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Lift

By: StoryTeller07



"Damn! I'm on holiday I can't spend valuable time stuck in a lift," James exclaimed. 

"You're wrong young man," Nora stated. "One, you're on vacation not on holiday. Two, this is an elevator not a lift. Three, WE are stuck not just you. We are definitely stuck," she sighed, counting his errors on three fingers.

He glared back at her. If it had been Janet, from college, instead of this old woman it would have been so much easier to take. Janet was the same age, eighteen, whereas this woman looked around thirty-two. There were some similarities though. They were both blonde and, and he couldn't think of anything else. She was an American not an English rose and she had a fuller figure, unlike Janet's tall lithe frame. 

He knew she was thin and athletic because he had spied on her while she played netball in the sports hall. He had happened to be taking a short cut through that way, escaping a maths class. As soon as he looked through the window it was only Janet he could see among the team of girls jumping, reaching up, and bending over, with sports shoes squeaking over the polished floor. 

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What does it look like?" she returned. 

"All right then, WHY are you getting undressed?" he asked.

"It's hot in here and going to get hotter and I can't sleep when I'm too hot. Besides, the floor looks too hard for me," she shot back at him. She had stripped down to her underwear dropping clothes onto the floor. 

"Haven't you seen a bra before?" she asked, in annoyance at the stare.

"No," he said, with uncharacteristic honesty. "Should I turn around?" he said, making no attempt to take his eyes off an impressive cleavage. 

"It's too late now for false manners! Besides, we'll be here some time, not much point in being coy," she said.

"What do you mean we'll be here some time?" he asked. 

"What do you think it means?" she said.

"Are you always this awkward?" he asked.

"Are you always so stupid? I'm divorced, does that answer your question?" she stated, with a touch of venom in her voice. "The hotel is cheap and they don't have a twenty-four hour lift service. We'll be here overnight so make your self comfortable," she advised.

She bent over straightening the clothes out making slightly more comfortable to lie on. She quickly straightened up and looked round at him. "Haven't you been told it's rude to stare," she shot at him.

"Sorry," he whispered. 

She looked at his crotch. "I guess I'm not such a pretty sight, eh?" she said, not wanting a reply. 

"It's lovely, you're lovely, I mean," he said, stopping abruptly on realising he was just digging deeper into something he didn't understand.

She looked him over seeing a crimson colour take over his face, looking awkward too, like a coy schoolboy. "How old are you?" she asked.

"I'm eighteen," he said, straightening his shoulders as though proud to be so old. 

Nora held back a chuckle realising it would annoy this young man and the small space had to be shared for a few hours yet. "What's you name?"

"James, but you can call me Jim," he said, and held out his hand to shake. 

"Nora and you can call me Miss Rodgers," she said, with a stern look. 

"Are you a teacher," he said with a gulp and a sudden shift in tone of voice. He looked as though she had delivered an electric shock, from one of those trick buzzers.

"What if I was?" she asked, with a caustic sound to her voice.

"But, your in your underwear!" he exclaimed. He was still shaking her hand as though stuck in a wash cycle pumping water. 

Her breasts jiggled in the loose bra - not one she would have chosen to be seen in. The bra and panties didn't even match, but they were comfortable.

"So, as long as I'm not a teacher it's alright to jiggle my breasts around?" she asked, her voice laden with sarcasm. 

"Oh! No, sorry," he said. He watched them for a moment or two then let go of her hand. He watched her clasp and unclasp an aching hand to bring back the circulation from his tight grip. "Sorry," he said. 

"Let's get comfy, OK?" she said. "You look hot, I suggest you remove the sweater," she advised. She felt a little warm herself over the suggestion. 

He hesitated then pulled it over his head. He looked at her settling onto the pile of clothes. "Here you can have my jacket and this pullover," he said, trying to be gallant and make amends for his rudeness. Looking away he pulled off the t-shirt but couldn't bring himself to remove the jeans.

"So what are you going to lie on? Here take them off too, we'll make a nest to share," she said. "Don't worry I won't tell," she laughed.

He hesitated until she looked away and he pulled them off making a hash of it getting them stuck around the shoes. Eventually he managed to strip down to his shorts and she added the jeans to a makeshift bed. Again he hesitated getting close.

"Might as well make the most of it," she said. This time her cheeks reddened. "I'm nice and you're nice so no harm in it, I guess," she said, a little too defensively.

"This the first time you've been close to a near naked woman?" she teased him. He couldn't or wouldn't answer. "You got a girlfriend?" she asked casually.

"Sort of," he said quietly. "Janet."

"Why sort of?" she asked.

"I've not spoken to her, so it doesn't count really," he smiled shyly.

"Oh! Love from afar, very romantic, not very practical," she told him. "Talk to her, say hello and see where it goes," she advised.

"I wouldn't know what to say," he said, with a doleful look.

"Just ask her if she likes the latest music, whatever that is, I'm out of touch," she laughed. "Lets get some sleep, it'll go quicker that way and make best use of the time," she sighed. "There's not much room so snuggle up," she suggested. 

"Hey!" she exclaimed. Turning over toward him she looked close in his face. "You had better do something about that, I'm not going to sleep with that thing poking me all night," she said, then giggled from the implication and the look on his face.

"What?" He said, trying to pose a poker face. 

"I can't sleep with that, so fix it. That way I can relax," she said, looking down toward his crotch. "If you hadn't noticed I'm a very practical person. Don't worry I'm a woman of the world, had boyfriends, been married, suffered the divorce. Don't tell me you haven't played with your self before," she said in exasperation. 

"I can't, not with you here," he said. He was surprise at her attitude but it seemed catching. He wasn't used to anyone talking so candidly. She was so brazen he wondered if she was a whore. 

"In case you've forgotten I'm not going anywhere," she told him. It was a bit of an exaggeration that she was a woman of the world for she had little experience from being married only a few months. There had only been one boyfriend before and none since the divorce. 

When she said she was out of touch, it was in more than just music that had been neglected. She had forgotten what music she liked having had no time for anything but work. 

"Do you want me to try?" she asked, with a coy smile on her face. The surprise on his face almost matched hers. She could hardly believe she had suggested such a thing. It was true she didn't want to wake up in the night with this young guy quietly screwing her. Nora wondered if that were possible, but not enough to conduct an experiment.

A sense of devilment was inspired by his innocence until she felt the need to shock. It was about time he woke up to the fact that life can pass you by so very quickly. She pulled his shorts down at the front and grabbed his cock. Still looking him in the eye she began to move her fist up and down the hardened stick. 

It was firming more under this attention. As suspected it wouldn't take much more attention. She didn't want to look at it or what she was doing for it was a little shocking to her despite what she had said. It had been a brazen bluff but now she was committed. 

If she didn't succeed she would have to lay awake all night and be exhausted for an important meeting tomorrow morning. He was an innocent young man but a man nonetheless. She couldn't blame him for getting into this mess either. It occurred to her she hadn't even suggested doing this to her husband let alone a stranger. Was it because she hadn't had a man for so long? Had she grabbed his cock out of desperation?

The thought was quickly thrown out for this was not the time or place to question if it were just a practical necessity or not. Curiosity got the better of her. She looked down at what she was doing. It looked big. Nice and big. An idea flashed through her mind before she could ward it off. It would fill her up nicely.

"You won't tell anyone will you!" she warned him. His eyes were closed tight. She wondered if he was thinking of that girl. She stopped moving her hand up and down to get is attention. "You won't tell anyone will you!" she repeated. 

"No!" he gasped. 

She knew he would promise anything while she had him in the palm of her hand or rather in her fist. She gripped him tighter and moved a little faster bringing his breathing up a rate and deeper too. 

He started to moan and she wished she had a tissue. She looked from his face to his cock and the way his legs were stiffening straight out. It was fascinating watching him go through it and she wondered if she too did the same little dance. 

She was amused at the way his heels drummed on the floor. Too late, she had been warned but missed the point though he hadn't missed her. A spurt of cum splashed her face. She closed her eyes as it spattered over her. She looked down to see it over her breasts and was annoyed at herself for it was dripping from her face down her cleavage. 

It seemed to be everywhere. It was on her hands too. So she sat there feeling stupid, covered in this young stranger's sperm. Was it because he was so young and virile or had he big balls or something? How the hell had she allowed this to happen?

"Don't move! I don't want this all over my clothes," she scolded him.

"You're so beautiful!" he told her. 

"Thanks!" she said, with a tone of voice meant to shut him up. She didn't need to hear his post orgasmic gibbering. "I don't suppose you have some tissues," she stated. "Didn't think so, men are never practical in these things," she sighed.

Reluctantly she lifted her hips and slid her panties down, careful not to touch the clothes lying underneath them. She was desperate not to walk into a meeting covered in the crusty remains of his cum all over her.

Wiping her hands then her breasts she handed him her panties. "Wipe my face," she told him. When he grinned sheepishly she giggled out loud. "I can't believe I did this, it's the most devilish thing I've ever done," she giggled

"What's that musky perfume you're wearing, it's good," he said.

At first she was bemused but it struck her as he dabbed at her face with her panties. The musky smell flooded over her like a tidal wave. How had she missed that? She took them from his shaking hand. 

It must have been the first time he had a pair of panties in his hand and here he was using them to wipe his cum of a woman's face!

She didn't think of that as she felt the soaking wet crotch. The wetness was all hers. She became aware of how excited she was feeling foolish for not being aware of it sooner. Well that answered the mystery of why it had happened. She had been heating up for some time to be so wet down there. 

It also answered the question whether he could have taken her in her sleep. She was so open he would have been able to enter her without resistance. Though of course she would have woken up, for sure, but what then? She wouldn't have fought him off that's for certain. 

She took a deep breath. "You remember you promised not to tell anyone?" She took hold of the now small wrinkly penis to wipe it with her panties. 

"Yes, I mean no! I won't say a word," he said, with a great show of sincerity. "I promise."

"Keep that promise or this comes off," she warned him with a tight grip on his cock. "I will torture you then kill you slowly if you ever tell anyone about this," she said, around a giggle.

She smiled at him. The boyish earnestness was touching. She looked at his broad shoulders and handsome smile wondering if she had wasted the moment after all. She was feeling frustrated as hell. "Well you could at least kiss me," she said, looking at him with a feigned hurt look.

He leaned close and kissed her with a pair of tight lips. "I guess that's all I get as I'm old enough to be an old aunt," she chided him. 

"No, you're beautiful. You are!" His hand stroked her face, down her neck, swept over a breast and smoothly pressed over her tummy. 

She pressed her legs together tight. "I'm too old and fat," she said. "I bet your girlfriend has a flat tummy," she added. She wondered if it was a touch of jealousy or regret for a lost youthful figure. 

He leaned over her and kissed her stomach. Little pecks of lips and a hand smoothing her warm flesh. When her legs automatically parted she grabbed his hair and pulled him up. "Just a kiss will do," she protested. "A proper one this time," she added.

"Put your arms around me and open your mouth," she demanded. 

This time he kept is eyes open watching her close hers and open her mouth in anticipation. His arms enfolded her pulling her breast into his chest. He felt her tongue flicker against his lips. He hesitantly swept his around her lips. She sighed and he became more confident. 

His tongue flickered into her mouth and began to circle her tongue, dancing teasingly in a running duel. As soon as she entwined his he retracted and darted back into her mouth. He sucked on her upper lip then her bottom lip and bit it gently. 

He licked her eyelids and worked down her face over her neck. A message from between her legs was beamed directly into the pleasure centres of a mind tuned to the sensations of pleasure. It got through and she just about recognised it as being urgent and important. Despite her mind turning to mush she summoned enough determination to grab his head in both hands and push.

"Enough!" she croaked. "A kiss is just a kiss, but that was something else entirely," she told him with all seriousness. 

"Nice?" he asked, as it was his turn to do the teasing.

"Wonderful. I couldn't have withstood much more," she said, and regretted the honesty in case it gave him ideas. "Can I have my breast back please?" she said, with mock seriousness. 

"No," he told her. He was massaging one breast and watching both nipples grow. 

He was strong so she didn't want to get into a play fight for it might lead to him pining her to the floor and she was already close to the point of submission. The fact that she was imagining it meant she would have to play it carefully. 

She grabbed his hair to stop him as he moved in on her breast. Instead he kissed her tummy again and she let him. This time he used his tongue and nipped her with his teeth. He licked and kissed and sucked and nipped until she was again subdued from the sensuous onslaught. 

It was alright for he already had his orgasm so she was safe but how much frustration could she take. 

He worked up her body with fingers and mouth. She relaxed the grip of her thighs a little then a lot. She told herself he was going in a safe direction, away from her secret garden. 

It happened so gently she missed it when he lifted her old loose and comfortable bra. Her eyes opened wide on feeling a powerful suction on a nipple. He was trying the impossible, to suck a large breast into his mouth. A hand was kneading and pinching the other.

"Oh! Yes!" she repeated the words over and over. She wanted to grab him to drown his face in the soft flesh but her arms flopped helplessly to the side. Her thighs too fell open to him as he overpowered her with diabolical sensations. 

At last she summoned the will and energy to move. She dragged him on top of her, grabbed his cock and guided it into a desperately waiting pussy. She felt him rabbit fuck her and moaned in frustration. This is not what she wanted. She turned with all her strength to throw him off.

He muttered something sounding like a curse and cry of frustration in a primitive language. She was surprised that he was hard so soon but gave it little thought. She smoothly clambered onto his hips. Lifting her body she guided him once more into her aching pussy.

She pulled his hands up placing them over her breasts which he gripped hard. "Squeeze them, damn it! Work them hard," she demanded. She dropped her hands to his legs and pushed, lifting her body up the length of his cock then slowly descended again feeling his penis reach right in, taking her, filling her need. 

She slowly moved up and down his cock riding him in slow motion feeling every inch of his big cock rippling inside. His hands gripped and squeezed her breasts, pinching her nipples like a vice forcing her to whimper in pain. 

She threw back her head for a silent yell, mouth wide open gasping. The orgasm rumbled from her tummy shooting out through her limbs to hands and feet. In that position she couldn't drum her heels even if she had wanted to.

The sweat dripped from her breasts. "I needed that," she whispered. Eventually she tried to move off him. She rocked sideways straightening her legs one at a time from the kneeling position. She was about to laugh at the sight of her feet either side of his face but gave a stifled yelp instead. 

He moved without warning, pushing up with his hips. His still rock hard cock was shoved further up her vagina, further than she thought possible. It stretched her inside. "Don't move," she whispered. He didn't seem to hear, or maybe he needed to deal with his frustration now.

