0 comments/ 9000 views/ 3 favorites The Longest Day By: haremdancer It was a luxury to just lie on the straw pallet and watch the sun rise through a chink in the barn planks. The first rays of sunlight peaked over the tree tops on the horizon, spread across the field, touched Molly's garden, and kissed the stone foundation of the cottage. Summer at Molly and Will's place meant that there were more than enough daylight hours for all the chores to get done. There'd be time, in the evening, to listen to Will tell a tale - mostly true, she thought, at least most of the time - of an adventure he'd had during one of his many trips abroad to purchase goods for his store, or for her to tune up her sorry excuse for a fiddle and scrape out a tune. There'd be time at midday to gather some flowers to decorate Molly's table. And there was time now to just lay and appreciate the sunrise. It seemed to her that with this luxury she should feel calmer than she did. Something was interfering with her peace, irritating her like the straw poking through her thin blanket into her backside. She tried to figure out the source of her unease, but it baffled her. Then she heard the barn door creak on its hinges, and Will's footsteps as he approached his horse. She abruptly lost all interest in her musings. She hopped up and grabbed her skirt from the stool, and, pulling it on over her chemise, jumped down out of the loft. This morning leap from the loft was another nice thing about staying with Molly and Will. It was far enough down that she could do a little pirouette in midair. Almost anyone else would have landed with a thud and a grunt, but she settled lightly down on her toes. Her quick entrance meant that she hadn't given a thought to what she'd say to Will in greeting. He'd watched for her descent, though, and winked at her. "Mornin', Peg. You know, your skirt swirls fetchingly when you do that." She flushed at the compliment. "Could I help you load your cart this morning?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound too eager. She loved to watch the muscles in his legs strain against his leggings as he knelt to lift a heavy load, the hair at his neck turning into ringlets with sweat. He looked at her, but she couldn't read his expression. "Maybe you should help Molly with breakfast this morning." “I’ll do that.” Disappointed, she turned away to root through the chicken house for eggs and draw a pail of water from the well. She could see Will out of the corner of her eye as she stooped there, and she tried to see if he was looking in her direction. She thought he might be, perhaps admiring the slenderness of her waist or neatness of her ankles. Or maybe he was intrigued by the glossiness of her long, pale hair or her unusual eyes. She walked along the stone path that led from the barn to the cottage, passing through Molly’s garden and near the huge dolmen, a relic from some forgotten time that had passed along with the land through generations of Will’s family. The summer had been fairly cool so far, but today the granite dolmen seemed to shimmer with heat in the morning sun. She noticed the season’s first ripe strawberries, and bent to pluck some to serve with breakfast. She was the first one in the kitchen this morning, and she bent over the hearth to stir the fire back to life, then busied herself frying eggs, slicing the berries, and cooking oatmeal. The breakfast smells seemed to draw everyone to the table at once. Molly climbed carefully down the ladder from their sleeping loft, her swollen belly making it hard to see her feet. Cassie and Alex ran in just ahead of Will, who was threatening to toss a bucket of water over them if they didn't wash their hands and faces more carefully. Peg set out the food on Molly's table. The table was decorated with a lacy cloth Molly had tatted, and other examples of Molly's handiwork adorned the room: pretty baskets, embroidered cloths, woven wall hangings. As a merchant's wife she didn't have to spend her days working in the fields, and with no children to occupy her time, Molly had channeled her innate industriousness and artisanship into making her home pleasant. She'd attempted several times to teach Peg basketry and crocheting, but Peg just seemed to have no head for it. Peg, who could remember more verses to more ballads than anyone else in the county, couldn't complete the repetitive steps in order. She'd inevitably lose track of what she was doing, and stare at her unfinished work in consternation. Molly and Will weren't sticklers for saying grace before meals, and everyone dug into the breakfast without ceremony but with considerable enthusiasm. Watching Cassie and Alex eat their fill of wholesome fare was the best thing of all about staying with Molly and Will, Peg thought, and the reason she'd never do anything that would cause Molly to regret her hospitality. Will was clever and strong and attractive, and he had a lightness of spirit so akin to her own that she enjoyed any time spent in his company. And even though her head sung, her tongue thickened, her skin tightened whenever Will was near, she admired Molly's generosity and steadfastness, and she wanted Molly to like her, too. "Peg, your hair's especially pretty this morning. It looks lighter than it did just yesterday. How did you manage that?" Molly asked. Everyone was looking at her - even Cassie and Alex were starting to be aware that their mother was a bit different from the other village children's mothers. "I don't know, it just does that sometimes," Peg answered, running her hands through it as if to muss it up and make it look more normal. She tried to change the subject. "Cassie and Alex, did you know that today is the longest day of the year?" Cassie and Alex didn't look all that impressed with her pronouncement, but Molly and Will both looked at her with interest. "And how did you know that? Did you see that in my book?" Will had managed to acquire a handful of books during his travels; along with his wife, they were his most prized possessions. One of the books, he'd showed her, listed feast days and other special days of the year. Will had been teaching Cassie and Alex to read, and maybe he hoped that she'd been learning her letters too. Molly made a small sound of protest, of discomfort. Peg noticed that Molly's hands were clutching the table, and her brow was beading with sweat. "Molly?" Molly's eyes were large and fearful, glistening with unshed tears. Will jumped from the bench and supported her. "Molly?" Peg asked again. "Does it feel like the times you lost your other babies?" Molly nodded in misery. "Cassie and Alex, you take the cart and tend the store by yourselves today," Peg shooed them out the door. Will's eyes never left his wife, but he still joked with the children as they left: "And there'd better be maple candies left tomorrow! Or I'll dock your pay!" "Let's get her up to bed," Peg ordered, and between them they supported her, half-carrying her back up to the loft. They stopped for a minute on the ladder as another