textfiles/sex/EROTICA/P/paganini.txt

Paganini's Tale, Chapter 1

Alice was already tired of it all, and she wasn't even drunk yet.
Not that she drank all that much; she only drank when she was out,
partying, or in, waiting for Larry to come home tired, irritable,
and whiny. These damn office parties were all the same: mindless
in-fighting, silly gossip, each one trying to impress the rest
with their corporate loyalty. Larry leaned on the door jamb across
the room, talking with some other man with his tie loosened just
enough to be pretend-daring. As if his tie was a bit of armor.
   She decided that listening to the ninny beside her telling
about her beautician wasn't interesting enough to make any
difference, and so without apology she rose from the couch to get
another gin and tonic from the kitchen. <It's always the same,>
she thought, <never anything exciting, never anyone interesting.>
Her mind felt as unsteady as her feet.
   With a slight weave to her step she meandered to the kitchen,
glass in hand. Past the woman in a paisley blouse laughing so
loudly it seemed frightening. Past the stoop-shouldered accountant
smiling nervously at the man telling him about this season's
Colts.  Past the thin-chinned youngster telling how he thought his
boss was great.  Alice had no use for any of them, and wished
Larry would get done with his bootlicking so they could get away.
Most of all she wished they had come in separate cars so she could
go home now.
   The ice was nearly out. She placed the last few cubes in her
tall glass, then tossed in a shot of gin. She thought a moment,
then with a shrug of disgust tosssed another two gurgles atop the
ice.
   "That bad, eh? I understand. Toss some my way."
   The voice was warm, strong, and when she turned to see his
face, she saw a sturdy jaw, toughened skin, and grinwrinkles
around bright eyes. No great beauty, but a certain strength...
something in her understood.
   "Put two gurgles in my glass, and then follow me without being
noticed."
   She stared up at him, wordless, confused. "Two gurgles," she
repeated.
   "Two." He pushed his tall tumbler at her.
   She turned the gin bottle upside down over his glass. Two
gurgles it was, and then he turned from her almost before she
righted the bottle.
   She watched his back as he walked into the living room, toward
the stairs. Strong muscls stretched beneath the light cotton
shirt. He was someone who worked, it was clear. His command
intrigued her, sent gentle tingles from the back of her skull down
her back to pocket between her legs. She looked down at her glass.
   What he wanted was clear. She was married, and had been for
four years, to Larry, who now was chortling merrily at someone
else's joke. She swirled the ice in the glass, watched the ripples
in the liquor for a moment, then half-shrugged and meandered
unsteadily toward the doorway to the living room, past which was
the stairs the man had taken.
   His words replayed in her mind: <follow me without being
noticed.> Larry was still talking; he hardly noticed her go by,
but she noticed him: thin lips, sallow face, thin arms. A clerk's
body. Her own body tingled, but not toward him: toward the stairs.
Her cunt made her mind up, and she let it. <Lead on,> she smiled
to herself, <let's have an adventure>.
   As if deciding to find a bathroom, she ascended the stairway.
Her body waited: nipples prickled and became hard beneath her
constricting brassiere. She wanted it off, so her nipples could be
free. Her pants were confining, and she wanted a cock inside her.
   The hallway was dark in the old house. Rooms came off the
landing, and around the corner toward the one lit room on the
floor: the bathroom.
   Alice stopped, heart thudding. In one of these rooms a man
awaited her. Somewhere up here was that shaft she wanted between
her legs.
   Putting one foot in front of her, she made sure her walk
sounded on the wood floor. A door opened on her left, opening into
darkness. She hesitated a brief instant more, then started in.
   A hand snaked out of the darkness and grabbed her hand, pulling
her in. Below, she could hear the party sounds of empty laugher,
light music. the clink of glasses. In here, in this room, the only
important sound was his deep, gutteral breath.
   "For the next twenty minutes you're mine. If that's not what
you want, leave now."
   Alice felt something twist inside her, and then break open,
letting loose a gush like warm honey between her legs. She didn't
even think. She sensed where his face was and pressed her mouth
against his.
   His hands came up under her blouse, forcing their way almost
painfully under her brassiere. Jolts of energy flashed from her
nipples inside her when he squeezed. His kiss was deep, fully
tongued, and she sucked on that tongue like she could pull him
through it. She wanted more of him, and she tried to get her hands
between them to unbutton his shirt.
   He broke away from the kiss. "I said you were mine." He gave
her nipples sharp, biting pinches, then broke away entirely. She
stood in the darkness broken only by the curtained window's
reflected streetlight, her body rocking from the sudden lack of
stimulation.