He lifted his hips again and her body weight heaved her crotch down onto him. Body met body. His penis seemed to be filling her entire body with the expectation it would enter her stomach, so deep had it penetrated. The feeling was intense and satisfying. Nora felt complete as though she had been fragmented only now being made whole again.

The thrusts lifted her whole body. Her breasts jiggled up and down in slow motion. Time slowed and space closed in. There was nothing but this huge penis fucking her brains out. "Do it to me. Fuck my brains out. Fuck me, fuck me," she repeated. 

Never before had she been so overpowered, or spoken so lewdly, or spoken at all. "Yes! Give me your sperm, spit your cum deep inside me. Fill me up!" she cried out. 

He felt his cock being gripped tight. Unlike his fist it was a perfect fit enveloping him entirely. It felt as though this was the only place, the only position he wanted to be in, forever. He felt every drop of fluid streaming into her. He felt as though he were making her his. She belonged to him and he would cherish her.

She couldn't move. Her legs were straight out stiff from exertion. She was balanced on his hips without the strength to push her body up off his cock. She could feel it receding knowing she would have to wait for it before sliding off him. Waiting upon his cock after what it had done to her was a pleasure. 

It felt like losing a friend, a vital life long friend to be missed with great affection. She would have to cherish it with loving care. 

James took a hold of her arms and guided her onto his chest wrapping both arms around her tight trying to fold her into him needing to engulf her. She nestled her face into his chest as though she belonged there and would never leave. They fell asleep. 

***

A different kind of banging woke her up. At first disorientated Nora felt the madness of last night hit her like one of the hammer blows vibrating the lift. "Shit! Wake up," she whispered, as loudly as she dared. She shook the snoring young man hard. 


Lift



I've seen you walking and I like what I see. I have been following you for the last ten minutes mentally undressing you and imagining our bodies together. 

You are wearing a light blue blouse and a flowing black skirt that catches the breeze every so often and gives me tantalising glimpses of your bare skin. You notice me and begin to walk a bit faster, I wonder if you know what I am thinking as I increase my pace to match yours. 

There is a hotel on your side of the street and it looks like that's where you are heading, I cross the road so I am now directly behind you. You glance over your shoulder but you haven't seen me cross the street so you begin to slow your pace again. As you reach the entrance of the Hotel you notice me and I can see you catch your breath as you dart across the deserted lobby heading for the safety of the lift and your room. 

The lift is there and you hurry in quickly pressing the button for your floor. As the doors begin to close my hand manages to keep them open and you gasp as I enter the lift. I smile and turn to select a floor pressing the very top button, you feel your heart racing but know you will soon be safely in your room. 

I let the lift start before reaching out and pressing the emergency stop button, a bell sounds but no one comes on the intercom to investigate. You start to say something but I don't hear and you don't finish what you were saying as I turn and push you against the rear of the lift, my mouth clasps against yours cutting off your words. I kiss you hard as you try and push me away but I hold your wrists as my tongue finds your mouth and I feel you tense but then respond. 

I glance down and can see your nipples have hardened making prominent bumps in your blouse, my hand grips where it fastens and I pull it open, the poppers offering little resistance. You are wearing a black bra with an opaque cup so I can perfectly see your breasts and your hard nipples give away your desire. 

I pull the cup down exposing your breast and catching your nipple with the backs of my fingers , I kiss your neck and you gasp as I move down your chest sliding my tongue against your hardened nipple. As my tongue rotates I can feel your nipple tighten further and I bring it into my mouth taking it between my teeth and biting firmly but not too hard as I drag my teeth down your nipple before releasing it and kissing your mouth hard once more. 

As our tongues fight against each other I slide my hand under your skirt between your legs feeling for your heat and readiness. I can feel that your knickers have become damp with your wetness and I slide my fingers under them feeling for your pussy. As we kiss I slide 2 fingers into your wet hole and you gasp once more. 

I turn your body around to face the wall of the lift and place your hands palms flat against it, sensing my intention you bend forward raising your arse as I unbutton and unzip my trousers letting them fall to the floor. I grip the hard shaft of my cock and can't believe how hot it has become, I pull your knickers to one slide and push my tip into your welcoming pussy.

When I feel you take me I push forward quickly filling your pussy with my entire length in one swift thrust. You moan as I grip your hips and begin to fuck you in short hard thrusts, you are matching my every thrust pushing back hard ensuring that you take every inch of me inside of you. I can feel how wet you are as your juices slicken the hair at the base of my hard cock. 

I lean forward and you look over your shoulder allowing for a hard kiss. I whisper asking if you are ready and you gasp your affirmation as you take short breaths. I grip your hips again and begin a steady relentless rhythm sliding my hard cock deep into your welcoming pussy. I can feel you begin to twitch and I lift your skirt higher exposing your arse. As I drive my cock hard into you I bring my hand down firmly onto your pale cheek and you scream. I ask again if you are ready and you manage to get something half intelligible out before my hand connects once more in a harder impact than before. Before I can spank you for a third time I feel your pussy constrict, tightening around my hard cock as you knees buckle slightly. I increase the speed of my thrusts and as you continue to twitch I feel my orgasm rise and the first jet of cum mixes with your wetness. I pull out letting my cum drip onto the floor as you turn and we kiss each other deeply. I recover my trousers and after doing them back up my fingers move once more to your pussy.

As my kiss and my fingers tease your swollen clit I reach for the lift button once more...



Lift Compulsion: Amelia's 1st Ride



I chose to put this in the 'Mind Control' category rather than the 'sci fi' one mainly because of the title: 'Compulsion' indicates some sort of control, yes? 

*****

Amelia Lake was feeling put upon. She had taken an evening cleaning job at one of the office blocks to help pay her way through college. As the 'newbie' and as an educated girl, she was the butt of the jokes, but she'd expected that. She'd expected to be given the tasks no one else wanted. But this was just silly. She'd been sent to the basement for some cleaning supplies; again she expected that; but had been told not to come back up in the same lift she'd gone down in. It didn't work properly coming up from the basement she was told.

'I have to stand up for myself,' She thought, 'so I'm not using the other lift at the wrong end of the basement.' She pressed the call button. The lift arrived smoothly, the doors opened and she stepped in.

'I knew they were pulling my leg' Amelia thought smugly as she stepped in and pressed the fifth floor button to return to the cleaning crew. The doors swooshed shut. And then things began to go wrong for Amelia Lake.

***

To Amelia's surprise the lift appeared to stop at the lobby level. Supposing that someone had pressed he call button she waited for them to enter as the doors slid open. When no one did she peered out and was shocked to see not the entrance lobby but what looked like a bedroom. She was about to step out to investigate but had an idea. She placed her mop bucket between the doors to stop them closing behind her, trapping her wherever this was. Only then did she cautiously inched her way into the bedroom, half expecting to be challenged. It seemed to be a perfectly ordinary room, even if the air felt a bit odd and strangely stimulating. 

She looked around, and to the left of the lift door was a bed containing a naked young man with a fully erect cock. He was asleep. Amelia tried to look away but for some reason couldn't. Her heart rate increased and she felt compelled by some outer force to move closer to the nude form.

'What's happening?' she tried to say as her hand reached out to caress the rigid member. 'I wouldn't do this even if I was asked.' She thought as her hand moved up and down the cock before grasping the shaft and gently exposing a knob end now glistening with pre-cum. To her horror she found her head moving down and her mouth engulfing the shiny head, tasting the saltiness of the liquid on it. Her head began to bob up and down, her tongue teasing the shaft against her will. She tried to resist but found the compulsion to carry on too much. Whatever force was controlling her actions was too strong, so she gave up resisting it. Amelia found herself taking the dick deeper and deeper into her mouth with each movement down until the knob end was butting against the back of her throat. The only time she had attempted a deep throat before had caused her to gag wretchedly. Whether the compulsive force wasn't letting her this time she didn't know. Somewhat perversely from her point of view she hoped it was her. Even more perversely she was starting to enjoy the feeling of deep throating this anonymous cock. Now it was beginning to twitch and then suddenly her mouth and throat were filled with cum. She gulped it down, again unsure if it was her or the compulsion, but appreciating the salty tanginess properly for the first time. After a final feeble twitch the dick was spent, the balls completely drained of spunk. 

Amelia was amazed.

'I didn't know I could do that' She thought, licking the last of the jizz from the deflated prick. The compulsion left her as she sat back and ran her tongue around her lips. She scuttled back to the lift, knocking the bucket in ahead of her. The doors closed and the lift continued upwards. Amelia leant back against the wall thankfully, thinking the strange interlude was over. Until the lift stopped at the next floor.

***

The lift doors pulled back and Amelia fearfully peaked out. This time the room beyond was an office, but not one from this block. Suspecting she was expected to do something here but not knowing what, Amelia sighed and strode out into the office. There was a man working at his desk. He glanced up when he heard her and smiled gratefully when he saw her. Amelia felt the compulsion flow into her again and found herself moving around to the man's side of the desk, halting by his side. He turned his seat to face her, still smiling but more hungrily now. She slipped her overall off, the compulsion moving her hands, leaving her in her Jeans and T-shirt. The guy reached around and cupped her buttocks, kneading the cheeks through the tight denim.

Amelia found that she was becoming aroused by his caresses, also knowing that this time it wasn't from the outside power. Her hands moved by themselves again, unsnapping her Jeans. The man pushed his hands down the back of her now-open denims, under her panties and once more fondled her ass. Amelia tried to stifle a moan of pleasure but the force wasn't having that. 

The man grinned at the noise and then eased her Jeans and knickers down to her knees, exposing her carefully trimmed bush to his gaze. Amelia blushed inwardly at the thought of an unknown man seeing her like this. The guy stood and went behind her, bending her over the desk.

'Not my bum!' Amelia thought as she felt him fingering her tightest hole. 'I've never been buggered before. I wonder if I'll like it?' 

With that thought Amelia realised that she wasn't fighting the compulsive force anymore; instead she was letting it guide her. Behind her, the guy was now working two fingers in and out of her virgin ass hole, gently stretching it out and coincidentally stimulating her more than a little. She groaned again. The fingers disappeared momentarily and were then reinserted covered with a cold, slick gel of some sort; obviously to ease his penetration, but the feeling was starting to excite Amelia. The guy worked his fingers around her butt for a while and then they were gone. 

Amelia looked over her shoulder in anticipation and saw the man rubbing some more of the gel on his cock. She tensed for a moment, remembering being told that anal sex could be painful at first.

'Well, so was losing my virginity,' she thought, 'and I enjoy being screwed still.' She relaxed just as the guy rested the head of his prick against her greased butt hole. He parted her cheeks and pushed gently in. 

Amelia tried to scream, it felt like a tree trunk was being stuck up her bottom, but found that she couldn't. The guy stopped part way in, maybe for her, maybe for himself. For whatever reason it gave Amelia the time to get used to the anal intrusion. He began to push again, sinking so far up her back passage that she could feel his body against her buttocks. She found that she was rather liking this and let out a long, unsuppressed moan of utter enjoyment. Now that she was getting used to the feeling of a cock up her arse Amelia realised that she was going to love being butt-fucked as much as she loved normal sex.

By now the guy was pumping in and out of her ass in a slow, easy rhythm, eliciting a tiny grunt from Amelia at the deepest point of each stroke. She was now pushing back against the thrusts without any outside compulsion.

'Omigod, I'm being used like a slut and I like it.' She thought as the man began to pump faster, his body slapping against her naked butt. She heard him give a groan and felt him stiffen and then her bowels were filling with his cum. His cock stopped twitching and he slid out of her, leaving her feeling empty and unfulfilled. She hadn't cum yet. He zipped himself back up and resumed his seat, going back to work. Amelia was confused for a moment and then found she was pulling her Jeans back up. She picked up her overall and went back to the lift. She noticed it had waited for her despite her failure to place the bucket in the way again.

'So what's waiting on the next floor?' She wondered as the doors swished closed.

***

As Amelia was now expecting, the lift stopped once more at the next floor. This time she walked out unbidden after dropping her overall on the mop bucket. She stopped, unsure what it was that she was seeing. Mostly it looked like the shop floor of a department store, but around the edges and where there was little light there seemed to be another darker place. Curiosity made her take a couple of more steps into the large space. As she did, a sort of clerk-looking guy raised his head from the counter till he was bending over. A not very pleasant looking smirk came to his face. The shop floor flickered and vanished, the second darker room solidifying into some sort of dungeon.

'Oh dear,' thought Amelia, 'I'm not sure I'm going to enjoy this.' Then she shrugged. 'You've enjoyed yourself so far, so wait and see.' She told herself. 

Another glance at the hungry look the guy was giving her told Amelia that he wanted her naked, so she stripped off her clothes and tossed them back into the lift. She held out her arms, wrists together in submission. The man leered and stepped towards her. He took her by one wrist and towed her to an X-shaped frame on the wall. Obediently Amelia followed him, allowed herself to be backed up to the cross and then raised her arms so that he could tie her wrists to it. He tied her ankles next, holding her spread-eagled to the cross, before adding another rope around her waist. Finally her pushed a ring gag behind her teeth and pulled it tight. The guy stood back to admire his handiwork. Amelia saw the bulge in his trousers and the look in his eyes again.

'I hope this isn't going to hurt too much.' She thought. 

The guy stepped up and slapped her across the tits; two stinging blows to each that left red marks on her flesh. Amelia gasped with the sudden shock of the blows, tears springing to her eyes. This seemed to excite the man. He turned away to a small table and then turned back with a clothes peg in either hand, his eyes glittering with lust. He clipped one peg to each now erect nipple, flicking at them with his fingers after he had done so. Amelia groaned at the points of pain in her tender teats. The guy smirked at her discomfort and then, without warning, slapped her pussy three times before going back to the table. Amelia had a horrible suspicion about what was coming next. He returned with another four pegs and, stooping in front of her, clipped two to each of the lips of her pussy. Amelia tried to wriggle about and shake them free but found she didn't have enough movement.

'I'm really not enjoying this.' She thought. 'Maybe if he fucked me it wouldn't be so bad.' She shook her head; she was supposed to be collecting cleaning supplies from the basement, not seeking sexual gratification.

'That's the compulsion talking.' She thought. There was a buzzing sound and Amelia looked up. The guy was approaching her with a vibrator. She perked up a bit at the sight of that, but was disappointed when he began to tease her tits with it. He ran the toy around her pegged nipples and up her neck before pushing the thing through the ring gag into her mouth. After a moment teasing her tongue, her trailed the saliva-covered device down again. Between her tits, down to her belly button, which he teased for a while and then further down across her heaving stomach towards her pegged pussy. Amelia thought she was going to explode in anticipation when he took the vibrator away and swore. She looked down and saw a wet patch spreading across his crotch. He hadn't been able to contain himself and he'd cum. 