contraction wracked her. Laying her gently down on her blanket, Peg stepped over a small cedar chest at the foot of the bed. Inside the chest, Molly had shown her, were the tiny gowns she'd embroidered and blankets she'd woven each time she'd been with child. None had ever been used. "I'll have a look at your belly, and see how the baby's doing," Peg suggested, and Molly nodded and pulled up her frock. Molly had fine, slender legs, in contrast to the great roundness of her belly. Peg ran her hands gently over it. "The baby's in a good position for birthing. The head is down, the bottom's right here-" rubbing the upper right curve of the belly, "and here's an arm - do you feel it?" Molly and Will seemed somewhat reassured. "Let's listen to the heartbeat...I hear it - swish, swish, swish - the baby seems strong, a doughty little fighter. I'm going to check inside now." Molly nodded, and Peg carefully worked her fingers into Molly's slit, feeling the warmth and moistness and mystery of the woman's most intimate parts. "Well, your cervix has thinned and opened a little. The herb I gave you won't do anything more to prolong your pregnancy." Her words sounded so harsh; she wished she could find a gentler way to say this. "The baby is about this size - " using her hands to demonstrate - "I've heard tell of babies this size surviving." As she was speaking, Molly's belly was tightening in another contraction. Her head turned towards Will, and his eyes, too, filled with tears. Peg had never seen a marriage like theirs. She'd never seen Will strike his wife, or even speak harshly to her. Though they'd been married for many years, they were tender with each other, and even though their personalities were so different, they were always companionable. She saw despair in Molly's eyes; in response, Will's face seemed to harden in resolution. "I'd like a word with you, Peg," he said, and he kissed his wife's forehead before propelling Peg back down the ladder and into the kitchen. Peg turned to Will and spoke softly. "Will, I'm sorry - I can't give her more of the herb, it wouldn't be good for her or the baby." And she was right about Will's expression - his voice, though quiet, was stiff as iron. "But you're not just an herbalist, Peg." He leaned closer to her. He hadn't taken his hand from her arm, and his touch sent a wave of warmth through her. "I'll never forget what I saw that day. When that soldier tried to assault you, you summoned some sort of power to help you. Isn't there anything you can do with that power to help my wife?" She wrinkled her brow in thought. "I've never been trained, it's not something I can control. It just surges through me sometimes when ... well, in response to pain, or sometimes..." She didn't finish the sentence; women should not speak of such things. Resolutely, though, she demanded, "Slap me." "And you'll go back to my wife with the mark of my hand on your face? No, I won't have her see that. Think, Peg - when that soldier started to attack you, I don't think you were in pain. Was it fear you were feeling? Or rage at his control over you?" Suddenly he grasped both her wrists in his hand and tugged forcefully on them. He looked at her questioningly. She gave a slow, slight nod, assenting to whatever he might do next. He pulled her hands across the table, bending her over it. He held her firmly, her head pressed against the polished wood. The table gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the open door. She could feel her heart pounding between her ribs, pulsing through her body, reaching all the way through her fingertips, synchronized with the low throbbing hum she'd felt in her head all that day. Will ran his other hand over her hips and her buttocks. "Maybe it was realizing that he lusted for you, desired your body the way I've wanted it since I first laid eyes on you," he whispered. Her breathing became shallow, faster, ragged; she closed her eyes, dizzy, as if she was caught in a whirlpool. "I saw something that day that's haunted me, waking and sleeping, ever since: your perfect buttocks exposed and quivering," and she felt him raise her skirt up to her waist. "They're beautiful, Peg. And your long, lovely legs. And between them, here - " His hand felt between her legs, dipping into her vagina, sliding along her labia. "You're a little wet, my sweet. I think you like this treatment." Her breath caught in her throat. "Or maybe it was the way he punished you, like this, " and he tapped her buttocks, then gave them a stinging slap. Her ears filled with the sound. How, she wondered, would he explain that noise to his wife? "Yes, I liked doing that. I liked the feel of it, and I liked having you at my mercy. I'm going to do that again," suiting his action to his words, "and again," spanking her one more time, hard enough that her eyes watered, "and now let's see what effect that's had on you. Ummm...your quim is so hot now, like a furnace, and so wet." His fingers spread her, exploring. He gently exposed her clitoris and squeezed it, his fingers slick with her juices. She felt something rising inside her, surging like a river in spring. He stopped abruptly. "Look - " She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, and opened her eyes. Her fingertips were pulsing red. She broke free from his hold, and climbed the ladder to the sleeping loft as lightly as any squirrel, Will clambering up behind. "Molly," he called out, "she's going to help you." Well, I'm going to do something, she thought. Let's hope it's a help. Molly was lying as they'd left her, but she looked up at Will's voice. She looked surprised, of course, by Peg's glowing fingers, but not horrified - almost hopeful. Peg climbed into bed with her. She tore open Molly's frock to expose her breasts, swollen and beautiful in her pregnancy. She grasped one in each hand, pushed them together, rubbed their enlarged tips. Molly squirmed but said nothing; she could feel the energy rushing through Peg's fingers and flowing into her all the way to her womb, which was hardening in response. Peg moved to squat over Molly's midsection, and raised one hand, clenched, over her head. Dancing motes of dust in the shadowy loft reflected the red glow. "Now," she said, or intended to say, but instead she heard herself make a different sound, a susurrus that seemed to issue from deep inside her. And now it was as if she had left behind her humanity and inhibitions like a husk, becoming a creature of spirit and lust. She thrust her hand under her skirt, toying with her clitoris with one hand, and spread Molly's labia to expose her nub with her other hand. She could see her desire permeate through Molly. Molly's cheeks were flushed, and her eyes unfocused. Molly thrust her hips up to meet Peg's hand, rubbing her clitoris against Peg's fingertips. Another sound issued from Peg - this one a rising, joyful trill - as she thrust the fingers of the one hand deep into her vagina, and the other's into Molly's. Her orgasm flooded over her, pounding through her, and she could