   "Take off your blouse, and pull your pants down to your knees."
   Stifling her words, she began to unbutton her blouse. She could
see him silhouetted against the faint light. He stood motionless.
She kept facing him when, with a whispered whimper, she pulled
down her pants, leaving her boots on. Her ankles felt bound.
   He took a fingerfull of pubic hair, using that to pull her
toward him. With his other hand, he snatched up a fistfull of
mane, pulling her face to his. Again the tonguing. But this time
he had a hand on her cunt, just resting on her lips. She arched
her back, trying to push her pubis onto his hand, but he pulled
back just enough to keep contact without a finger sinking in. He
broke away from the kiss.
   "You want it, don't you?"
   She groaned in response, but that wasn't enough for him. "Say
it out loud," he ordered.
   "Oh, God, yes, I want it," she managed to say.
    She was astounded at how she was responding. Without
embarassment, she was following his order. With Larry, she would
have laughed. but this man was so certain. He knew what he was
doing, and she loved it, and wanted him to continue.
   "Yes," she gasped, "something, anything."
   One finger sank between her vaginal lips, into the deep heat of
her cunt. She moaned.
   As if he were telling a neighbor about some weeds he'd have to
pull, he said, "Make any more noise and I'll have to gag you."
   Another finger slipped in. She tried to stifle her moan, using
his tongue as a gag. She wanted to pull him to her, but somehow
she knew he didn't want that; her hands hung in the air, lowering
slowly as if she could take his prick as soon as it showed itself.
   "Pull my cock out," he said. "And then I want you to suck it. I
want to feel your tongue sliding down that long muscle. I want to
feel your nose in my hair. I want you to take it deep."
   She reached for his fly and quickly unzipped it, while working
at his belt with her other hand. <God I want this cock now>, she
thought, <and I shouldn't.> Nobody had ever talked that way to
her. <Take it deep,> she said to herself, knowing she had never
taken any cock as deep as she could.
   His underwear was frustratingly in the way. Pulling the elastic
band down deep, her hand felt the huge mass of cock jutting out
from this man's crotch. She felt its thickness, its heat, and
moaned again.
   She nearly lunged at its purple head, faintly shining in the
dim light. It felt like a heated plum in her mouth, filling her
from tongue to palate. Her hands were busy unfastening his belt.
She wanted his cock free, his hair in front of her. She thought
she could take him deep; he was thick, massively thick, but not
particularly long. Her lips were stretched.
   Finally she had his pants loose, and she pulled underwear and
pants down, pulling his cock toward her as she did. Suprising them
both, her nose was instantly nestled in his dark pubic hair. She
breathed in through her nose, nearly gagging, then pulling back.
It had felt wonderful to feel him so deep inside. She lapped at
the cock's thick trunk, down to his balls, then up, swirling about
its head, feeling the wrinkles on its ridge, tickling the eye on
the end. Then she pulled him into her again.
   He grabbed her hair and pulled her back. Her head was immobile,
straining forward, mouth open, tongue resting on her lower lip.
   "Once more, and then you lean over," he told her, then pulled
her head onto his cock, slowly, easing it, sliding it past her
lips to her palate past her uvula and finally back, pushing back
at the corner of her throat.
   Again he pulled her back. "Now stand up and lean over."
   She did as he said, placing her hands on the chair in front of
the dresser. The mirror atop the dresser was nearly as tall as
she; his reflection faced her, watching her. His cock stood out
straight, white and purple, barely illuminated, as as her rump,
the side of her curved waist and the outside roundness of her
breast.
   Her blond hair hung around her head like a halo, but she felt
nothing angelic. What she was feeling was primal. Her blue eyes
were wide, her breath was ragged. Behind her she could see the
dark hair on his broad chest, the assured smile on his face.
   She felt his hand touching the round globes of her buttocks.
His fingers dipped between her legs, and she felt his index finger
parting the soft inner lips of her labia. Exploring the rubbery
ridges of her excited tissues, swirling deeper and deeper. She
groaned, then  cut it off. <I don't want to be gagged>, she
thought. <...or do I?>
   She could feel fingers plunging into her cunt. Pushing against
her cervix, pushing down on the top of her moist walls. A third
finger pushed in; was it his thumb? She watched him in the mirror,
his broad cock bobbing with his arm's motions.