The guy, the dungeon and her restraints vanished, leaving Amelia standing naked in the shop. With a disappointed sigh she went back to the lift.

***

The doors opened as the lift reached the next floor. Amelia was hoping that she'd get to cum this time; she had been close on the last two stops but still hadn't reached an orgasm of her own yet. She stepped out into what looked like a dining room turned into a study, with lots of books and paperwork in various piles around the periphery. There was a bored-looking not quite middle-aged woman with her hair in a tight bun sat at the table-cum-desk. It appeared that she was marking homework.

'So, a teacher of some sort.' Amelia thought. She was a bit confused at the moment; was this woman the object of the scenario? Or was there a man somewhere in the room? A quick survey revealed no one else. 

The teacher closed the last book and sighed before looking up and seeing the naked Amelia. She gave the now usual smile and stood, pushing the chair back and walking over to the waiting Amelia, who was hoping that the compulsion would help her here; she had never given more than a fleeting thought to making love to another woman. Looking back over her recent experiences Amelia had worked out that each scene ended when the other person climaxed, so it seemed that she was going to have to be the seducer here and she didn't have a clue how. The compulsion seemed to sense her predicament and she felt it flow into her, moving her towards the older woman who had shaken loose her hair. The two of them kissed softly, another new experience for Amelia, kissing another female. It was a nice kiss, totally unlike any she'd had before, but it felt slightly odd, a bit wrong. Maybe she could get used to it though. Amelia's hands moved up to the teachers bosom and began caressing her breasts through her clothes. Amelia had played with her own tits often enough, but fondling another woman's brought a whole new raft of sensations. Again, it was pleasurable, but equally slightly odd. Now her hands slid around and down the teachers back to her bottom and began to play with the buttocks in the same way that the anal guy earlier had with her. 

The woman stepped back and stripped off her clothing until she was as nude as Amelia, who hadn't seen another woman naked before; girls in the school showers, yes; but a woman, no. She stared at the naked form of the teacher, taking in the breasts that were a little larger than her own, and the unexpectedly shaven pussy that she would never have guessed a teacher to have. Amelia knelt and carefully leant forward to plant a kiss on these other lips. Suddenly she realised she did know what to do; she just hadn't done it herself, it had always been someone doing it to her. Amelia put her hands on the teacher's hips and pulled the groin to her face. She poked out her tongue and began to lick at the folds of flesh of the teacher's pussy. The older woman gave a gasp and then a groan of pleasure as Amelia found her clitoris and began to tease it with tongue and teeth.

Amelia felt the compulsion rise briefly to help her guide the teacher to lie on her back.

'She really wants to be fucked.' Amelia thought, looked down at the flushed and expectant face of the other woman. 'How am I going to achieve that? I don't have a dildo or a vibrator. Or my own prick.' 

She glanced down between her legs to check. 'Nope.' 

Then she remembered how she used to finger herself and looked at her hand. The teacher looked at it too and gave an imperceptible nod.

'Oh my!' Amelia realised. 'She wants me to fist her.' Carefully at first, unsure of exactly what to do, she began to work her fingers in and out of the shaven cunt, trusting the compulsion to aid her if required. After a short while Amelia found that using three fingers the woman's pussy had almost juiced up enough for her to slip her whole hand in.

'Just a little more sweetie.' Amelia thought, bending her head to toy with the teacher's clit again. Her fist slipped partway in, the teacher giving out a satisfied grunt. She teased the clit a bit more and it went in all the way. Amelia flexed her fingers slightly, eliciting more sounds of pleasure from the older woman, and then slowly and carefully beginning to pump her fist in and out. She watched in fascination at the way the pussy accommodated her hand. The teacher began to thrash about as Amelia took her to heights of ecstasy. All at once the woman came, her body jerking in orgasm. Amelia thought that the teacher's cunt muscles were going to snap her hand off at the wrist. The teacher subsided and Amelia got her hand back. Now it was time to move on. 

Back in the lift Amelia started to wonder. She wondered if the teacher was gay or merely curious; she wondered if she herself might try a little lesbian loving; but mainly she wondered what was waiting on the next floor.

***

The doors opened to reveal a room bare but for a bed and mattress, and eight naked men standing around it expectantly. 

Amelia's first thought was; 'At least I should get to cum. This is going to be a gangbang.' Her second thought was; 'I wonder which one is the trigger? Perhaps I have to get them all off.' 

With no fear now she stepped forward and was greeted by eight of the now customary smiles. She walked over to the bed and knelt beside it. She knew it wasn't the compulsion moving her now; it was her own horniness built up by her experiences over the previous stops. Two of the guys came and stood in front of her, their cocks at mouth level. Without a second thought Amelia took one of them between her lips and the other in her hand. She began to work them both gently, teasing the one with her tongue before taking it into her throat, and jacking the other with her fingers.

Around her the other six watched intently, keeping themselves ready by playing with their dicks. The cock in her mouth twitched and jerked and splashed cum over her tongue. The guy moved away and Amelia transferred the dick in her hand to her mouth. Two more men stepped forward and placed their pricks into the palms of her hands. For a moment she struggled to find a rhythm, but soon sorted it out. She continued to switch cocks around in her mouth until she had six of them in her mouth.

The last pair wanted to try something different though; they both wanted to be in her mouth at the same time. It was a tight fit, but they both managed to get their knob-ends past her lips and teeth, but all Amelia could do was tease them with her tongue, which seemed to satisfy them.

Having ministered to all eight of them orally, Amelia sat back on her heels; her knees beginning to hurt. One of the men, the one who had cum, patted the mattress and grinned. Gratefully Amelia hopped up onto it. The men indicated that they would like her on all fours.

'Not much respite for my knees then.' Amelia thought, obliging them. One guy knelt behind her and another stood waving his dick under her nose.

'A spit roast. Nice.' Amelia thought. 'And I'm getting a dick in my pussy at last too.' The man behind eased his way into her now sodden cunt. Amelia gave a sigh of pleasure that was cut short by the cock in front of her entering her mouth once again. The two men began to alternate strokes, one in, one out. The guy behind her was slamming against the back of her legs, driving deep into her pussy. The man in front of her was thrusting into her throat. Amelia rocked back and forth between the two cocks, making appreciative noises as best she could. The dick in her pussy twitched and then flooded her love box with spunk. He moved away and was replaced by someone else. 

The new guy didn't go for her cunt though. Instead her eased her buttocks apart and plunged into her ass, still a little slick from her first anal experience a few floors ago. Another of those waiting saw what was happening and slipped underneath her, guiding her hips down to sink his prick into her still vacant pussy.

'Three at once now.' Amelia thought. 'And it feels great! What a slut I am.' She felt wonderfully stuffed, the cocks in her ass and cunt seeming to rub against each other; the one in her throat going so deep it was like it wanted to join them. It spurted, firing spunk straight down into her stomach and then onto her face. The guy wiped his dick in her hair and then was gone, replaced by a different man. Not long after that Amelia felt her ass being pumped full of hot jizz and then that guy was gone. 




Lift Compulsion: Amelia's 1st Ride



His replacement didn't want to butt-fuck her; he wanted pussy and he went for it. Amelia sensed the second cock forcing it's way into her cunt and gave a grunt of surprise.

'Good grief! I didn't think that was possible.' She thought. 'It's got to be stretching my poor little box.' But it wasn't an unpleasant sensation, the two dicks moving separately, rubbing over each other. It was even more pleasant when they came almost simultaneously, filling her cunt to overflowing with two more loads of spunk.

As the last two guys replaced them, one in her butt, the other in her cunt, Amelia saw that once the guys had cum and moved away, they disappeared. The man face-fucking her had been going for quite a while now and was close to cumming. He pulled back and blew his entire load into her face and hair. She wiped the jizz from her eyes; her two lower holes still being pounded, and saw that this one hadn't gone away. She also realised she herself still hadn't climaxed, despite the pounding and the sensory overload she was receiving, probably the compulsion again, but she knew she needed release. The man up her butt withdrew and shot his wad up her back and over her bum cheeks and then vanished, leaving her riding the guy underneath. When he came as well, pumping her pussy yet fuller, and then faded away. Amelia collapsed, more tired than she realised, the oddly remaining man looking down at her.

'What do I have to do for him?' She thought, still desperate for her own climax. 

The guy smiled down benevolently and gently rolled her over onto her back before lying beside her. Amelia was confused; this wasn't what she was expecting. The man bent his head and softly kissed her tits and licked at her nipples tantalisingly. He tracked his tongue down to her navel and teased her belly button. Amelia moaned. He moved to place himself between her legs and then oh so carefully slipped his cock into her sodden pussy. Amelia came hard just from this simple penetration; her body spasming while the dick pumped her slowly. After no more than ten strokes a second climax overtook Amelia while the guy just kept to his steady pace. A third and then a fourth orgasm hit her hard as well, leaving Amelia feeling like a damp rag and as weak as a kitten. Finally the guy came himself, pulling out and hosing her belly and breasts with his spunk. Amelia juddered to a fifth climax and the man vanished, leaving her alone.

'The lift! I have to get to the lift.' Amelia thought tiredly. She stood unsteadily and staggered to the waiting elevator. She fell in and the doors hissed shut behind her.

'What's left on the last floor?' She thought and then blissfully passed out. 

***

Amelia Lake awoke to find one of her co-workers kneeling beside her; a girl about her own age called Jane.

"Are you all right Amy?" She asked solicitously.

"Actually I've never felt more satisfied." Amelia smiled.

"Good." Jane smiled back. "Now get dressed before someone else finds you." She chided.

"You don't seem surprised to find me naked." Amelia said, standing and hastily pulling on her clothes.

"I'm not. I guessed you'd want to use the lift after being told it doesn't work." Jane grinned.

"But it isn't broken."

"It is to most people; but you're the type."

"The type?"

"Young enough, inquisitive, stubborn." Jane smirked, knowing that she was right.

"You've travelled in it too, haven't you?" Amelia accused.

"More than once." Jane laughed. "What did you get?" She asked conversationally.

"Get? Oh! A sleepy blowjob; an office anal; a premature shop guy into BDSM; a lesbian fisting; and an eight-man gangbang." Amelia listed her adventures.

"Fun?"

"Not fond of the bondage guy, but the rest was good."

"That guy is hopeless." Jane smirked. "He always cums before he gets anywhere."

"He's a real person?" Amelia was surprised.

"We all think so. We reckon they're dreams and daydreams being played out."

"We?" Amelia asked.

"The girls who call ourselves 'The Dream Whores'."

"No guys?"

"The right type doesn't want to work here." Jane shrugged.

"Does the lift stop at every floor?" Amelia asked.

"From the bottom? Yes, all the way up." Jane grinned "Ten stops; a great trip."

"You've done it?" Amelia gasped in astonishment.

"Just the once. Really tiring, but well worth it." Jane told her. "You thinking of trying it?"

"Well, I was thinking I might volunteer to work late one night." Amelia grinned with a lustful gleam in her eyes.



Lift Lust



My office is on the fifth floor of one of those pale impersonal behemoths that now dominate the London skyline. It's a comfortable, functional room that has about as much soul as a three-day old corpse. So I arrive late, leave early and enjoy a long lunch. 

So there I was on a nondescript, overcast, Wednesday morning. Stood watching the clock and waiting for the lift. It's 9.45am and I'm already looking forward to lunch. The lift and a woman arrive simultaneously. I glance at her face and stand aside for her to get in first. She's not pretty. She's not even plain. She's ugly. 

I press five and move into the corner. I don't ask her what floor. I can't bring myself to speak to her. I know it's chauvinistic, horrible and unfair, but I can't stand ugly women. If you hate me for it, at least give me marks for honesty and read on.

Somewhere between three and four, the lift stops with an unpleasant grinding judder. She lets out a scream and I say "Bloody Hell!" We look at each other in sympathetic panic. 

"That didn't sound very healthy," I say, trying to sound nonchalant. 

"My God. I hope it doesn't just plummet to the bottom," she says in genuine terror, clutching a large manila envelope.

If her face were any less repulsive, I would rush across and take her in my arms. Just to comfort her, you understand. Instead, I reach across and press the red button. It makes a terrible racket, but I keep my finger on it until I'm satisfied that the whole building has heard it. Five minutes of distant noisy confusion follows during which we exchange horror stories of friends of friends who were stuck in lifts for hours, days, weeks. 

At last a voice shouts up from somewhere below. It has the ring of authority about it. "Hey, you up there. We've found the problem. It needs an engineer. I'm afraid you're going to be up there for some time. But there's no danger. You've got nothing to worry about. Are you alright?"

Nothing to worry about? He hasn't seen my companion. She will probably put a curse on me and turn me into a frog. 

"We're all right," I reassure him. 

"Do you want anyone contacting?"

I've always been lucky. If I missed a plane, it would probably crash. As I survey the thick glasses, the hawkish nose, the receding chin, I can't believe this twist of fortune. I bet there's been a slip-up at the top. I should have Cinderella and I've ended up with one of the sisters. 

"Room 507," I shout. "Just tell Miss Peters that Mr Coombes will be in as soon as we're rescued." 

Miss Peters. Ah, just the thought of her set me cursing my luck. Why couldn't I have been stuck in the lift with her? I'd been unsuccessfully trying to get into her knickers for months. This situation would have been perfect. As I dwelt on the thought, my expression must have been interpreted as friendly. 

"Can you ask him to tell Mr Smith on floor seven that Miss Lyon is in here as well?"

I notice for the first time that the voice is pure velvet. It doesn't belong to the face at all. 

"And tell Mr Smith on floor seven that Miss Lyon is stuck here as well."

"Wilco. And don't worry. There's no danger. Just behave yourselves."

No danger of me not behaving myself. Poor Mr Smith. Fancy having to look at that face all day. Still, at least he'll be concentrating on his client's problems. I'll remember to go to him if I ever have a run-in with the law.

She drops the envelope she's been clutching and slides her back down the corner of the lift until she's sat on it.

"Might as well get comfy," she says with a smile. "We might be here for some time." 

I'm speechless. Speechless and mesmerised. It's the most erotic thing I've ever seen. To take the strain of the spectacular descent, she places her feet about eighteen inches apart and leans back into the corner. She keeps her knees firmly together, but once she is beyond half way down, the effect is breathtaking.

Gradually the cheeks of her bottom come into view. Prettily edged in white lace and then, framed by her diverging calves, her thighs and the bulging strip of nylon which separates the two loops of lace edging. By the time the rounded cheeks flatten against the manila envelope I'm dry in the throat and wobbly in the knees.

"I should get comfy yourself," she says.