feel Molly's vagina clutching her hand. "Oh my!" Molly said, but she smiled at Peg as she collapsed back onto her bed. She clutched Peg. "How's the baby doing now?" Peg listened for the baby's heartbeat again, and soothed Molly with the news that the baby still seemed to be fine. Peg lay down beside Molly, leaning on one elbow and resting the other hand gently on Molly's belly. Molly snuggled against her as she drifted to sleep. Here and there specks of red still swirled overhead, drifting gently over them. Peg almost drowsed off, too, but instead she pushed herself up and looked around for Will. He was smiling: amusement, or was it desire? "No more contractions since, hmmm, since..." Will nodded. The relief that filled his face lifted years of care away, and Peg suddenly ached to feel his hands on her again. She realized that her skirt was still pulled up around her waist. If she didn't put some distance between Will and herself, she knew, she'd soon be doing something Molly wouldn't approve. She pulled her skirt back down, but couldn't resist parting her legs a little to give Will one last glimpse of her swollen and slick cunny. She stood up and made her excuses to Will. "I should go gather herbs now, there are some that are best picked on this day." This was prevarication; Peg wasn't aware of any plants whose efficacy depended on being picked on a certain day. "Make sure she rests today." "I will," Will agreed, and watched her climb down from the loft. Escaping from the house, she ran down the path, past the barn, under the shade of the maple trees. It was a short climb up the hill to a spruce stand where she knew she'd find some trailing arbutus, then a longer trek to a bog where she had several plants to carefully harvest. She sat on a fallen log as she packed her finds away, her mind drifting back to the scene in the cottage that morning. She felt so confused, her head was throbbing. Why had Will acted as he had - could it have been just because he thought it might help his wife, or was he also acting out of desire for her? "My sweet," he'd called her. Was he teasing, or did he have feelings of affection for her? How could he be so rough with her, then, when he was always so gentle with his wife? She could hear the smack his hand had made against her exposed bottom, feel the sting and the warmth spreading from the area of contact. She recalled every word Will said. "Your perfect buttocks...your long lovely legs..." She touched herself everywhere Will had touched her, thrusting her fingers into her pussy, wishing it was Will penetrating her. It was supper time when Peg made her way back to the cottage. Her long delay - and the cause of it - should have eased the tension she'd felt all that day, but she felt it building again as she crossed the yard. The food was already laid on the table, and Alex and Cassie were impatient to get started on it. Will and Molly were holding hands, Molly looking as proud and satisfied as the tabby cat Peg had seen in the barn the other day with a mouse tail dangling from its mouth. Molly made room for her on the bench in welcome. After the food was gone and the table cleared, Peg tuned up her fiddle and started in on a song. A long, slow ballad, she decided. Wouldn't want to start a dance number and inspire Molly to do a jig! She sang the verses, and left the chorus to the others, accompanying them on the fiddle. She found herself drumming on the fiddle back during the verses, though, and time after time the ballad threatened to turn into a reel as her fiddle got carried away ornamenting the melody. She reached the verse where the two young lovers of the ballad gazed down into the horrors of hell, knowing they were condemned to enter, and reached for each other's hand for comfort. The words jumbled in her head, and she heard herself singing, "He grasped her breasts..." as the children looked up in sudden interest. She brought the bow down on the strings with a squeal. "Time for bed," she told them, and led them out to the barn. Once there, she shushed them to sleep, but she couldn't sleep herself. She leapt quietly out of the loft and paced the barn floor. Her chemise was suddenly hot and irritating, and she ripped it off. The air in the barn was close and stifling. She opened the barn door. The silvery light of the full moon illuminated the garden. She blinked in surprise; the dolmen seemed to be writhing and pulsing with life. Squinting, she could make out the cause for the illusion: the dolmen was covered with not-quite-human forms. The moonlight gleamed on the naked limbs and bodies of a couple dozen creatures that were quite obviously entangling amorously. She wanted a better view of their activities, so she tiptoed around the garden and over to the house, where she could hide on the stoop by the door. She knelt there, one hand on the rail and the other between her legs, enthralled by what she saw. The dozen or so females perched on the stones resembled young human women, but with limbs more lithe, and slenderer waists, than any Peg had seen. Their breasts and bottoms were as full and round as if gravity had no pull on them. They had long, glossy hair in silvery or golden shades, large dark eyes, and delicate faces distorted in lusty leers. A couple had gossamer wings arching over their backs, and one had a long pointed tail. None wore a stitch of clothing. The males were also nude, save for a hat or a boot here or there, but displayed much greater variability in form. A couple looked like little wizened men, with round faces and potbellies and large, tufted ears. Others had long, muscular arms ending in big hands with large knuckles, and fearsome faces with exposed fangs. One was as large and hairy as a troll, with a surprisingly intelligent-looking face, and one had a young man's slender, well-proportioned body topped with the head of a mule. All had sex organs very much like those of a human male, their testicles perhaps a bit larger and meatier, and all those cocks, from what Peg could see, were erect and ready for any opportunity to thrust into a willing female. The Longest Day And the girls were more than willing to take them on. They reclined against the rocks, spreading their legs to entice the males, or bent over at the waist, their bottoms pushed up towards the moon, rotating their hips sinuously. There seemed to be one or two more females than males, and the females competed for the males' attention. One unoccupied female performed a deep back bend, legs spread, over the rock table, tilted her head over her shoulder and called to the nearest male, her voice rising into the night like the call of a wood thrush. The male, a squat, bow-legged creature with absurd whiskers, pumped furiously into his current partner, then shuddered and rolled his head back. He immediately pulled out of the first female and plunged his still hard and glistening cock into the next. Peg heard the cottage door creak open behind her, and furtive footsteps on the stairs. Tearing her eyes briefly from the action on the