   His thumb pulled out of her juicy cunt and began circling the
rim of her anus. Her sphincter tightened automatically; she'd
never had anyone <there>. His thumb increased its pressure
slightly, while his other two fingers pushed into her twat and his
ring finger punched at her clitoris. She grunted in whispers,
fighting to hold back her voice. This was scream-out-loud in the
empty woods sex. She wanted to holler out, but she knew she
couldn't.
   Round and round his thumb went, gradually massaging her asshole
into relaxing. The tip of his thumb dipped in slightly, moistened
with cunt juice. Dipped in a little deeper, while his fingers
played Chopin with her G-spot. Her body was shuddering now, her
thighs clamped and opened involuntarily.
   Her ass was loose enough now, and so he increased the speed of
his fingerfucking slightly. She bit her hand to keep from
screaming, pushing back against his plunging hand. Suddenly he
shoved his thumb deep into her ass in one plunge, and an
earth-wrought groan came rumbling from Alice's throat.
   Her body jerked tight. <God I can't believe this is happening,>
she thought as the waves of pleasure washed off the words like
sandscript on the beach. <Crash> went the waves, and she lost
control completely. Her body shuddered uncontrollably, and her
knees sagged; he held her up by his handhold. Her legs, her arms,
her back jerked like a marionnette, and she felt her brain melt
down like wax upon a flame. <Did I scream?> she wondered, for she
could remember the shrill, gutteral wrenching her mind had
experienced.
   His hand was still in her, but motionless.
   "Did I scream?" she asked, breathlessly.
   "No. You did very well." With his free hand he patted her
bottom. Then he moved behind her. "I will now fuck you and come.
When I come, I will tell you that you are mine." He pulled his two
fingers out, but left his thumb in her ass.
   With his left hand he guided his thick bludgeon of a cock
toward her cuntal lips. He could see the faint glisten of juices
on them. Her gasps filled the room. Slowly, he pushed the head
until it was nestled within the folds of her vagina. Then he spit
into his hand and moistened the shaft. Gradually the rest of his
prick pushed into her. Her breathing was more ragged now.
   He pulled back, then pushed in faster. The next was a thrust,
and the fourth a deepscream sexual punch. A clacking, delirious
sound came from Alice's throat; she had lost all control of her
senses. Each time he slammed into her, the abyss down which she'd
fall got higher, and deeper.
   She realized her breath was hot in her ear. "Now you are mine,"
he whispered. "In seven days you will be completely mine, body and
spirit." In between phrases, he jammed his cock deeply into her
cunt. "You've never felt anything like this before, have you?"
Again a deep, deep fuck.
   Alice shook her blonde head. "No," she gasped, "No, never,
nothing..."
   "There's so much more for you to learn," he said quietly,
pulling his cock out till just the tip remained in contact, then
with a twist of his hips nearly spiraled his penis into her. "In
seven days you will know. You must only do precisely what I say,
without questions. You are mine, and for the next week you will
learn just what that means. Now I will come inside you."
   He reared back and then grabbed her hair. He pushed his thumb
deeper into her bottom, taking hold of her from both ends, and
ramming her down onto his thick cock. She was wide open. In his
cock went, and out, increasing his speed with every stroke, going
in deep and wide, making her cunt a throat widening in a joyous
scream, and then his voice in her ear, and deep whisper, <Aaaah,
here it comes, you are mine now, yes, you are mine,> and Alice
reached the top of the growing abyss, and toppled over, falling,
pushed by powerful winds, buffetted and swirled by rain and
clouds, and it was a long time before she hit bottom.
   He had pulled her pants up, and pulled down her blouse. Her
face was inches from hers, lying on the floor.
   "You must tell me your name."
   She tried to get her bearings. "Alice," she said, not
succeeding. "Alice Parkinson."
   "Do you work?"
   'Part time. Mornings."
   "Husband work?"
   "Yes." She felt she could hold nothing back.
   "Home phone number."She told it to him. "Address." She told it
to him. "Work phone." She told it to him.
   "I will now go downstairs. It's been fifteen minutes. You may
descend in four minutes, looking fresh."
   With that he stood, walked to the door, listened for a moment,
then slipped out into the hall.
   Alice caught her breath. Nothing like this was within her
experience. Never would she have thought she would be thrilled to
be fucked by a stranger, much less completely controlled by a
stranger. But she trusted him. He was too skillful, too aware to
not know what he was doing. Never once had he hurt her more than
she wanted. A few times she had been surprised she wanted it, but
the point remained.
   She laughed, and adjusted her bra. Off to the left was the
master bedroom's bath; she touched up her makeup and got herself
arranged. The party suddenly wasn't a boring affair after all.