I can't take my eyes of that exquisite sight, but I manage a "Yes, you're right", as I struggle to sit on my briefcase in the opposite corner. The lower position slightly improves my view and I begin to register just how good those legs are. And she's wearing stockings too.

I've always been a leg man. But like most blokes who profess a preference for some part of the female body, I look at the face first. If I can't respond to that, I don't go any further. The funny thing is that because she is ugly, I don't feel embarrassed about blatantly ogling her exposed charms. I don't even wonder why, in view of my obvious fascination, she isn't attempting to make her position less revealing. 

"You still don't look very comfy," she says. And when at last I look up, I realise that she is referring to an obvious and agonising bulge in my trousers. 

She giggles as I try to ease my discomfort. "It seems a pity to waste an erection like that, don't you think? And putting it out of its misery would help us pass the time, wouldn't it?"

I manage a disbelieving nod, my eyes still fixed on the aphrodisian feast. She picks herself up as gracefully as her position will allow, deliberately exciting me beyond endurance in the process. Standing boldly before me she slowly raises her skirt, drawing me eyes up her slender legs, over the dark tops of her tan stockings to follow the taught suspenders until they vanish beneath the white lace and frivolous nylon of her pants. 

I'm still crouched on the floor in compressed genital agony but unable to stir myself because of the entrancing effect of the display. As I stick the vision into my mind for future reference, she slips her thumbs into the top of her knickers and pushes them down her legs until gravity takes over the job. They float on and delicately settle around her ankles. 

She bends neatly at the knees and picks them up, struggling for a moment to release a leg from the end of a high heel. When it is free, she stands again, turns coolly away from me and bends from the waist with her head resting on her arms along the handrail. As if to provoke me into action, she wriggles her neat white arse like a bitch on heat.

The position is shockingly magnificent. Those long lithe legs are invitingly spread with a springy bend at each knee and those two delicious cheeks, framing a shaded promise of delight, are quivering in anticipation. Her face is buried in the crook of her elbow as though she is eager not to offend at her lack of beauty.

The face. I'd forgotten about the face. Since all else has been revealed, its effect has vanished. I almost feel ashamed of my earlier thoughts. I stand slowly, never taking my eyes from the offering before me. With one hand I caress the white globes of her cheeks; with the other I release my genital agony. 

When I slip my hand between her thighs I find a dripping welcome. It takes but a dip of the knees to place my weapon in the right spot and press forward and slide in right to the hilt. It's as beautiful an entry as I've ever experienced and her moan of appreciation is music to my ears. I rest there for a moment, contemplating the scene both visually and intellectually. As I study my black pubic hair pressed against the contrasted creamy cheeks I muse on the fact that I have never fucked in this position before. I marvel at its versatility, its unexpected potential. 

As I slowly withdraw I marvel at the freedom of vision. I can watch the lengthening penis and delight in the movement of her moist labia as they tremble, seemingly loath to part with their visitor. The satisfied sigh from her real mouth seems to be speaking for the busy mouth I am studying.

But the freedom of this position is not only visual. Here I stand with both hands free to explore and enjoy this beautiful and sexy body which has been offered to me so unexpectedly. 

Arranging the skirt neatly around her waist, I knead the soft cheeks as I withdraw a second time. I lean back a little and guide my tool in a delicate exploration of the complex folds of her sex. Her whimpers are erotic encouragement. The third entry is clearly a relief to us both as our sighing breaths tangle in the now balmy air of our temporary prison.

Pressing forward against that fleshy cushion, I exercise this unexpected freedom further, reaching out to take a swinging breast in each hand. There is no bra beneath the nylon blouse and the nipples harden in my palms as they slide over the material. The weight and texture evoke a delicious sensation that reaches my very root. I feel her vagina squeezing me in a rhythm that matches the movement of my hands. This woman really is a witch and I am under her spell.

I slip my hands beneath the blouse and saviour the flesh of those relaxed breasts. She squeaks and squirms as I gently tweak the rough nipples. At the same time I begin a soft rocking against her buttocks. But her internal milking joins the rhythm and the whole sensation is too much. I can feel myself on the verge of coming and want the intensity of the pleasure to last for much longer. 

An extended backwards rock allows a third escape, movingly accompanied by touching moans of complaint until I guide myself to furrow the length of her vulva. This seems to satisfy both our needs. Pleasurable though it is for me, it keeps things just below the boil. And for her, the irregular surface of a penis shuttling her sensitive cleft, by the evidence of her groaning and wriggling, is a satisfying substitute for insertion.

As my own passion subsides a little, away from the teasing of her skilful passage, I am able to concentrate on her flowing pleasure. With the left hand continuing to knead her breasts, I press my prick deep into her furrow with my right so that the rim of my knob catches her clitoris at every stroke. I hardly feel the contact myself, but it clearly does something special for her. The squirming becomes more and more frantic and she makes increasingly exciting animal noises...deep grunts and moans. 

One violent wiggle and cry sees my tool out in the open and, recognising the urgency at hand, I plunge eagerly into the flowing chasm of her cunt. 

There are two heady gasps of relief and immediate union of movement, my hands holding firm her thighs to control the pace. I hardly have time to register the thrill of nylon-clad legs before I feel myself coming. It begins low down in a place that does not exist, but rising rapidly to a spot just about a yard from the end of my penis.

Strokes are inevitably quickened. Her cries begin and she comes just before me in a noisy eruption that does nothing to lessen the intensity of my own shattering explosion. I leave my final thrust buried deep and as the lift stops spinning I realise that our upright posture is a denial of mechanical principles. Her legs are limp. She is suspended on my ever-limpening tool, breathing heavily.

I relax but remain in her, spreading my legs a little to ease the strain and then, massaging her trembling limbs, I watch my withdrawal with erotic fascination. 

I help her upright, take her in my arms and, as gravity assists her skirt to assume its proper role, I kiss her for the first time. It is a brief kiss after which I look deeply into her face. Beneath those spectacles are two dark sensitive eyes. The nose I judged hawkish is full of character and strength. Her lack of jaw serves only to accentuate a very sensuous mouth which I kiss again with very real relish.

As our tongues entwine, I feel a quite unique response within me. This woman really is something special. And but for a freak circumstance I would never have given her a second glance. And what's more, my good luck has held firm. I did have Cinderella after all. How could have I mistaken her for one of the sisters?

She pushes me away. Not unkindly, but with gentle firmness. "The lift," she says. "The lift is coming." 

She steps awkwardly into her pants which she still has in her hand. Once more there is that glorious leg display produced without a trace of self-consciousness. I indulge myself in mental anticipation of the display she'll give me in my flat. I could watch those limbs being disported for hours. She quickly adjusts her skirt and blouse, shakes her hair which obediently jumps into place and then, with loving concern, straightens my tie and jacket. Finally she bends down and picks up her manila envelope, reminding me to reach for my own briefcase which lay forgotten in the corner. 

"I shall see you for lunch, Miss Lyon."

"I'm afraid not, Mr Coombes."

"Dinner then?"

She smiles, but shakes her head.

"That was a very memorable half hour and I shall treasure it. But one swallow does not make a summer. One day you would look at me again like you did when I first arrived at the lift. I couldn't bear that. I enjoyed showing you that women with unattractive faces could be attractive in other ways. I wouldn't enjoy you showing me that handsome men as well as being very skilful lovers can also be very fickle. It is better to leave it like this."

My reply is cut short by the lift doors opening. "Are you two alright?"

"Fine," she says, as she ushers me out. "Bye, Mr Coombes. Very nice getting to know you." She presses the button and the doors close. She is gone.

I don't think I shall ever be the same man again...



Lift on a Wave



Off the village of Tiputa, Rangiroa Atoll, French Polynesia

Saturday Morning

The woman sat in the sailboat's cockpit, her legs stretched out in the sun, her eyes fixed on the thatched-roof cottages that rimmed the palm-lined shore less than a hundred yards away. The sun had been up for less than three hours but already the morning air was thick and warm, and despite the steady trade-wind blowing through her hair she was already uncomfortably warm. She swatted absently at an unseen bug, swiped at a couple beads of sweat that ran down her neck and into her t-shirt. A boat loaded with scuba divers roared by on its way to the pass that led from the lagoon out to sea. She watched them for a moment, envied their mobility, envied the fact that in a few days all those smiling faces would load back onto the ATR airliner on which they'd so recently come and hop back to Papeete in a half hour or so, and then on to places like Paris or New York. She, on the other hand, would be sailing south with her husband to Papeete, and it would take days.

She was tired, tired of living her husband's dream, tired of living in a forty foot sailboat, tired of living in other people's idea of paradise. She thought, sitting in the boat's shaded cockpit, about what her idea of paradise might be now, now -- after a year and a half at sea. First and foremost, Paradise would be air-conditioned and Paradise would not rock and roll with each passing wavelet. When she heard thunder and saw lightning she would not fear for her life and if the wind stopped blowing she'd not become consumed with visions of dying of thirst, her bloated tongue black and hard, her mouth so dry she couldn't swallow. Every time she walked across a room she'd not have to worry about being flung sideways into hard furniture, and if she never had to look at a GPS readout again that would be too soon. And if someone, anyone ever asked her to start a dead-reckoning plot again... well, she'd be more than happy to acquaint the poor fool with dead, alright.

But still, there were times...

Like last night. David had miraculously produced a bottle of ice-cold Riesling to go with the lobsters fishermen had plucked from the lagoon earlier that day. He'd rubbed chilled aloe on her sun-burned shoulders and the tops of her ears, then he'd kissed her so gently on the neck that chills had run up and down her spine -- and he'd been so gentle and caring with his lovemaking that night. And she'd felt once again how the dome of the night sky out here millions of miles away from 'civilization' could be so staggeringly overwhelming. The Milky Way looked like thick white steam rising against a backdrop of infinite black velvet, and lying in the cockpit awash in orgasmic afterglow she'd never felt so connected to ebb and flow of life, indeed, to the very universe above. 

No, she'd never felt more alive in her life. The whole thing was... a paradox.

If she tried to catalogue all she and David seen and done over the past eighteen months she knew she'd need hundreds, if not thousands of pages to document it all: Seattle to San Francisco, fog and logs, seeing a Great White in the Farallons take a seal pup; south to Newport Beach, where they'd spent a few weeks provisioning and making minor repairs -- and that quick trip to Disneyland; then south again to San Diego and Ensenada and Cabo San Lucas -- which had seemed more like LA than the sleepy Mexican village she'd been looking forward to. Then their first real ordeal: a month at sea, twenty seven hundred miles from Cabo to the Marquesas, the doldrums, the brief though indescribably violent line storms that pushed through with little, or at night, no warning.

But the boat always did just fine, and so had David -- in fact, he seemed to thrive more with each passing adventure. Only as the third week wore on had she begun to feel completely out of place, so stripped bare of all she'd once held so dearly. Then she'd begun to feel trapped. Trapped, like she was caught in someone else's dream, like she was just a minor, peripheral element in a vast unfolding drama that, frankly, she didn't care about in the least -- because, after all, this wasn't her drama. As the boat drifted through the doldrums she found herself looking at David and wishing she'd never met him, never married him, never borne him his child. Wishing he was dead and gone and somehow someone or something would miraculously appear in the very next instant and take her away from this never-ending nightmare of rolling seas. She needed, she told herself, to change course. 

Thereafter she'd grown skittish and cross, she stopped eating and began avoiding David, even as the doldrums fell away and the wind filled-in, even as they began cracking off hundred-seventy mile days. Then one day David caught a tuna and seared steaks for dinner, a couple of land birds flew over as the sun set that evening and voila! the next morning -- right where David said they would be -- the jagged spires of Nuku Hiva lined the horizon and she'd simply broken down. She'd cried for hours and David had simply let her be. He couldn't possibly understand!

She was sure he wouldn't understand, either, even if she told him. He was just too wrapped up in his dreams, she told herself, to care about anything or anyone beyond the limited horizon of those goddamn dreams.

+++++

"Let's see, you're sixty-three years? Can you describe your symptoms?" the physician said, her French accent so thick the man could almost understand something like every other word.

"A dull, diffuse pain, back here," he said as he pointed to the back of his pelvis. "And now it hurts like crazy to take a pee. Not in that thing," he said, pointing to his penis, "but deep inside."

The physician nodded. "When was your last PSA test?"

The man crossed his arms protectively over his chest. "Oh, hell, now I'd say almost two years ago."

The physician bunched her lips and frowned, then walked over to a cabinet and took out a big tube of lubricant and a couple of latex gloves. "You know what comes next, no?"

"I was afraid you'd say that," the man said. "And this is only our first date!" He stood and pulled down his swim trunks. "Where to, doc?"

"Just lean over the table, monsieur."

'Why did it have to be a female? And a cute one at that!' the man asked as he shuffled around with his trunks around his ankles, then he leaned over, rested his forearms on the paper-covered exam table and did his level best to ignore the cold jelly that fluttered like diarrhea down the crack between his cheeks. He felt on gloved hand peeling his cheeks apart, then the cold, hard apex of her finger as it slipped through the goo seeking entry.

"Take a deep breath, and hold it..." she said -- and in it went -- pop!

"Ungh-h-h," was about all the man managed to say, then he felt her finger deep inside his gut, fire everywhere... "Oh, Jesus Christ on a fucking motorbike! Shit goddamn that hurts!"

"Has it ever feel dees way before?" she asked, yet she kept her finger up there, moved it gently around something.

"Jesus, fuck, NO!" he screamed when she hit paydirt. "What did you stick up there? A goddamn truck?!"

"Try to relax, monsieur; you are squeezing so hard you are going to break my finger!" 

He tried to ease-off but his legs started shaking, he felt cold sweat break-out on his forehead, then her finger sliding out.

"Well, coming out of chute number two, it's Gonzo, the floppy chicken!" the men said in his best rodeo announcer voice. He decided passing out would be the polite thing to do about now.

"Pardon-moi, monsieur?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing." He was panting now, but the pain wasn't subsiding.

"Are you alright?" the physician leaned next to him. She had her hand on his shoulder.

"Oh fuck, that's a bad sign," he said.

"Monsieur?"

"When the doc starts sounding sympathetic you know you're up Shit Creek."

"Ah. Oui, with the paddle. I understand this."

"Without. Without a paddle. And?"

"Oui, David. I think this is about where we are. Sit down, please. We must talk now."

+++++

He walked down a smooth, sandy lane, oblivious to the beauty around him for a while, then suddenly aware of nothing but. The tide was flooding in the pass, almost roaring as the sea forced its way back into the huge lagoon. All around him people were going about their lives with an easy rhythm that seemed almost in sync with the sea that surrounded them: fishermen were coming in and tying off at little piers, shopkeepers and fish-merchants were walking down to inspect the day's catch and little boys and girls were running down to look at the fish just for the fun of it all. Such a simple thing to do. Cancer was meaningless out here. This was life. Cancer... was anything but.