dolmen, she saw that it was Will. She placed a finger on his lips to shush him, realizing as she did so that the finger had just been exploring her own moist twat, and he would smell her juiciness. "I'd hoped to see you, but I didn't expect to see quite so much of you - what is it?" He spoke quietly, turning in the direction Peg was pointing. "Oh, my," he murmured, unconsciously repeating his wife's sentiments from earlier that day, as his eyes began to make sense of the motions on the dolmen. "The Fair Folk? Well, some of them are fair enough. I've never seen the like. Peg - do you know, do they do this all the time?" "I think...well, the stories say that they live a very long time, but have very few children," she whispered in response, trying to collect her thoughts. "I think that they can only mate occasionally, maybe only on this night, the shortest night of the year. I think that dolmen calls to them when the time is ripe." "You look much like them, my sweet. Your hair, your shape, the graceful way you move..." She was to distracted by what she was seeing to give much thought to her words. "My mother," she said. "My father told me she was one of the Fair Folk. She left when I was young, I don't remember her. Please don't tell anyone!" "I won't." He settled on the stoop next to her, and wrapped his arm around her waist. His hand brushed against the underside of her breast. "But don't worry - it's nothing that hasn't been speculated about in these parts for years. It's obvious you're different from the rest of us, but most people don't like you less for it." She didn't take up the conversation but kept her attention on the dolmen. She and Will watched together as the troll-like creature took one of the females from the rear. He grasped both her breasts in one massive hand; their flesh bulged from between his fingers. He looked so huge compared to her, surely she must be apprehensive - but no, she spread her legs, pushed her buttocks up against him, and wrapped her tail over his back to pull him tight to herself as he thrust into her. She made out a stirring in the trees opposite them. "Do you see, over there by the orchard, someone's coming this way?" she pointed. As the figure came closer, she could tell that the figure was that of a naked youth. Will whispered, "Hang on, I know him...I'm sure of it, he's an old friend of mine. He went off to Devonshire years ago to become a journeyman silversmith. He hasn't changed much in all that time!" The young man was slender but well proportioned, with shoulder-length golden hair and an airy grace to his walk. Peg wondered if he might be half-elven. He stopped a few feet away from the dolmen and presented his erection to an unoccupied female with a lewd gesture. She appeared to be considering the proposition, then acquiesced with a shrug, spreading her legs for him. He bounded to her, but rather than immediately thrusting into her undoubtedly wet pussy, he first cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her. She gave a purr of pleasure and nestled up to him. He ran his fingers over her breasts, then suckled on each of her nipples as his fingers gently explored between her legs. She began to buck and writhe, her shimmering wings beating against his back. His kisses moved down to the curve of her slender waist, and then he kissed her inner thighs. She lifted her legs in a V over his shoulders, and he caressed her cunny with his tongue. "I'd bet you want to join that group too," Will murmured. And she did long to be part of it, so much that she almost stood to leave the stoop. "Do you want me too?" she asked. "Much as I'd like to see you getting the fucking you deserve, I'd rather have you stay with me." He paused. The newcomer to the group was now receiving the attention of several of the ladies; they'd observed the pleasure he'd given his first partner, and wanted their share of it. One pried away the bogle thrusting between her legs with an expression of distaste, and placed the young man's hand in its place. He turned to service her. "You share their wantonness." She couldn't deny it. For years she'd lived by the strict rules of conduct of the village, but she'd chafed in her life of chastity. They'd ostracize her - her children would suffer - she had no choice; but she wanted to be like the creatures sprawled on the dolmen now, sharing their bodies with all takers. "I will remain faithful to my wife, and you'll be a good girl," he promised, "but that doesn't have to stop us from enjoying each other. Stand up, lean over the rail - that's right - spread your legs, just like those hussies on the stones, you can't deny that you're like them." The night air was cool between her legs, but then she felt the warmth of Will's breath, the coarseness of his beard on her inner thigh, the slick heat of his tongue seeking out her clitoris. "Oh! That's unbelievable, I didn't know anything could feel like that..." she moaned. Will caressed her buttocks as he continued to tongue her, then slipped a finger inside her anus. She was shocked but too aroused to resist, and the probing he was giving her added to her excitement. On the dolmen, the young man had enticed one female to lie on top of another, the top one's breasts pressing against the other's back, and was plunging into each eager pussy in turn. She dug her hands into the rail, transfixed by the erotic activities she was viewing and by the intense feelings that washed over her like the moonlight streaming on her skin. And then she couldn't see the dolmen anymore, couldn't feel the rough wood of the rail rasping against her legs, couldn't sense anything but the white heat that exploded up through her, surging again and again, pulsing, finally ebbing away as she regained some sense of her self. Will had risen and was standing beside her, one had holding her arm and the other pointing into the sky. Looking up, she saw a red streak arc away from her and descend over the dolmen, bursting into a fountain of sparks. The young man looked around, briefly distracted from his rhythmic thrusting, his eyes tracing back along the fading arc to its origin. His eyes seemed to light on Peg, and Peg thought she saw him smile. The Longest Day Ever heard the phrase "it's the quiet one's you have to watch out for."