my breakfast."

To be continued...

(If you enjoyed this, if it made your skin flush--please vote and comment.)