And Cancer had come calling.

So what to do? 

Maybe he'd pick up another couple of lobsters, another bottle of wine. When the going gets tough the tough get... what? Drunk? Hide their head in the sand?

Give up?

And as always looking at the rows of fish was a bittersweet symphony. So explosively vibrant in the sea -- and for those first few moments out of it -- the myriad fish now seemed muted and dull... dead... as indeed they were. What an odd circle of life this was, this being human. Somehow we'd made it out of the food chain, he told himself; or had we? Here he was, standing on a little pier in the middle of an indecipherable ocean, looking at men and women and children sorting and laughing and living. And loving. But we weren't on anyone's meal plan anymore, not like all these fish, unless we just happened along the wrong place at the wrong time. But sooner or later we come to the end of the line. That shark is always out there, circling, waiting.

Rangiroa: even the name was laced with potent magic! He looked across the pale blue lagoon, could just make out the slender line of treetops miles away on the far side of the lagoon. Another dive boat full of tourists cast-off to photograph the Silver-tip sharks and eagle-rays that hung around just outside the entrance to the lagoon, waiting for their next meal to come shooting by. He looked at the smiling faces as they passed, at their happy certitude and at the sense of infinite adventure just ahead. All that and more that filled their eyes, and feelings of his own rushed-in like the tide. It wasn't envy he felt, or sorrow for all the adventures he'd never have, but oddly enough, a profound gratitude washed through him. "My God," he said softly, "what a miracle to have just been what I've been... to have done what I've done. To have just been... me."

He looked among the dozen or so sailboats that swung at anchor a scant hundred yards off the village of Tiputa, then he looked for her, for her coppery hair and that defiantly bright white skin. There she was, sitting in the cockpit fanning her face with her floppy straw hat. He looked at her for a very long time, looked back over their journey, and he knew that though he loved her more than mere words could ever say the roughest part of the journey lay just ahead, and he was going to have to put her through it. There was no way around it now...

"But isn't this what it's all about?" he said out loud.

A fisherman turned and looked up at him. 

"This mortal coil?" the fisherman said.

"Beg pardon?"

"You contemplate life, and death."

"Indeed I do."

"They are the same, life and death. There is nothing to fear. Just live while you can."

The man rocked back under the force of the man's prescience; the world seemed to grow cool and dim for a moment, winds from unseen storms filled his sails, the shark circled patiently.

When he looked again the fisherman was gone.

"C'est la vie," he said.

+++++

She turned, saw him standing among fishermen and villagers; he seemed so small standing there yet he had always been so much larger than life. Now everything was different. Now she was at an end -- they were at an end. She couldn't do this anymore, couldn't put up with the beating to windward and the constant pounding motion, the relentless fear that stalked her day and night. No, this was it. She'd decided sometime in the night. It was time to act.

It wasn't fair to take his dreams away. No, she wouldn't do that to him. She would fly to Papeete and then on to Seattle. She would move in with their daughter for awhile, just until she could sort through her life and figure out what to do next. She'd leave David to chase his rainbows. 

Or were they windmills?

She went below and began gathering the few things she'd need to make the journey: some clothes and her passport, a wad of traveler's checks and a little cash, and she jammed it all in a little nylon duffel. She looked at the two pair of shoes she still owned -- a pair of musty old Tevas and boat shoes that had seen better days about six months ago -- and all she had left to give were bitter tears. 

"I'm abandoning ship," she said quietly as she looked around the teak cocoon she'd called home the past year and a half. She felt betrayal in the air everywhere she looked: David betraying her, ignoring her own hopes and dreams; yet she was betraying him, had been. Hadn't she always consented to this madness, and with open eyes and not even the smallest voice of dissent. 

Wait! She'd even been excited about it all -- once upon a time. 

Not now. Not now.

She heard an outboard and looked out a port-light, saw David circling around to tie off at the stern. She tossed the duffel back deep inside the quarter-berth and walked up to help him get aboard. He had her little net shopping bag in hand as he stood in the Zodiac and he passed up a couple of nice looking tuna filets wrapped in plastic and some fresh fruit -- and another bottle of wine. She smiled, felt his love for her anew and she felt a little ashamed of herself, then she felt all the conflict return, she grew full of resolve to go ashore and head for the airport.

Then she saw the pain in his eyes.

+++++

The sun had been down an hour yet the western horizon was still pulsing with shimmering bands of orange and purple. Venus hung above the lagoon like a lantern, and fish broke the smooth surface of the lagoon as if trying to take wing and voyage among the stars. To the south, looking past the far side of the lagoon, towering cumulonimbus stood like evenly spaced sentinels; lightning played inside one of the larger columns. To the north, just yards away, a couple of new arrivals swung from just-set anchors. There were always new acolytes in search of the dream, that endlessly captivating dream to leave it all behind and voyage among tropic isles forever -- and here they were! Oil lamps being lit and dinners prepared, couples in all these boats -- all these homes -- sat mesmerized or engaged, lost in beauty or lost in the mundane details of living in an ocean-cocoon far from home, all engaged with living and life, this shuttling mortal coil. Everyone everywhere was consumed with what tomorrow might bring, how to deal with it. How to love and laugh amidst all the chaos.

And then the man leaned against the woman, and she held him protectively, fiercely, as it she never, ever wanted to let him go. One arm around his chest, the fingers of her other hand ran through his hair. His head, nestled just under her own, the very shape of it ingrained in her fingertips over decades, the smell of his hair now as it was almost forty years ago. She could feel his heartbeat, his every breath through the flesh of her breast. Such simple music. How she longed to dance in the light of such rhythms for all time.

"Thanks, babe," she heard him say.

"Um-m." She added a hymn of her own to the evening sky. "My pleasure, sweet-cheeks."

"Sweet-cheeks?" he chuckled. "Oh-me-oh-my; I haven't heard that one in a long time!"

"You remember that cake?" That cake she'd taken to his office on his fortieth birthday. A big flesh colored derrière with 'Happy Birthday, Sweet Cheeks' emblazoned across the top and bottom. "Remember how embarrassed you were?"

"Boy, do I!" He reached up and gently stroked her arm as precious memories danced again. "Wasn't that the year we chartered that first sailboat, with Bill and Alice?"

"Yes," she said as she too fell into chance dancing memories. "Tortola."

"God, that was such a fun trip."

"When we fell in love with sailing," she said, "Dreamed of sailing away someday." 

"I know you've been miserable, babe. You want to call it quits?"

She felt a tenseness creep into the space between them, an unwelcome, intrusive tremor.

"Dave, let's not talk about it now. We need to find out what we're up against."

"Alright."

She relaxed. She'd half expected him to say something like "We! What do you mean 'We'? Nobody said anything today about 'We' having cancer!"

But he hadn't said that, had he?

No.

Did he really feel that way? Was he really still so connected to her after forty years?

"Do you want to fly home from here? We could leave the boat..."

"No, no; let's get her to Tahiti, put her on the hard there if we have to. There's supposed to be a fine hospital there..."

"You don't want to go home?"

"I don't know. Maybe. The doc said there are a bunch of tests they need to run to figure out the best kind of treatment. Not all of them involve surgery, especially if it's advanced."

She felt a cold grip on her heart. Her father had died of prostate cancer when he was 67. His physician had missed it and missed it for years, discovered it only after the cancer had spread into his spine. She fought to push away memories of her father wasting away, morphine the only thing that kept the pain from annihilating his very soul. She struggled as an image of David stricken like that filled her mind and suddenly she felt like crying, like she was in mourning.

"Don't give up on me, babe." 

'God, he said that like he's reading my mind...' The thought ricocheted around for a moment.

"I won't, Sweet-Cheeks. I promise."

Something bumped along the side of the hull -- hard enough to swing the mast.

"What the hell!" David said as he pushed himself up. 

He leaned out of the cockpit, leaned to look down at the waterline, and she heard him take-in a sharp breath:

"June," he whispered excitedly, "come here. Be quiet about it, too."

She made her way to his side and leaned out, looked down on a Killer Whale calf not yet free of its umbilical cord. Its mother swam on her side not five feet away.

"Something's wrong," he said. "See the cord? It's wrapped around the pectoral fins, holding the little guy under. The placenta must still be attached inside the mother."

"Dave, should we do something?"

But he was already up. He jumped down the companionway and right back up; he put a Swiss Army knife in his mouth and without a word jumped overboard.

"Put the ladder down, would you?" she heard him say as soon as he broke surface. She leapt along the lifelines until she came to the boarding-gate, then unlatched the folding ladder and let it flop down into the water. With one hand on the ladder he grabbed the calf and hoisted its blowhole up onto his free shoulder. She thought it seemed very still, too still. Then she saw its fluke move once, heard it take a small breath, then David take his little knife in hand and open the blade; he cut the cord with one clean stroke and a little puff of black disappeared into the water, then he slowly unwrapped the cord from the little guy's body. The mother disappeared.

"It's not moving much," she said. "Maybe you should slap its ass!"

"Hm-m, not a bad idea. I need to tie the cord if she's not going to..." He rubbed the calf's body briskly, then slapped in gently a couple times. He saw the calf's eye then, saw it looking deeply into his own, and as suddenly it twisted free and disappeared beneath the purple surface of the water and was gone.




Lift on a Wave



"Fuck!" he said.

"David! Be still!" 

He froze, listened to water break smoothly just behind his head, heard a much bigger blowhole open, gentle air expelled and inhaled deeply. The head of a large male Orca slid from the surface right beside his own; the top of the whale's head was a good two and a half feet above the water, its towering dorsal fin easily five feet above that. He felt his heart hammering in his chest and for some reason he knew the whale by his side was listening to his heartbeat too. He felt like he was being examined, measured in some way, then as suddenly the huge male slid silently under and was gone.

He reached for the boarding ladder and pulled himself up onto deck; only then did he feel his heart slow down. Then he started shivering.

The woman jumped down and grabbed two towels, guided the man back into the safe confines of their little home, then she wrapped herself around the man and hugged him for a very long time.

+++++

Inside Tiputa Pass, Rangiroa Atoll, French Polynesia

Monday Morning

Timing was crucial, their navigation had to be perfect. 

To exit the lagoon one had to time the move for precisely slack water; when the tide ebbed or flooded powerful currents wracked the pass, swirling eddies churned the water and breaking pyramid-shaped waves up to ten feet high rose and broke with incredible intensity. Small boats could be tossed around and pulled under inside this funneling vortex, and had been many times over the years. The simple fact that silver-tipped reef sharks, known man-eaters, cruised these waters made the passage all the more interesting. In order to get out unscathed one had about a twenty minute window between the ebb and the flood -- the brief period of so called slack water, when the pass grew still, when the currents subsided -- and during this uneasy truce boats completed the transit or risked getting caught in the maelstrom.

The man stood at the bow perched high on the pulpit, watched the swirling waters for signs of calming; two other sailboats and a dive boat waited behind them. The woman remained behind the wheel, ready to pour on the throttle and follow any steering commands that came from the man on the bow.

The man looked at his watch then down into the water.

"Alright, away ahead, right for that first buoy!" he called out. The woman pushed the throttle forward and the boat accelerated into the pass; the other sailboats waited a moment -- perhaps to see if they'd missed the timing -- then they too poured on the coals and darted into the pass. The dive boat, powered by huge twin outboards, roared by, leaving a fairly massive wake as it passed. The man perched on the bow pulpit grabbed hold of the headstay as the boat rolled under him, but he took the motion in stride while he scanned the water ahead for any unseen coral heads or floating debris that might get caught in the little ship's propeller. Fifteen minutes later they rounded the last mark and turned to the west to round the huge atoll before turning south towards Tahiti. The man walked back to the cockpit and stood beside the woman with an arm around her waist.

"Good job, darlin'," the man said as he kissed the top of her head.

"We do make a pretty good team, don't we!" The woman beamed.

"Always have, darlin'. Always have."

She looked down at the chartplotter and the moving nautical chart that displayed their position, then settled in on the next waypoint ahead and watched as the course lined-up on the compass.

"Ready for a sandwich, June?" the man said.

"I'm famished," she called out as he trundled down the companionway. "Two!"

Standing in the galley, he looked back at her and smiled, braced himself as a deep ocean roller passed under the boat. He opened the 'fridge and pulled out four already made sandwiches and handed them up, then poured some iced tea into plastic cups before heading up himself.

It was her watch so the next three hours he could rest. She'd steer, she'd navigate, if the sails needed trimming she'd ask David to do it or, if she wanted, do it herself. She steered by hand with the breaking reef of the atoll still so close to port, but as they moved farther away she'd more than likely set the Monitor windvane and let the boat steer itself. He opened a sandwich and handed it to her and she wolfed it down. He smiled.

"Ready for another?" David said wryly.

Another huge roller crossed under the keel and the boat wallowed and yawed as she compensated, then she held out her hand and snapped her fingers. "I can't believe how hungry I am! Cripes!"

"Neither can I," David said through a deep smile. "Kinda exciting, wasn't it?"

"I've never been so happy-scared in my life! And when that dive boat went by?! Crap!"

"Yeah, I puckered-up pretty good."

"Oh, so that was the popping sound I heard!" she said between bites. "Honey, I hate to say it, but I think I'm gonna need another one."

"How about a PBJ? Maybe a little sugar will tame the beast?"

"Sure, yeah, great, whatever..."

He laughed while he made his way back to the galley.

"Where'd all these rollers come from?" she called out when another huge one rolled by.

"That storm the night before, the one to the south. It turned north last night and is chewing things up pretty good as it moves out."

"These suckers must be ten, twelve feet!"

"Feeling seasick?" he asked. Their first long passages that had been an issue.

"Nope! I love it!" He heard her "whoop!" as another big one rolled by; the bow fell into the trough and he heard a wall of water cascade down into the cockpit.

"Yee-e-e-haw-w-w!" they both yelled. "Are we having fun yet!?"

The both laughed. It was an old joke.

"Need a towel?" he called up. 

"No! Feels great!" he looked up and saw her shaking the water from her short hair.

"I'm the luckiest man that ever lived," he said quietly as he watched her smile and wrestle the wheel around to take the next roller.

"What'd you say?!" she shouted.

"I said 'you're a nut!'"

"And aren't you glad I am?!"

"Never more than right this very moment!"

She looked at him, smiled, turned to meet the next wave, then she mouthed 'I love you' and threw a kiss his way.

"Ditto!"