? Well, that's me. By day I am an upstanding citizen, a public figure, and neighborhood leader. Exactly the type you see in old TV shows and movies, well respected and highly admired. But at night I read erotic literature, watch porn and talk to multiple women without any knowing of the other. I play the "goodie-goodie" role so well that women trust me almost instantly. I have realized just what trust can get you, a naked woman. When I say this I am not claiming to smooth talk women, no I am claiming that they try to smooth talk me into sex even after I tell them I am not looking for a relationship. Of course I "reluctantly" engage them. I have written several of my encounters in my journal, but my reputation won't allow me to tell my exploits to even my closest friends. So here I tell you one of my stories from the anonymity of a computer screen. Other than the names of those involved, I give my word that every other detail is the truth. My first story I have titled "The Longest Day." I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed living it. You can call me Jason. I don't remember the exact date but it was around 2am and my phone rang. It was the weekend and I was up watching TV. As I answered, a loud and obviously drunk female voice on the line asked for Jason. Now this particular conversation isn't that important to the story, but what matters is that the girl had a wrong number, and as luck would have it the person she was calling happened to have my name. The next day she called again and with a more sober tone apologized for her late night calling. Needless to say, she sounded cute so I continued the conversation and a couple hours later she asked if I would mind her calling me again sometime, and that is how my story started. For about a month, we talked on the phone several times but hadn't decided to meet, until one day we started talking sexual fantasies. My entire life I have been the leader, the one in charge, the one telling everyone else what to do. It would be a dream for once to let my guard down, not be in control, be a submissive. This particular fantasy doesn't involve whips, spikes, or anything being inserted into my ass, it's simply a matter of allowing someone else to have control. This girl, Diana was up for the challenge. She laid out the rules for our first face to face meet. I was to rent a hotel room for the day and leave a key card with the manager for her. From there I was to go to the room, which had to be ground floor and facing the pool, and prepare for the day. My guidelines were to strip naked, blindfold myself and lay face up in the middle of the bed. For that day I had only three rules, I couldn't talk, move, or cum unless I was told otherwise. I had become her sex doll for the day, and she expected my penis to be ready anytime she wanted it. The day came and I did as I was instructed. I was laying there completely naked and blind to the world thinking of how I was about to be used as a sex toy by someone I had never met, never even seen. It was at that point I got one of the hardest erections of my life. I heard the door open and someone walk in. Without a sound, the person tied me spread eagle to the bed. A slight fear swept over me as I heard the sound of the curtains being opened to what I remembered being a clear view from the swimming pool. The voice from the phone leaned over to me and whispered, you are exposed so that anybody that happens by can see you. I will be back whenever I am ready, and I expect your dick to be just as hard then as it is now. She walked out the door. As I lay there part of me started thinking of how anybody could walk by and see me laying there, with that thought in mind, I had no problem keeping the erection. After a brief period she came back in, closed the curtains and locked the door. She came over to the bed and straddled me with only the head of my dick going inside her. She reminded me of the rules making it clear that I was not to move or cum until she told me otherwise. She rocked back and forth keeping the tip of my prick inside of her but nothing more. It took all my will not to become a jackhammer and start pounding upwards further into her pussy. It was then that she told me her plans for the day. She would go swimming, watch TV, read her book, and satisfy herself using my dick any time she had the urge to sit on something. She could cum, and she would cum, but I would not. She made it clear that at any moment if she wanted sex I had to be erect and ready for her to use my penis as her newest toy. If it softened or if I came I would be punished. So at 9am that morning she started. If you ever get the chance to be a woman's play thing for the day I highly recommend it. After she had finished telling me the details she began to ride me harder than I had ever been ridden before. I was nothing more than one of her favorite toys at that point; a vibrator that she could ride as hard as she wanted, as long as she wanted, and not worry about the batteries. She was screaming aloud, I was screaming inside. Oh God was I ever screaming. My dick got harder and tighter until I felt like I was nearing the point of no return. I tried to relax breath normally and think about baseball. It was about that time I felt her body go limp briefly before she climbed off. I heard a bag of chips open and the TV come on. All I could think about was how my nuts felt like exploding and releasing their occupants. I slowly brought myself into a relaxed state while managing to maintain my erection. I knew she was still naked, and that even though the TV was on she was more than likely still looking at my swollen and wet flagpole. 30 minutes might go by fast if your watching a good TV show, but if your laying blindfolded with the knowledge that at any minute your penis could be shoved into a mouth, or a pussy or ass for that matter, time drags on and on. I had no idea the time, but assumed it was around 11. She had rode me for what seemed like around an hour then went to watching some show. It was around that time that she came and straddled me again, this time her pussy on my chest. She took my cock in her hands. I heard her say, I wonder just how big my new toy really is. I felt both her hands gripping my dick and almost reach the lip of the head. Now I am no monster dicked freak, but I have around 7.25 inches, of perfectly straight meat with a large mushroom on the end. Rather nice looking if I do say so myself (wouldnt mind another inch though). Well she continued to inspect her property and play with her toy using both her hands and her mouth. It didn't seem as much as a way to pleasure me, as it was a girl examining her first cock. I could smell her pussy getting nice and moist. I could feel its warmth on my chest; my penis was trying to relieve me of some of my swollenness by releasing large amount of pre-cum. I could tell this girl had a slim and short body, but her breast felt huge against my stomach. She slowly slid back against my face and told me that I could have lunch. I licked at her clit a little, but my main goal was to get my tongue inside her cunt and feast. She bucked against my face and began squeezing my cock in her hand as though it was a handle to keep her from falling off the bed. It was a painful experience, but I have to admit, I really enjoyed it. Throughout the day she continued to do similar sexual experiments, each seemingly designed to please herself and remind me that I was nothing more than a ready made dildo to her. She got on my dick and rode me more times that I could count, mainly because the time between rides was never the same. Sometimes she would make me wait for what felt like an hour, sometimes she would get off only long enough to change the channel on the TV and get back on. At one point she decided she