Something was happening. She didn't know what it would be, but she
knew her life was to be changed.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 2

The man across from Larry, the one with the half-loosened tie,
seemed done talking. A surprise, that. "Excuse me," he said to
the man (was his name O'Donnell? O'Daniel? Larry couldn't
remember) "But I think I'd better fill myself up." He raised his
glass.
   Rum and coke, light on the rum; tonight he was driving. Larry
looked through the heads to try to find Alice's, but couldn't see
the blond locks. He was considering just going home, and if she
wasn't involved in a conversation he would suggest it to her.
   Usually at these work parties Alice found someone to talk
with. Seemed to almost have made friends with a few of the women.
   Larry meandered back past O'Dougall with a smile, then into
the living room. Still no blond locks, and there were a few of
those women Alice talked with over in the corner without her. The
front door was open, and since the night was warm and sultry,
several of the partiers were standing, sitting, lounging on the
porch.
   Larry stepped out, still not seeing her. He nodded jovially,
as if on a particular course, and felt pulled past the steps.
   "Leaving, Larry?"
   "No, no, just, uh, just following Nature." He laughed, joined
by a few chuckles.
   The night was dark, the sky clear and sparkled by stars.
Clearly he wasn't going to find Alice out here, but the prospect
of a few moment's quiet didn't seem bad at all. He turned the
corner of the house and strolled toward the back yard. A
three-quarter moon off toward the east smiled down at him. He
could hear the slightly raucous sounds of the party through the
walls, but still--out here it was quiet.
   Quiet enough to discern that what he at first thought were
faint dog-barks were in fact hushed grunts, coming from around
the back.
   Treading lightly, Larry crept toward the corner. Peeking
around, he saw in the faint light, there on the lawn, the
half-naked bodies of a brown-haired man straddled by a brunette.
   "<God, yes,>" came the half-whispered gasp, "<Oh, yes, stick
it in me, put it in deep, ah, yes, there, there...>" His grunts
became the backbeat of her verbal melody. "<Yes, fuck me, I'm
sitting deep on your cock,>" she chanted, "<sitting down on top,
I'm fucking you fucking me, god you're deep, and you're so big,
god it's in there, it's in there deep, stick it in, oh god....">
   Larry could hear the liquid sounds of lust counterpointing the
backbeat, but it was a primal rhythm at its core. The music made
him hard, and his pants made his cock hurt. Blocked from view by
a large bush, Larry guaged the time it would take them to put
their clothes back on, and decided he'd have enough; then he
unzipped his fly and pulled out his semihard cock. The nerve
endings were tingling, itching for stimulation. The sight of the
illumined bodies and the brunette arching her back, jutting tits
up toward the three-quarter moon, made him hot, and he slowly
began pulling at his prick.
   The night air felt cool on his balls where it whisped into his
fly. His whole cock was freed, and he felt good about it, though
guilty for acting like such an adolescent. But he and Alice
didn't screw all that much anymore, and he hardly ever beat off.
And what was more, he justified, he <felt> like it.  His hand
felt good around his cock, and those bodies were so beautiful. He
pulled on his cock, pushed back slowly, getting friction from his
fingers strumming down the rim. Up and back, slowly increasing in
speed. He felt his loins tighten, and he stiffened the muscles in
his legs.
   Fuckjuice oozed out the tip, and he used that as a slippery
lubricant for a moment, shifting the sensations. It felt
delicious, and he was preparing to come with that feeling when he
heard someone clear a throat behind him.
   He twirled, cock in hand, before he realized it. He quickly
tried to shove his cock back into his pants when he heard her
voice whisper "Leave it out."
   He stood motionless, dumbfounded. Then he looked up; pale
skin, dark hair; almost vampirishly beautiful. Slim, slight.
Postured with one hip jutting out.
   She took his cock in her hand; he practically convulsed at the
touch. "You like whacking off, do you?" she breathed, pulling his
prong toward her, till his face was inches from hers. "And I bet
you were just getting ready to come. Poor little boy." She took
his chin in her free hand. He felt helpless, embarassed, and
intensely aroused.
   "See if you can hit the mark," she breathed, and then went
down on her knees. She opened her mouth twelve inches from the
tip of his cock, then took his cock in both hands. For a moment
he thought she was going to take him into her mouth, but then he
realized what she expected. Her hands began a milking motion,
kneading his cock like a long teat. "Come on, spew, you bad boy.