She finished her third sandwich while he made his way through his second; soon she turned a little south and the rollers disappeared in the lee of the atoll. The sky was bluebirds, the sea smooth; he let out the big headsail and the boat surge ahead, the circular atoll still off their port beam, then he stretched out in the cockpit facing aft and watched his wife steer for a while. His eyes grew heavy, he suddenly felt very, very tired, so he closed his eyes and drifted off.

+++++

She shook him awake early in the afternoon; he looked pale, feverish, and she poured him a chilled Gatorade, put some fresh pineapple chunks in a bowl and handed it up. He sipped the juice and nibbled some pineapple, then curled up and went straight back to sleep.

He woke some time later, the sun was still up, but just barely. He needed to pee badly and he stood, walked back to the aft rail and let loose. The sea was smooth as glass, barely a breath of air stirred. He looked at the headsail -- June had already rolled it up, ditto the mainsail, and she'd tied off the boom to keep it from slatting around. He looked at the chartplotter: Makatea was on their port beam about ten miles off. It wasn't dark enough yet to see any navigational lights on the west coast. 

"You awake up there?"

"Yeah, I think so. What day is it!"

"Ha-ha! You had me worried there for a while! You cracked off a good eight hours!"

"Slept through my watch?"

"You had a fever."

"Shit."

"You hungry yet?"

"Not really. Actually, I feel kinda queasy."

"What!? You? Old Iron Stomach?"

"Well, there you have it, ladies and germs. Film at eleven!"

"Here!" she called out; a cup with Gatorade appeared from down below, followed by a cup of chicken noodle soup.

He ate the soup and it tasted good, then he sipped Gatorade while he regarded the chartplotter for a while. He reached up and put the radar on standby. "What do the batteries look like?" he asked. With any luck the solar panels and wind generator would have topped off the primary bank this afternoon.

"Looks like ninety eight percent of full," he heard from below. With the fridge and chartplotter going all night he might have to fire up the engine to top-off the batteries during the night, depending on how often he used the radar.

"Okay. The bilge dry?"

"Ten-four." He heard her cycling through switches on the main panel, then: "Weatherfax is clear. That storm is about four hundred miles northeast. There's a low down below Tahiti."

"Right," he said, their routine both familiar and absolute. He'd not have to ask her to put all that stuff in the logbook; he knew everything would be there, all in her obsessively neat handwriting. He cycled on the radar now that it had 'warmed-up' and he set the range circles to sixteen miles. A handful of targets, probably all cruising sailboats, blossomed on the screen. "Go ahead and flip on the lights." 

"Is there anything on Makatea?" he heard her ask while he stood and walked the deck. 

"Not much. I think about a hundred folks. That movie with Harrison Ford was supposed to have taken place here."

That got her attention.

"Oh! Which one?"

"Oh, you know, he played some washed up old pilot; he and the blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty crash land on the deserted island in a thunderstorm..." he kept his hands on the lifelines as he made his way forward.

"Oh, you mean 'Indiana Jones goes to Gilligan's Island'!"

"The very one!" He heard her laughter down below and he smiled. He loved the sound of her laughter... always had. He checked the nav lights one by one then walked back to the cockpit. "Lights are good."

"Okay." Next he heard her rummaging around in the locker by the chart table, then metal banging on the galley stove; she crawled up from the cabin a moment later holding two safety harnesses. She hooked them up to the 'jack-lines' that ran from bow to stern; if either fell overboard they'd remain attached to the ship -- presumably long enough to yell and wake the other before drowning or being eaten by Godzilla. She pressed the 'battery-test' button on the attached strobes then handed one to David while she slipped hers on. The rule on-board was simple: the harness stayed on after dark -- no matter what, no excuses. It was a pain in the ass to go below while hooked-up, but it was better than drowning.

"You must be exhausted," he said. She sat beside him, snuggled under his arm.

"Um-hm-m." She looked up and gave him a gentle kiss. She was dozing within moments but jerked awake, shook herself.

"You okay?"

"Yeah... bad dream or something. Weird. Mind if I go below. I think I need some solid sleep."

He kissed her on the top of her head. "Go ahead, doll." 

She dropped below; he heard her unclip from the safety harness and walk forward to the vee-berth, then brushing teeth -- and finally the lights went out.

He dimmed the chartplotter to preserve his nightvision, watched as the wind gauge registered a puff, then another. Within a few minutes a gentle breeze filled in and he rolled out the headsail; there was just enough wind to fill it and soon the boat was slicing through the water at a gentle three knots. He cycled through nav screens to the radar, noted the positions of the boats in his mind, then switched back to the plotter. Makatea was sliding steadily astern; soon it disappeared into the darkness and he scanned the horizon. Not another vessel in sight. He dropped below and made a log entry, then climbed back into the cockpit.

And through it all, through all the chatter and the walking around, through dinner and while he watched instruments record their progress, the dull, grinding pain grew steadily, insistently more painful. He watched Orion slide down to the western horizon; first Rigel slipped from view, then the cotton-ball shaped nebula in the middle of his sword, and finally, Betelgeuse. More time drifted by, still the pain in his pelvis grated away within.

"I need a fucking Tylenol," he said to the stars; he was unable to concentrate anymore. He edged over to the companionway and unclipped his harness, slipped quietly down the steps and took two tablets from the small bottle inside the chart table, got a glass of water and took the pills. He leaned forward, gripped the edges of the table when a deep, piercing pain sliced through his gut. Cold sweat formed, began running down his neck and a shiver arced through him like an errant electric current. For a moment he couldn't remember where he was...

Ka-wooomph. The boat lurched, something thudded alongside.

He scurried up the companionway, flashlight in hand, leaned to port -- nothing -- then hopped to the starboard rail.

An Orca -- was it the same one? -- was there, its body vertical, its head jutting high from the water.

"What the heck are you doing here, buddy?"

The animal shook, water thrashed around it's pectorals. Agitated, he thought, the thing looks agitated. Not angry... more... scared than anything else...

The big male leaned its head away from the boat and he heard another animal thrashing not far away; he shined his old Mag-lite out into the inky blackness and saw the calf again, its mother trying to support it from below. It was wrapped in a pale blue gill-net, thrashing and -- obviously about to drown. Without thinking he darted below and grabbed his knife, then bolted up the steps and in one smooth motion dove overboard; he swam the few yards to the thrashing calf and began frantically slicing away the netting. He cut himself once, grateful the salt water didn't sting too badly, and hacked away the last strands of the net. The calf burst free and disappeared under the water; once again he felt the big male by his side and he turned, looked into its eye.

"Oh fuck," the man said. "Oh my God, no."

The boat was now several hundred yards away, the freshening breeze filled the headsail, her speed was picking up. He sat motionless in the water -- motionless -- as he saw the shape of the end of his life taking form in the air before his eyes. He turned, looked to see if the whale was still there, but it too had slipped away from him.

+++++

She got up in the middle of the night and stumbled into the head, heard the sails pulling, the bow-wave gurgling and hissing its way astern. She smiled and crawled back into the warm berth. She'd been dreaming of the time he'd first kissed her, and she hoped the dream would still be there, waiting.

+++++

She felt the sunlight on her face and looked up; the sun high overhead.

"David? Why'd you let me sleep so long?"

Silence.

"David?"

She felt a little annoyed. Obviously he'd fallen asleep at the wheel. She slipped out of bed and padded back to the galley... Nothing... the stove unused, everything as it had been last night...

"David?"

Then she saw his safety harness, unclipped.

Cold fear jabbed at her belly as she leapt into the cockpit. She turned, looked forward; a purple wall of thunderstorms lay ahead, lightning rippled through roiling clouds. The island of Tetiaroa was ahead and well to her right; even Tahiti was visible now through the low-scudding clouds. She jumped to the wheel and hit the man-overboard button and fired-up the engine, rolled in the headsail and engaged the autopilot, then grabbed the radio and flipped it to the emergency frequency:

"Mayday-mayday-mayday, this is sailing vessel Sirius calling mayday-mayday-mayday."

"Sailing vessel calling Tahiti Ocean Rescue, go ahead." 

"Tahiti, my position is 16 degrees 51 minutes south, 149 degrees zero four minutes west, we've had a man-overboard during the night!"

"Sailing vessel Sirius, are you onboard, uh, alone?"

"Affirmative, Rescue. We were southbound from Rangiroa... standby one..." She jumped down and grabbed the logbook... looked at David's scrawled entry on the page and her heart filled with a mixture of pride and fear... then she jumped back up to the radio...

"Ah, rescue, his last log entry was at 2200 hours, at 16 21 27 south by 148 46 17 west."

"Ah, Sirius," came a strong voice rich with a clipped English accent, "this is sailing vessel Achilles, we copy and are ten point three miles behind you. We'll analyze that track and commence our search."

"Rescue, this is the sailing vessel Jumpin' Jack Flash, I have us about five miles east of Achilles. Can we help?"

"Tahiti Ocean Rescue to all search vessels, be advised a strong line of storms with high winds and lightning is passing the island at this time; all aircraft are grounded. We anticipate clearing in about two hours; dispatching cutter to assist at this time. Achilles, can you search north and west of your track?"

"Achilles, roger north and west."

"Ocean rescue to Jumpin' Jack Flash, can you search west then south?"

"Yeah man, that's cool, south then west."

"Ocean Rescue to Sirus, advise you reverse course at this time and search east of track, repeat east of your earlier track, due to east setting currents overnight."

The woman listened to the chatter, scrawled notes in pencil on the logbook beneath her husband's last entry. "Sirius, received, my course is zero four four magnetic..."

+++++

He lay on his back for a while, kept his lungs full of air to keep his body as buoyant as possible, his legs tucked up to preserve what warmth was still left in his body. The waves had been, so far, mercifully small; now he could see dark storm clouds swallowing jagged Tahitian mountains, spitting lightning out like angry, fractured bones -- and he knew, just knew this storm would be his undoing. He held the flashlight in his right hand, the Swiss Army knife in his left. He was getting thirsty and his gut burned.

He felt a rolling swell move through the water, felt his body lift on a wave; he raised his head and looked around at the crest then lay flat again as he fell into the passing trough. Nothing. No one. He felt his hair flowing in the current, felt water sloshing against his ear-drums; every now and then a wave found him dozing and stinging brine burned his eyes.

"Don't give up!" he heard her saying. 

"I won't."

Time passed. Slowly. The sun overhead began to burn the flesh on his face. And he was thirsty. Alone in a limitless ocean of water... and he was thirsty.

+++++

"Ocean Rescue to all search vessels, be advised we have an aircraft en route. Sirius, we advise you begin a zig-zag course at this time."

"Sirius received."

"Ah, Achilles here, reporting a large pod of Killer Whales in this vicinity, appear to be south bound."

"Rescue received and understood."

'Now what the fuck does that mean?' the woman said to herself. 'What? Do they think the goddamn whales are going to eat David?' She brought the binoculars that hung from her neck up to her eyes and scanned the horizon for dorsal fins.

Lightning cracked overhead and she winced. She resisted the urge to disconnect the GPS and radio -- to spare them in a strike -- but she knew she'd have to chance it, knew that without them she'd be hopelessly disconnected from the world. Another blistering crack rent the air, the shattering noise seemingly right on top of her head, her hair standing on end now, the air full of ozone but still no rain, still no wind. Sirius rose on a wave and she she saw something, she turned towards whatever it was -- then saw it was a whitecap forming as the wind moved in. Her hair flew in the first ragged gusts, wind howled in the rigging and she watched as the wind gauge leapt to thirty five, then forty knots. Sirius heeled ponderously as a heavy gust slammed into her, the wind gauge leapt yet again, this time to seventy knots and the woman struggled to right the little ship, to keep her on course. Blinding rain fell in horizontal sheets, visibility dropped to a few yards.




Lift on a Wave



Moments later the wind fell to almost zero, the seas -- rather than building as she'd feared -- had apparently been blown flat by the squall; now fat raindrops fell on an almost mirror-smooth sea. Lightning cracked again -- but it seemed to have moved away. She looked down at the compass, saw her course was almost due west and she cursed, turned the wheel to correct, looked at the chartplotter and compared her present track to their earlier one...

"Good," she said, "still tracking a little east."

She wiped rain -- or was it sweat? -- from her eyes and brought the binoculars up to her eyes and swept the now-flat sea. Nothing.

"Don't worry, honey, I'm coming... I'm coming... I promise... Don't give up!"

She didn't even know she was crying.

+++++

He'd worried about the little cut on his hand for a while, worried the blood -- even as little as it was -- might draw in sharks, and he'd tried to keep the hand out of the water as much as possible; now he knew that hadn't been enough. He'd seen the silver-tipped fin slice through the water and his heart had lurched in his chest; now all would be reduced to a contest of wills. Of course it had to be a silver-tip, he said to himself, and not some pussy nurse shark. Why not a man-eater? Why the fuck not?!

"Bring it on, mother-fucker!"

He'd watched it turn his way and ducked his head under water, made eye contact with the bastard and watched as it moved in slowly, cautiously. When it got close enough he brought the Mag-Lite down on the shark's broad snout; it was, all things considered, a thunderous blow -- a real grand-slam homer. The shark thrashed and moved off for a moment, then began circling slowly, waiting, he knew, biding its time.

+++++

She heard the turbo-props singing long before she made out the plane; it roared overhead just yards, she thought, from the top of the mast.

"Sirius, this is Rescue One on station; we're heading up your previous track."

"Sirius received."

She didn't know quite what to say to these men, but she wanted to thank them.

"Hang on, David. We're coming!"

+++++

The shark came in again, faster this time, but it ignored the flashlight; the man pushed himself away from the side of its head and kicked off from the shark's side. He backstroked through the water, kept his eyes on the shark, watched as it's back arched, then as it rolled sharply back and sprinted in for the kill. He had his Swiss Army knife in his hand now, thought he'd try for the eyes. He assumed a crouched street-fighter posture and held the knife out, ready; the shark veered away and circled warily, not sure what to make of this adversary.

Then the man heard the sweet roar of turboprops and he lifted his head from the sea...

+++++

"Rescue One, we have a man in the water, repeat man in the water! Dropping canister -- now!"

"Ocean rescue to all searching vessels, stand by to copy coordinates..."

"Rescue One, Rescue One, there's a shark! The man is fighting a ... Holy Mother of God!... Rescue One -- stand by one..."

+++++

With one eye he watched the life-raft canister fall from the loading platform in the rear of the C-130; he watched to silver-tip circle, then sprint in again, with his other. Again he slashed at the shark's face, this time with the little knife; again he pushed off and kicked away. The shark, the man said to himself, seemed to be getting a little pissed off. He shook as exhaustion and cold rippled through his body.

"Where's the fucking canister?" He looked up, saw the Hercules in a steep banking turn, then got his head underwater in time to see the shark... it had him now, and he knew it. He was too tired, running out of steam, and he could see the shark was waiting for just the right moment.