didn't want to fuck me, but she enjoyed feeling my cock inside of her so she stayed straddled with my dick inside her while she flipped through the channels. If a man learns to control the muscles around his cock he can make it jump or dance around. She knew that I had this talent and while she was sitting there watching tv she had instructed me to make it bounce while it was still inside her. After a couple times of her using my penis as a sexual saddle, the lubrication on the condom would wear off and need to be switched out several times during the day. She tried several different types of condoms. Everything from heated to extended pleasure. I honostly couldnt tell much of a difference. It was unlike any experience I've ever had, laying there trying not to cum while you have a hot and moist pussy holding you tight. She hadn't talked to me since lunch, but she untied my arms and legs and said that we were going to the shower. Once in the shower I proceeded to wash her entire body while still wearing my blindfold. She then instructed me to get down on my knees and start eating her out while the water ran over her. I ate her pussy as though I was a hungry bear lapping from a bowl of honey. We got out of the shower and without drying off walked back toward the beds. She told me to continue standing and asked me if my nuts felt as sperm filled as they looked. It was at this point the day was almost at an end. I had been fucked, sucked and stroked all day and my dick felt like it was about to explode. She got my cell phone and called my best friend Mark. She handed me the phone and instructed me to talk, not cum until she said I could, and no matter what Mark couldn't know I was getting my dick sucked dry. It is hard to find something to talk about while a girl has your cock halfway down her throat, but as she uttered three little letters, a single word, an entire days worth of pent up energy was released into her stomach. After a day of being forbidden to cum, all it took was her saying the word "now" to make me wonder just how much sperm a body could produce and how many jolts it took to remove it all. As I fell onto the bed, she removed my blindfold to reveal a very attractive set of breast. She was just as beautiful as I had imagined her when I first heard her over the phone. Around 5 foot 3, I would guess around 120 pounds. Dark brown hair and a light tan. She had a stud in her tounge and a bar in one nipple. A small patch of hair just above her clit that was shaved to look like a V. Her job caused her to move 2000 miles away and I don't see her anymore, but that day was one that I will never forget. The Longest Day I put this in novels and novellas because it's my second Jonathan Smith story and there will be more. It seems like they will be long enough for a novel by the time I'm done. Check my profile for more information on my works. * When I checked in, I discovered I was being loaned to a district in Kensington to participate in a prostitution sweep. It was far from my favorite thing to do on the midnight-to-eight shift. I hadn't been a detective long, so I couldn't exactly ask for more meaningful assignments. Maybe I was wrong about how relatively benign much of what we policed in vice really was. Almost all the people we picked up, not women, people, were in the profession to satisfy their drug habits. That often gave us the opportunity to pursue the people who sold them the drugs. The people who sold them the drugs were typically at the bottom of the org chart. When we picked them up that sometimes gave us the opportunity to pursue someone higher up the chart. And so on. As long as drugs were illegal, the profits to be made were irresistible to many. For that kind of return they would be willing to risk and perpetrate violence to succeed in their chosen line. Being killed was a risk of doing business and they accepted the likelihood they would not enjoy longevity. Legalizing drugs would stop most of the violence, but drugs would still do terrible things to the addicts. A trick could find a twenty-year old hooker, but she would probably look like she was in her mid-thirties. If he settled for someone in her thirties, she would probably look older than his grandmother. "You think too much, kid." That's what the guys I worked with always told me. But if we don't think about these things and try to find a better approach, we'll be arresting people one at a time until the end of civilization. It's like trying to fix an eroding hillside by tossing on a shovelful of dirt instead of finding a way to divert the water. "You think too much, kid," one of the detectives said. "We're just here to sweep 'em up and bring 'em in. What happens after that is somebody else's headache." So sweep them up we did. And we took notes against the unlikely possibility we would be required to testify. The vast majority would plead guilty and come back through the turnstile fairly quickly. Some would have the arrests tossed out in exchange for information. "You looking for a date, honey?" Was it even necessary to write that down? About the only alternative opening line was, "Hey honey, you looking for a date?" "Well, I uh ..." I would explain in answer to the prosecutor's questions that I tried to act shy in order not to suggest any particular behavior on the part of the defendant lest I entrap her. My notes might say "accused" or even "perp" if I was in a snotty mood. But when we got them into court, listening to them respond to the judge could make this part seem like a holiday celebration by comparison. With the shift more than half over we sat in night court while a judge decided what to do with the people we arrested. We were available in case a defendant denied that anything at all had happened, that she was picked up inadvertently, though I never heard any of them use that word. It was usually routine. It was usually boring. It was usually depressing. There was one exchange that morning I don't think I'll ever forget. "Miss Robbins, I see you've been arrested twenty-three times for prostitution," said the judge. "Yes, sir." "I also see you have three open cases. I also see you have failed to appear thirteen times on the oldest case." "I had trouble finding a babysitter, sir." Thirteen times? Babysitting must pay better than prostitution if there was such a scarcity . "How much bail am I going to have to set to make sure you appear when this case is called?" She had a public defender to assist her, but what could he say? Could he tell the judge not to be so snippy just because she only shows up when she is arrested? Could he urge the judge to release her on her own recognizance, ROR, because she had children depending on her? That would certainly elicit a lecture about her responsibility to her children. But she'd probably had that lecture from many judges. "I don't have any money, sir." He already knew that. She wasn't being represented by the public defender because of his world-renowned skills in representing prostitutes. The judge shook his head in