And it had decided now was that moment...

The shark turns, its black eye never leaving the man; it sprints forward with impossible speed, its mouth opening... its protective lower lids shutting to protect the eyes...

The man readies as best he can, he holds the flashlight and the knife out ready for one more go at it. The shark closes the gap rapidly, remorselessly, no pity, no feeling in its black eyes.

"Fuck you!" the man screams underwater.

Then all is shadow, dark and fast, an explosion of spray and bubbles; the man lifts his head from the water, the shark's body is hurtling upward through the air, somersaulting, its fractured guts spilling from a huge gaping wound that has opened its belly. He turns in time to see the huge male Orca crashing back into the water; he is too stunned to understand what has just happened. He feels something move past his legs, feels hot skin on his and slides his head back into the sea. The calf is there, swimming easily now, and so is its mother. When he lifts his head the Orca is by his side, the creature's deep black eye looking steadily into his own.

The whale drifts closer, rolls as if offering its dorsal fin; the man grabs the leading edge and the whale swims slowly toward a drifting cloud of bright, lime-green smoke. The life-raft floats under the smoke, its bright orange canopy visible for miles. The whale descends momentarily as it closes on the raft and while the man it tempted to let go and float up to the raft -- he doesn't... he can't... he wants to stay here forever...

The whale makes a long looping turn then rises vertically, surfaces next to the raft; the man reaches out, grabs shiny orange webbing that hangs from the side of the raft down into the sea. The whale watches as the man climbs in the raft, then slips beneath the surface of the sea and is as suddenly gone.

+++++

Papeete, Tahiti

Two weeks later

The man and the woman are sitting under an umbrella outside a sidewalk café beside a crowded street. Another couple sits with them, and a younger woman, perhaps in her twenties. They are eating lunch in shade, oblivious to the sun above.

"So, what's the verdict, man?" says Jack Hawkins, the skipper of Achilles. His little ship had been the first to reach the man in the raft; over the past two weeks the two men have bonded. But so has Susan Hawkins, his wife. Call it a strong maternal instinct. Call them friends, if you must call them anything.

"Not a cure, that's what the doc said, but it'll buy me some time. Maybe five years, maybe more."

"I still can't believe how tiny the incisions are, Dad," the younger woman says.

"I say old man, let's have a look."

The man looks at the woman; she shakes her head and grins. "You're such a show-off!"

He stands and pulls his pants down, revealing just his lower abdomen and the crack of his ass; there are three incisions on the smooth, white skin, each a half inch long. Everyone in the restaurant is looking at the man; most know who he is by now. For a week or so he was a minor news celebrity, a sailing sensation... the man rescued by Killer Whales! And they know his story, too. Everyone does. He is theirs, they reason.

"So, what did they do? They implanted radioactive pellets in the tumor itself?"

"Yep. And that's tumors, mate. Plural. Supposed to keep 'em in check. And some new drug, Dendreon; that may knock 'em back some as well."

"So what are you going to do now?" Susan Hawkins said, looking maybe a little longingly at the man.

"I don't know," David says, "I'm just the First Mate. You'd better ask the skipper."

Everyone laughs a little, the man takes a long pull from his beer.

"Well? Mom? Dad? Are you going to sell the boat?"

"Heavens no, Lucy!" June says. "Your father's not dead, and neither am I!"

"Here, here," Hawkins proclaims to one and all while he pounds the table. "Too bloody right!"

"We set out to see New Zeeland. And we'll do just that, too. And there's a lot to see and do between here and tomorrow. The day after tomorrow? I don't know; we'll see which way the wind blows."

"Sometimes I worry, Mom, that's all."

The sailors look away, look out to sea. 

They know. They understand.

Even if the young woman never will.

+++++

A week later and two boats sail out of the Papeete's main harbor and turn to port, to the west; both are making the short hop across the narrow strait to Cook's Bay on the north side of Moorea. Achilles in the lead, the other boat follows, the woman steering, the man on the bow pulpit enjoying the feel of the wind and the spray as it flies through his silver hair. If you were to examine this second boat more closely you'd find the boat's name has recently been changed, from Sirius to Orca. Odd choice, you might say to yourself.

The man walks back to the woman, his wife, his life, and sits beside her while she watches the sails and adjusts her course a little. He turns and looks back at Papeete as it falls away, then down, at the smooth wake the Orca makes as she slips through cobalt waters.

The shark still circles, he knows; it is still out there, waiting. But that's life, this foolish mortal coil that holds us for but a brief time.

He takes a deep breath, the cool sea air bathes his soul. He looks at the woman by his side, watches as she alters her course a little -- again -- adjusting to the ever changing wind. There is a smile in her eyes, too.

*

Lift on a Wave/April 2009/©AL  



Lift



"Get dressed quick!" she told him while pulling on her clothes. "How do I look?" she asked. 

"Wonderful!" he beamed. 

Meaning to grab her she held him at bay. She pushed and shoved at his dishevelled appearance, as though he had been sleeping rough. Perhaps to him he had been sleeping with a bit of rough. Eventually she had him looking respectable once more and they stood staring at each other with mischievous expressions, teasing each other. 

Who was going to speak first and what were they to say. Strangers had nothing to talk about but the weather or some banality to keep on safe ground. They could share a word or two about sex but the tension was too taught to breach protocol. 

He was young and inexperienced, all of it from last night. He didn't have the right words to express what he felt and didn't know what he wanted except more of her. He was well mannered and sensible enough not to blurt it out.

She saw a young handsome man who had shared his body with her for a few mad moments. It couldn't be repeated as much as she wanted to. They would have to say something, to settle the relationship on a common understanding. They couldn't just shake hands. If they kissed or hugged that would make parting all the more difficult.

They both spoke together overriding the meaning in the bad acoustics of the lift. They hesitated too long. The lift jolted then as suddenly the door opened. A crowd parted to allow them to alight. The morning rush invaded their once sacred space jostling them apart. 

In desperation she headed for the ladies room. Though she had looked around for him it was difficult to find him in the flood of bodies. The hard tiled floor bounced back the sounds of heels clacking like fire crackers. Nora stumbled into a cubicle and sat. 

She breathed heavily, not there, but still in the lift flirting then riding that elegant young man. It was important to commit to memory every detail of that sordid wonderful time they shared. With a sigh she realised it was lost, he was lost, she was lost. 

The meeting was due so all that had to be put aside. She automatically pulled her panties up to discover she had none. A wry smile crossed her face wondering if he had taken them as a souvenir. Either that or the crowd travelling up to a conference room were wondering if they were her panties on the lift floor.

She would forever call an elevator a lift. She might even take a ride in that lift one day for old times sake. She strode out of the hotel to a sun shining day full of confidence and just a little mellow.



Lifted Depression



The sea gently lapped at the golden beach, its ripples foaming slightly as it drifted in and out. It was calm and the high sun made it a brilliant blue and green, that shimmered and rippled, the sand was golden and smooth, not a stone or pebble in sight, a few sunbathers were dotted over the vast beach.

Harley sighed, the gentle breeze lifting her hair and tickling her necked, she hadn’t really noticed the beautiful scenery, her eyes weren’t focused on any thing in particular and her mind was else where, she sat on the high cliff overlooking the beach, her knees drawn up to her chest.

She didn’t hear the approaching person behind her and jumped when a hand gently tapped her shoulder, her head whipped round, but her expression softened when she saw it was Jack her husband, but the sadness in her eyes remained, Jack saw this and felt his stomach turn, it had been 3 months since the funeral but Harley still was grieving and sinking deeper into depression.

Harley’s father had died just over 3 months ago in a motorbike accident, it was of little consolation to Harley that her father died doing something he loved, riding his bike, his bike had been the second best thing in his life, well the first until Harley was born, and of course she was named after his passion. Harleys mother had left when she was young and it was left to her father to raise her, and as a result she became very close to him, and his death had struck her hard.

Jack sat behind her, his legs stretched outside of hers; his hands gently caressed her hair, her soft blond layers falling through his fingers, his hands moved down to her shoulders and he felt the tension knotted there, slowly he kneaded and pressed, she rolled her head enjoying the massage, his fingers worked their magic until he felt the knots disappear, leaning forward he moved her hair to one side and kissed her neck, he gently nibbled her ear lobe, her low moan encouraging him.

His lips trailed down her neck, light kisses down to her shoulder, she wore a white strapless top that clung to the curves of her breasts, she sighed tilting her head to one side allowing him more access, his lips explored her shoulder, kissing and licking the soft pale skin, his fingers gently stroked her arm making her shiver, he turned her to face him, and saw tears slipping down her cheeks, he kissed them away.

Harley slid her arms round his neck and drew, him close for a long kiss, his hands rubbed her back and then up into her hair, holding her close, he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring hers, their mouths hot and wet, he tasted her tears still on his lips and he kissed her harder, as if this was the first time they had ever kissed. Harley moaned and pushed her body against his, she nipped at his bottom lip hard enough to make him jump but not draw blood.

He pushed her down into the sweet smelling grass and hovered above her, her legs came up to wrap around his waist, and she pulled him close rubbing against him, Jack kissed his way down her throat, Harley threw her head back and closed her eyes, jack stopped when he came to her top, her nipples were hard and erect pushing against the thin fabric of her top, he placed his thumb over one and rubbed, Harley groaned and pushed up against him, Jack lifted the top and revealed two creamy mounds of flesh topped with pink nipples, he bent his head and greedily sucked at her, Harley cried out and trapped her fingers in his hair pulling him down harder, she moaned as he nipped her, his hot tongue licking, then he blew cold air, her hard nipples getting harder and larger.

Jack slowly moved down her body, pressing kisses to her belly, his own blood pumping, as he felt Harley arch against him, he came to her shorts and pushed them down and off, noting that she wore no panties, he breathed deep to control himself, he took one leg and working mouth and tongue over a creamy slim thigh, Harley growled, but Jack continued his journey down until he reached an ankle, he applied the same attention to the second leg.

He slid up, Harley bent her legs up naturally, and Jack could see how wet she was, her blond curls glistened with her juices, her cunt lips were thick and red, he watched as she brought her hand down and rubbed her clit, he bit his lip to stop himself from groaning out loud. He watched as one finger disappeared into her hot wet hole and came out shining, he bent and captured her finger in his mouth, he sucked her juices off, he lifted her legs over his shoulders and buried his face in her hot wet sweet smelling cunt. His tongue lapped at her lips and flowing juices, Harley bucked and arched against him, whilst rubbing her throbbing clit, Jack slipped two fingers into her, her muscles tightened around his fingers, slowly he slid them in and out, rubbing her g spot, he watched her as she rubbed her self, is cock was already rock hard, watching her set fire to his blood, but he held back.

Faster he moved his fingers, he bent and sucked her clit into his mouth, and Harley grasped his hair and yanked him down her pelvis pushing up at his face, she was gasping and panting, harder and faster he moved his fingers, he nipped at her clit, he felt her go tense and slammed his fingers deep inside her and blew on her hot cunt, she came crying out as her body convulsed.

Panting Harley opened her eyes and saw Jack watching her with a smile, her blood was pounding in her veins, her heart beating ten to the dozen she reached up and kissed him, it was hard not to miss the bulge in his jeans, she absently ran her fingers over it, the light touch making him gasp.

Harley leant against him, meaning he had to lean back on his elbows, she kneeled before him, she bit her lip as pressed her palm to his throbbing erection, Jack groaned and his hips moved. She pushed him onto his back and undid his zip, pushing his jeans down, his boxers followed allowing his cock to spring free, Harley took it in her hand feeling its heat and hardness, she bent and placed a kiss on the head of him, Jack growled and thrust his hips up, Harley took him between her lips then pushed down, her mouth devouring his cock, Jack dug his fingers into the ground his teeth gritted, as his wife sucked his cock deep into her throat, “Ahhh baby” he moaned, Harley brought her head up and let him slip from her lips, she could taste his salty pre cum on her tongue, “Mmmmmm” she murmured and then lent to kiss him hard on the lips, he pulled her down on top of him, kissing her deeply, Harley straddled him, she rubbed her wet cunt up and down his throbbing shaft, Jack grabbed her hips and pressed hard against her, reaching between their bodies, she took hold of his hard cock and raising her hips she pushed the head of his throbbing erection into her wet cunt, she gasped as he filled her, Jack moaned and pushed deeper, her hot tight cunt gripped his cock, and she sank down his full length pushing against her cunt walls, she moaned and moved her hips, wriggling and twisting her hips she could feel his cock throbbing deep inside, she moaned and draw herself up, his thickness was new and exciting, she pulled up until she could only feel the tip of him, then she slammed down hard, crying out in pain and pleasure, Jack let out a moan and gripped her hips, he thrust his groin up, he couldn’t seem to get deep enough, in one quick movement he had swapped their position, her legs were bent to her chest.

Gripping her knees he slammed deep into her throbbing cunt, his balls banging against her round ass, Harley moaned and gripped his arms, her nails digging in, Harder faster Jack slammed and thrust his cock deep, filling her, he felt his balls tighten and he slammed hard his finger gripping her slim thighs, he tensed and Harley felt his cock explode, he cried out, and pumped hard, Harley felt her own orgasm building and reached down to rub her clit, she came flooding, her juices mixing with her husbands cum, they collapsed together panting and gasping.

“Wow” Jack whispered, “I love you sweetheart and don’t you ever forget” he said against her ear, Harley smiled and hugged him to her.



Lifting the Curse on Halloween



I grew up on a farm with my parents, the youngest of seven brothers and sisters. As the youngest I was the one expected to stay home and care for my parents in their old age, whilst my oldest brother would take over the farm. Therefore, I knew that I would live on this farm for the rest of my life as a spinster. That was before Father Persson arrived, a new priest who had arrived after Father Nilson passed on in his sleep.

Father Persson was in his early 30's, and he stood at least a head above all the other men in the parish. At one of the services he saw me as I was looking at him, and the moment he caught my eye I looked away. Such behavior was wholly unacceptable. But he was knew and I was fascinate by his height. Later that week he arrived at the house, and so I quickly left the house and found chores to do in the barn. He was there to discuss my situation! In a short time he had purchased from my parents a indenture on my behalf for two years. The payment was exceptional, and he being the new priest and all my parents felt they could not refuse. So I, and all my worldly possessions, were loaded on his wagon the next week, and I was traveling to the rectory.

Never in my life had I seen such beautiful accommodations, even been near such things. I was given all new maidservant clothing, soaps, shoes, even undergarments. My room itself was at the back and top floor, and even this was like a mansion to me with tall ceilings, smooth walls. I had a floor under my feet! I was to rise at 4:30 am every morning to do my chores in the house, and there were two other girls - one much older. I worked hard, and avoided contact with Father. But he sought me out, would ask me questions, like “what is your name?”

“Lily” I responded in mortified terror.

He soon made me his personal maid, and moved my quarters next to his with a small passage for anything he required. This seemed acceptable to me. However, one of my chores was not. Never could I even imagine such a thing, but I did not know the world of the church and so had no say. One of my tasks was to bath him once each week. The first time I moved with fear, turned my entire head. I used the soap and rubbed his broad back and legs after I had filled the tub, and could not help but see his nude backside. After a few weeks though it became normal, and even desired. He was an attractive man and it effected me, though I would never admit it, I barely admit it to myself.

All Saints Day was approaching with the cooling weather, and I was mortified of Hallowed Eve, that night before All Saints when all manner of mischief occurred. One night while gathering some wood a group of boys had grabbed hold of me, held me so that two other boys wearing eye covers could kiss me on the mouth. I had never been kissed, and their rough kisses parted my lips and even touched my tongue with theirs. The effect on my body was terrible indeed and I confessed all to the priest who made me say an endless number of Hail Mary’s. From that date on I had this terrible fear. In conversation in the bath I relayed my fears and Father invited me to stay in his room on Hallowed Eve. I accepted.

The night arrived and I wore my heavy nightshirt and went into Fathers room. He was already in bed in his nightclothes. He looked up at me, smiled and patted the side of the bed. It was a double but not wide at all. When I got in I was right next to him. I was shaking now and he asked what the matter was. I answered that I was frightened of the ghosts and monsters out of doors at this hour. He told me there was no such thing and that he would keep me safe. Once settled for the night, with the lights out and all quiet I heard Father,

“Come in close dear and hold on to me if you are afraid.”

I was so I wrapped my arms around him. I could feel his hands on my body and rather liked the feel. But when he began to start kissing me, I pulled away suddenly. “Quiet now,” he said and, “Relax my Lily.” I laid still now and he continued to kiss me, and against all my better judgement I began to kiss him back. I felt his hands running down my side and then lifting my nightshirt. Then my sex was exposed and I could feel his hand there. It was the curse of Hallowed Eve I thought. Same as the boys in the woods. I remained still, afraid. There was no escape. His fingers moved through my sex, I could feel it though I could see nothing and indeed did not even know if it were him. Somehow I had gotten wet and slippery and at the same time dizzy and lightheaded. I was kissing him hard now and seeking his lips, I had completely surrendered to a carnal nature. In the depths of sin. What were the Hail Mary’s for this!

He was on top of me now and I felt the strength of his member, risen in a long pole now (as I must confess I knew his member by sight and feel because of the baths). I placed the pole at my sex and pushed inside of me. It was the most mortifying pain and first and I cried out. He remained still, and assured me that what I was feeling would pass, and that a pleasure surpassing understanding would replace it. Such was the price of Passion - Pain. I remained still as did he. And then his member began to slide within me. I could feel it, and the effect was magical, like a warmth and sensation which lifted me in the air. He continued to move upon me, kissing me softly and then roughly, until he stiffened and began to press into me hard and in successive jerks. And then rolled off to his side again. I could feel a stream running from within me. He has had intercourse with me, I thought, realizing that I was unmarried and that he was a priest. The anger welled up inside me, but I was afraid. I began to cry quietly as he fell off to sleep. I remember that evening praying to god to punish this man for what he had done, and to curse him so that he would be possessed by the devil which he was.

Thereafter, I was to be found in his bed at his pleasure. Three years passed and like all things I grew accustomed to his needs and ways. It became a normal part of my duties. So much so that when I and he slept at night we did not wear nightclothes, even on cold evenings. I can even remember when there were longer stretches of time when he did not touch me or when I would remain in my room, feeling a hunger in my sex for his member. I felt that once opened my sex must be fed as my mouth is fed. I relayed that once to Father saying, “my sex must be fed. It is hungry tonight.” He laughed and took me into the bed and ‘fed me.’ I had even forgotten my curse, feeling him to be a wonderful and warm and caring man, who also happened to be priest of my parish.

Three years hence then, one week before All Saints, a group of men ran to the house. Father Persson had fallen in the church sanctuary dead. There were no signs and no evidence of foul play. They had him in the wagon and he was promptly moved to the house. His body needed to be prepared quickly and as I was his personal maidservant the task fell to me as preparer. This was also very much like his bath, excepting Father was no longer there. He was laid out in one of the back rooms and so I began to take off his clothing. He required a last bath and dressing before being placed in his coffin and final resting place. But when I removed his clothes, what I saw! His member was hard like a pole. It was stiff and ready for entry inside a female sex. Never has such a thing occurred!

I waited one day. But upon entering still the member was stiff and at the ready. I had to speak to someone but did not wish for the parish to hear, as this would be a disgrace to Father. So I went to his superior in a nearby village. “Sir, it is about Father Persson.” “Yes, it is a shame for the Lord to take him away in the prime of his youth.” “Yes sir. But there is more than that.” “Yes my dear, speak.” I relayed to his delivery to the rectory and my preparation for his coffin, and then spoke, “Sir, when I was preparing Father, his organ sir is in an unusual state.” I did not want to convey that I even KNEW what it was, let alone that I had known it intimately. Sir it seems overfilled. “I see” was all he said, and he road with me his carriage behind mine. Three others arrived a little later with him and they went in the room to examine. 

I could hear them inside. “This is frightful. He is surely possessed. We cannot give burial to him in this state.” Later that day they brought a priest who was a known exorcist in the area, a very successful one who could remove demons from persons, homes, and livestock. He spent all night with the Father to no effect. The member was yet standing upright. And I remembered. Oh, horror. I placed the curse. It was his member possessed by satan from my curse that long ago Hallowed Eve. I went to the Bishop and relayed to him my early time with Father Persson, to widening eyes I told him about a curse I had placed on the Father in anger, to widening eyes. I said it was done foolishly and in haste with no idea of an answer from God. The Bishop stared in shock at me, mouth open, his hairs literally rising on end. “Young miss, you are not entirely to be faulted. God has answered your prayer, so therefore your concerns were with some merit to God Almighty.” I went on, “I believe sir I know how to relieve the curse. Give me this evening in his room. Close the door and no interference.” He agreed.

I looked at the calendar and this evening was to be Hallowed Eve. I was wild with fright. I went into the room closed and bolted the doors and began to pray. “God forgive me my curse, I did not intend for it to be carried out. If I had only remembered I would have prayed the contrary prayer and alleviated this wretched curse.” I pulled back the sheet and his member was still hard, still ready. Looking on this white statue, with such stately beauty I remembered all of our wonderful, and intimate times together. I remembered washing his soft body, and being wrapped outside and in by his flesh in all carnal desire. In this reverie I felt my sex becoming aroused, indeed his sex was calling to mine. I was hungry and he it was who fed me. I knew what was needed. 

I stripped off my clothing so that it was my thin white flesh, still filled with breath and life but whose sex was hungry to be fed. My small sex seemed so much smaller now in the candlelight next to his member - it was so overfilled. How did it all fit inside. I grew wetter at the thought and reached down between my legs and felt the silken moisture forming there. And I lifted myself up on the table on which he lay and straddled his torso. Lifting his sex with my hand I could feel the stiff member ready itself. I placed my sex down at the opening where Father had shown so many times and let my knees bend back and felt once more the rapture of being filled, of being fed. I rose and fell on the hard sex, pressing my arms down on the strong chest. There was no movement, no reaction. I grew wild with excitement and could feel the fluids rising in my body and I began to cry out as I never had when ‘he’ was in the room. I shuddered and fell onto the body. As I lay there I could feel his sex begin to slip out of me, for the last time. I also felt the release of fluids from my own sex, and so with a certain sadness I first held Father, and then let my trembling legs down onto the floor. I could feel fluids running down my legs and wiped myself with towels. I could see his member was no longer a rod, but a curled sex that could be considered as respectable for burial as any other. To be sure though, I convinced myself, I took his sex once more in my hand and felt the softness, squeezed lightly. There were still some drips. So I lowered my mouth, and parting my lips, fed my mouth with what had for so many years been my other mouth’s sole nourishment. I sucked heartily, and then what remained was a lovely small member which would fit inside a child’s hand.

I slowly redressed myself filled with sadness at this last parting, never taking my eyes from this man whose curse three years previously I had made, had also lifted once more on this Hallowed Eve. I left the room dressed, flushed, and tired. “It is lifted,” I said. “He is ready for proper burial.” The bishops and priests assembled sat there wide eyed, nodding, going into the chamber and seeing everything was as I had said. Praising God they left, and next day on All Saints he was buried before the whole parish.

I stood near the coffin, next to priests and bishops, saying goodbye, and knowing that this time I carried his child inside. 



Lifting Weights



It was in the middle of summer, on a rainy, gloomy day that I was pretty bored. I was the only one home for the whole day, but I had nothing to do. As I watched TV around noon, I got a call from my friend Pat asking if I wanted to lift weights soon. I said OK since I had been meaning to start lifting for a while, and Pat said he'd come over my house since I had a better weight room. It was not even five minutes, and he arrived, looking as buff as always.

We got started, since we both wanted to get big muscles before college started in the fall. He was doing better than me, though; he had been lifting religiously for months, building this muscular, rippling body and I was still very slim from all of the running I had done in the past. There was hardly and ounce of fat on me, but there was not much muscle either. My tummy was smooth and soft, his was equipped with a defined six pack. He was probably 4 inches taller than me, and he must've weighed about 50 pounds more than me.

We got started and I was pretty embarrassed because he always seemed to at least double what I lifted. It was a little emasculating having to take off a ton of weight whenever I would lift after him, or watch him add a lot of plates when it was his turn. We joked around about it and started to wrestle harmlessly until he pinned me to the ground. I said, "Why don't you just castrate me here, you've already embarrassed me lifting weights." I was only joking, but he got this wide grin on his face and replied, "Maybe that wouldn't be a bad idea."

I was starting to get a little hot underneath him. There was no way tiny me was going to move that rock of a man and though I didn't want to admit it, it made me feel a little horny. I guess he noticed my growing "enthusiasm" and began to feel like an alpha dog himself, because he started to move his hands in on my smooth legs. Wrestling had long ended, and he was feeling around my legs while I rubbed my hands on his strong chest. We started to get worried that it was going to be gay with the two of us feeling each other that close, so Pat got an idea.

He suggested that I dress up in some sexy girls clothes so it would be like he is doing this with a woman, and I'm a woman, being taken by this man. I didn't know too much about shemales, but the idea definitely turned me on. My hair was long enough to be a girl's already, and I had a slim, effeminate build, so it would be a big stretch.

Pat practically snatched me up off the ground, and led me upstairs into my sister's room. I told him to wait while I changed, and he went into my room while I got dressed. I found a matching pair of black lacy panties and a small bra with padding inside, then I put on a tiny white tank top and a very short jean skirt. I found some black heels in her closet, slipped them on, and then went over to the mirror. I looked pretty believable, but decided to put on a little make up in case. A little bit of blush and some red lipstick later, and I went to find Pat in my room.

He was sitting on my bed in nothing but a pair of grey boxer briefs with his cock trying to push through. I took a second to admire his strong body, and then he looked over me with an overpowering lust. He jumped up and walked over to me. He rested his hands over my cute little ass and kissed me deep. I felt so womanly as his object of desire, and he slowly began to take off my clothes. He left the bra and panties on, and I pushed him back to the bed, where he sat at attention. I got on my knees and pull off his boxer briefs where his nine inch cock sprang to life. I became overpowered with this womanly urge to please it, so I moved my head into it. I sucked the tip and brought a little precum out, then moved further, with his hand pushing me into it. I made eye contact while I blew him and it felt so sexy being his submissive pleasure toy.

The blow job lasted for only another minute, and he said that it was time for the real fun to start. I lifted my head and stood up, while he lustfully admired me again. He took my bra and panties off, then, with him sitting, I sat facing him, onto his cock. My ass slowly lowered onto his huge dick and I straddled my legs tightly around his body. I felt so tiny and helpless as his hands grabbed onto my hips and lowered me all the way to the base of him. With our faces inches away, he kissed me deeply, and I returned, rubbing my hands on his strong chest again.

The pain of his cock in my ass began to melt along with my inhibitions about the whole thing, and all I felt was pleasure as he plunged deep into me. I began to rhythmically move my ass up and down on his cock with the help of his hands on my waist and I moaned with pleasure on each thrust. His penetration got deeper, as I spread my ass even wider, and he began to moan in ecstasy. With my ass wrapped around his cock on that summer day, I became Pat's woman. I felt it and he did too, but we continued with the sex. 

My arms were around his shoulders as we kissed deeply on the bed, and his hands held down my waist to stop me from moving up and down. I knew what was coming next when he slowed down and went rigid. I felt an explosion of warmth deep in my ass all the way up into my stomach. His cum filled me up inside and I knew then that he had marked his territory, and that I was his woman whenever he wanted me. Our bodies were pressed tight and he held me close, and the thought of him coming deep in me cause me to cum between our stomachs. 

I had never felt so connected to someone as I did right there. We were kissing, my legs and arms were wrapped tightly around his body, his muscular arms held me close, with our bodies tight and hot together, and most of all, his nine inch cock was deep in my ass. We were truly one for that time, and I felt completely like a woman who just had the pleasure of pleasing her man. I looked in his eyes and saw a sort of domineering look. He had just turned another man into a woman, and it gave him a deep rush of masculinity knowing that he could make me his bitch any time he pleased.

I pried myself from his strong body and returned back to my knees, making sure to finish a job well done. I cleaned the cum from his cock and licked up all around his dick, even making sure to clean up my little bit of cum that was on his stomach. When I went back down to make sure his cock was completely clean, he gave me a "job well done" treat in the form of another, smaller load of cum. I happily swallowed it and had my man completely satisfied above me.

After cleaning up around his cock, I crawled into my bed where he was beginning to lay down on. I curled up next to him and he put his muscular arm around me and pulled me in closer to him. I knew this was sort of a gesture of ownership, but I was not offended, I actually liked that he now lusted after me and that I could please him with my body. As a responding gesture, I moved in as close as possible and rested my head on his broad chest. In this romantic, but sexual position, we both drifted off to sleep. I dreamed of the fun that we just had and the happiness I was feeling now that he had his arm around me and I was his woman and sex toy. 

When we woke up hours later, Pat and I talked about all of the fun we would have over the summer while we "lifted weights." Making sure to keep with my role though, I went into the kitchen in my sexy lingerie and made him a sandwich. I took it back to him knowing that that summer was going to be the best I had ever had. It was official, he was my man, and I was his girl.