frustration. What could he possibly do to try to fix this unfixable situation? ""I'll tell you what I'm going to do today, Miss Robbins: I'm going to let you go home to your children. They need a mother. You've got to stop doing this." What she probably heard was, "Blah, blah, blah." "Miss Robbins, if you miss your court date I'm going to lock you up. Your children will be taken away from you. Do you understand?" "Yes, sir." "ROR," he said. "When you're released, you go home to those children." "Thank you, sir." I don't know about anybody else, but what she said next stunned me. "Have a blessed day." She's deeply religious? She sees this as all being part of some plan set out by the Almighty? God wanted to decimate her life with drugs? To support this He sent her strangers to engage in dangerous sex for money with her? Being arrested is a small problem compared to the other things that could happen to her. She has damaged the lives of her family around her. She has put her children in danger repeatedly. She may not even know who the fathers are. Maybe they were men who paid her one time and left her to try to support their child on her own when she couldn't even support herself. And she sees all of this so clearly as a divinely-crafted plan that she wishes the judge who released her to continue to ply her trade to, "Have a blessed day?" That moment marked the nadir of my optimism about the continuance of the human race. All I wanted to do was finish my shift and get home to see my wife and daughter. After the judge disposed of the last of our arrestees, we headed back to the station to fill out our paperwork and complete our notes. "Hey, Smith." It was the desk sergeant. I had to be Smith since he knew everybody else by sight. "Yeah, Sarge." "Your lieutenant wants you to give him a call." "Thanks." It wasn't his fault. If my lieutenant wanted me to call this close to the end of my shift, it was not to tell me, "Have a blessed day." "Jonathan, we have a lot of guys out sick and a lot of things scheduled for today. I need you to come in and work another shift." "Okay, Lieutenant." There were other words I would have preferred to say, but I can be practical now and then. I called Barbara to tell her I wouldn't be home as expected. She used some of the other words I would have preferred and, somehow, I really couldn't follow her argument, working a second shift became my fault. I reported a little late, but it wasn't a problem. Nobody expected you to finish a shift at eight and start the next one at eight in another district. I came in toward the end of the meeting as the last of the instructions were being given. "So, as a result of the shortage of detectives today, I've asked the five of you to help us with these simultaneous raids. Change back into your street clothes. They may make you as cops, but it would be really stupid if they did because you were wearing uniforms. "Each of you will go with one of the five teams. Make sure you don't go to an area where you're well known. We don't want that kind of advertisement either. "Smith, you're on Weston's team." The plan was I would drive up slowly to a designated street corner where drugs were being sold, Narcotics had drawn up the targets, and when somebody came over to my vehicle to discuss business, the other vehicle would whip around the corner and we would grab everybody up. We would take them to the station and go out for additional raids. It was a stupid plan, but nobody ever asked me. We would be working in a depressed black neighborhood. Was I the only one who questioned the concept that two vehicles with white guys, some of them old white guys, driving around to drug corners would be too commonplace to be noticed? Making me the driver wasn't unreasonable. At twenty-four, with a decent, late-model car, I could be taken for a college kid from the suburbs looking to score. But who was my passenger, my Dad? As I approached our first corner, "Dad" said, "Damn. That's Wayne Rabbit Wilson." He didn't look like a Mafioso. He had only a one-word middle nickname, he was black and Wilson is not an Italian name. "Who is he?" I asked. "High school track star. He won the all-city one hundred and two twenty." "He doesn't look that fast." Yes, he did. He was six foot two and lithe. "You better get him before he takes off. You'll never catch him." I slowed to a stop near the corner. Rabbit looked skittish. Maybe Dad made him nervous. "You're in the wrong place if you and pops are looking for dates," Rabbit said. "I dated last night. We're just --" Weston whipped his Crown Vic around the corner on an angle to mine to block Rabbit from running in the opposite direction of our car. "You're under arrest," I said, "by the team of Smith and Weston." Rabbit vaulted the hood of Weston's vehicle and took off up the street. "You could have mentioned he ran hurdles," I said. I got out of my vehicle and vaulted the hood. "Don't bother; you'll never catch him," my passenger called after me. I'd watched the Olympics, but Rabbit was the fastest I'd ever seen in person. He sped with easy, loping strides. There was nothing easy about my stride. Leaning forward slightly I put every bit of power I could marshal into each stride. He had twenty-five to thirty yards on me. I understood the concept of don't bother and had practiced it. I did not grasp the concept of you can't do that. I usually took it as a personal challenge. Rabbit darted left at the end of the block. As he turned right at the next street he saw me around fifteen yards behind him. He had a look of astonishment on his face which changed to a look of determination that said no short, white boy is going to catch me. He turned left again at the end of the block and turned right at the next driveway which he followed for two blocks. We had passed two twenty and were pretty near half a mile. He had two yards on me. My legs were starting to ache and my chest was on fire. I considered anything longer than two hundred twenty yards to be a long-distance race. He turned right at the end of the drive way. I was in agony, but I was determined. Nobody runs this distance at a sprint. It's too long. The body can't take it. I learned that one day in gym class when I tried my first quarter mile. I whipped around the first two twenty in twenty point five seconds. I ran almost as fast for the next hundred ten yards. Nobody was within one hundred yards of me. Then somebody apparently attached concrete blocks to my legs. All the runners I had left in the dust passed me as I struggled to get to the finish in something slightly faster than a walk. I closed to within a yard, reached out and grabbed his shirt. His feet went flying out from under him. I collapsed on his chest. "You're under arrest." That's what I thought. What I did was retch and barf. "You threw up on my shirt," he said, offended. I held on tight and fought to catch my breath. The two vehicles found us a minute later. I got off Rabbit and they cuffed him. "The son of a bitch threw up on me." He was outraged. Jim Weston and his partner took him to the station in their vehicle. Dad drove ours. "Okay, how the hell did you get to run so fast?" "I was born to run," I wheezed. "Yeah. You and The Boss." "I've loved to run for as long as I can remember. I was faster than anybody else every place I ran, even the older kids. It feels so great just to run, except when I barf." "So how come I didn't see you in an all-city track meet?" "I played soccer in high school. I thought I had the speed and the moves so I asked my parents if I could join the football team. I was smaller then, just under five six and less than one hundred thirty pounds." He laughed. "Yeah. My parents didn't say no, they just laughed. They said I'd get hurt. I told them I was strong and so fast I might not even get hit." "Everybody gets hit." "They said there was no way they were going to sign an approval slip. Little Jewish boys don't play football. "So one day I got to gym class late. We were running a half mile. The rest of the class took off thirty seconds before I got there. "I started running to catch up with them. When I did, I thought why just catch up, why not win? And I did. I finished around ten yards ahead of the fastest guys in the class. Then I threw up. You're not supposed to run a sub-two-minute half mile with zero training. "It got me thinking I could be successful at track if I practiced. I went to see the coach to find out about joining the team. He said, 'We got a regular Oscar Fleetfoot, here.' "He wouldn't even let me try out. He said if he hadn't seen me run I couldn't be fast enough to help him. "If it happened today, I'd train and hop on the track after his team took off in practice and leave them in the dust before I turned down his invitation to join. But back then I tried to pick my battles." "You seem to have forgotten how to do that." "I said I tried. I didn't say I succeeded." We went out on two more operations. The others were still out an hour before the end of the shift. The lieutenant told us he had an easy one for us, just one guy and he wasn't fast. He sent out Dad and I. Jim Weston and his partner stayed to do paperwork. Raymond Bolger, can you believe his parents named him that? He was muscle for a drug supplier. He was not muscle in just the figurative sense. He was six five, two hundred eighty pounds and his body fat percentage was too low to count. We wanted to question him, see if we could get anything, maybe turn him. Dad leaned against the car while I went to speak with Ray Bolger. "We'd appreciate it if you'd come with us to answer some questions, sir. We'll drop you off wherever you want when we're done." "I don't think so." He said it with attitude. "Look, it's not really a choice. I have to bring you in for questioning." "You and what army?" How original. "Just me." I walked forward to take his arm. He backed away and threw a ferocious right. I have a philosophy about fighting: Just win; quick and decisive. You don't get style points. You don't win admiration by fighting fair. You win or you get hurt or worse. I'm five eight, one hundred sixty pounds. He was a serious threat. I didn't want a long fight. I ducked under his punch, swiveled my hip and hit him in the chest with an explosive right. I heard a cracking sound and felt a flash of pain in my hand even though I hit him with my knuckles properly aligned. I had spent countless hours training even after I got my black belt to keep me safe in situations like this. My hand throbbed. I saw Bolger collapse to the ground clutching his chest. He was having trouble breathing. The cracking sound was his ribs and I was afraid one had punctured a lung. "Help me get him in the back" I ordered. "We have to get him to an emergency room." We had to get me there too. I might have broken some fingers. The assessment at the emergency room was that he had cracked ribs and a punctured lung. We would be at the hospital until we were relieved. I called Barbara to tell her I wouldn't be home as expected. I told her I hit a bad guy and we were at the emergency room while they worked on his punctured lung. I told her they were going to check me out because I might have broken my hand. She was angry. She accused me of doing whatever I could to avoid spending time with her. There were times, like this, when I wanted to stay away from her. Did she really think I would puncture somebody's lung and break my hand just to avoid being with her? Even paranoids would probably find that implausible. In the end my hand was simply bruised and it would ache for weeks. I went with Dad to a cop bar after we were relieved. I didn't drink, but I didn't feel like going home. He threw down a couple beers while I nursed a Diet Coke. He excused himself to hit the john. His seat was promptly filled with a badge bunny named Sandy. She was in her mid-thirties but quite an appealing little package. "What's with the wrap?" "I had to break down a steel wall to gain entry to a premises. I figured I ought to ice it." She laughed appreciatively. My experience was that badge bunnies would laugh or sigh appreciatively at most anything you said or did. "You look tired," she said. "Very long day." "You want to talk about it? I'm a good listener." "Nah, that's okay." Then I thought about it. I could use somebody to talk to and it sure wasn't Barbara. "Yeah," I said. "I live near here and it won't be so noisy. I think I can find you some soda to drink there." We sat a few feet apart on her sofa facing each other. I told her about the holy hooker. I told her about Barbara's reaction to my second shift assignment. I told her about having to chase down a suspect and tossing my cookies. I told her about my encounter with Ray Bolger sans identifying details. I told her I felt discontented about hurting the unnamed man, though if I had it to do again, I wouldn't change a thing. Better him than me. I told her about Barbara's reaction to the situation. She sympathized about what a long and difficult day I had. At least most days were not so emotional or stressful. She edged closer and said I deserved to have a more understanding wife; that Barbara didn't appreciate me. What she was really saying was, "Would you like a consolation roll in the hay?" She lifted my right hand and kissed the ice pack. "Does it hurt?" "Yeah, it still does." "Why don't we do something to take your mind off of it?" It had been a long and stressful day. Barbara had been as far from supportive as it was possible to be. We hadn't been married all that long, but she seemed to be putting less and less effort into it as time passed. None of that was adequate justification to accept Sandy's offer. What made me accept was that I have always had great difficulty saying no to an attractive woman and my resolve had been drained. I got up and followed her into the bedroom. Ray Bolger became known as One-Punch Bolger. Over the years by guile and intimidation he changed the story. He told everyone he acquired that name because he could take out a man with one punch. In the end, he came to believe it himself.