Shoot that jism into my mouth. Spray it through the air." She
opened her mouth again, moving her lips in the most wanton
version of Marilyn Monroe he'd ever seen, as if her lips were
pulling the orgasm toward her without even touching.
   "Come on, lover boy," she began again, "that semen's mine, I
want your come, give it to me, shoot it out," opening her mouth
like a hungry bass taking the bait, but she wasn't getting
satisfaction, even though the pressure was building up in Larry's
crotch like he'd never felt. "Come <on>, you motherfucker,
where's that spume, where's that fucking come, give it to me,
give it to me, come at me, fire at me, come on now, you bastard,
<come!>"
   And he came in great gouts, pummeling her nose and lips and
tongue with pearly spray. The top of his head came off like that
three-quarter moon, and he could feel it bouncing against the
wall and landing in the bushes. She milked him until every spout
had erupted, then licked her lips and stood. She tucked his cock
back into his pants.
   "That cock is mine when I want it. Do you understand?"
   Speechless, he could only nod. She lapped a stray dollop from
her lower lip, then suddenly kissed him deeply. Her tongue was
hot, agile, and tasted of his own come. Just as suddenly, she
broke away, smiled wickedly, then turned and strode back toward
the party.
   Larry stood silently for a moment, then heard the giggles of
the lovers behind him as they gathered their clothes. He quietly,
carefully, walked out into the next yard, so he could eventually
come in the back door, once the lovers were gone. Besides that,
he needed to think. It had all happened so fast he was just now
reacting. Reacting even physically; as he thought about her
ordering his cock to spew he felt his cock lurch, as if rolling
awake.
   He wondered what she meant by "whenever I want it." It sounded
like there might be a second time. If so, he certainly wouldn't
tell her no.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 3

The night before, Larry had tried to get inside her, right after
both of them had, as if by surprise, decided to take showers
berfore going to bed. Alice had wanted more; wanted the touch of
that nameless man from the night before, who grabbed her
purposefully, with direction; who knew exactly what soft spots to
touch, which hard spots to tickle, or pinch, or stroke. Larry was
so tentative, he nearly waited for her to take charge; lying
there, hesitantly touching her, waiting for her to respond,
insead of <making> her respond.
   Now, sitting at the desk with papers and a computer screen in
front of her, composing letters, preparing that morning's
outgoing mail, she thought of what the man had said: <in seven
days you will be mine.>
   It made her wet between her legs; she felt the creamy lubricant
steaming from beneath her short skirt. Slim legs rubbed together
as she tried to scratch that cuntal itch. Stockinged leg against
stockinged leg, making a sound like a tiny zipper opening and
closing across the room. Up and down her legs worked, until
finally she could stand it no longer, and snuck a hand down into
the hole of the desk, pulled back her skirt, and pressed her
middle fingertip against the  nylon encasing her clit.
Rhythmically she pushed down and in.
   Across the room another woman worked, at a similar desk.
Madeline, her name was, and they were fast becoming friends. Over
the last six weeks, ever since Maddy had started at the company,
Alice had been constantly surprised by the ease she felt with
Maddy.
   Now Maddy looked over at Alice and grinned. "Sounds like you
had a hot one last night. Nice memories?"
   Alice flushed; her face felt as hot as her cunt. "I...." she
stammared, pulling her hand up into the cold air, "Yeah, well, I
guess...."
   "C'mon, Alice, you think I don't pull myself off back here on
slow days? These desks are just <made> for it." She laughed, and
Alice couldn't help but join in.
   "This is the first time for me, and I've worked here for two
years!"
   "Wow," Madeline cried, "He must really have been something!
What's his name? Is he available?" She laughed again.
   "I don't know his name, Maddy. He's a.... a mysterious
stranger."
   "Really?"
   "Yes, really."
   "Will it happen again?"
   "I don't... I hope so. But I can't know for sure."
   "Keeping you on a string, eh? That can kind of be fun."
   Alice's phone rang, and she let it ring most of a second time,
watching the light flash, then answered: "Braxton and Smith
Research, Division Two, this is Alice, may I help you?"
   There was silence on the other end. Alice could hear the faint
sounds of what sounded like waves breaking. She strained to hear,
but could not. She looked over at Maddy, who was going back to
her computer screen. "May I help you?" she repeated.
   "Write this down," the deep, male voice commanded. Without
thinking, Alice picked up a pen and pulled over the pad of paper.
"At twelve thirty-seven you will be in your car, in the alley
between Parker and Godwin, off 103rd street, back behind the
double-dumpster. Park with the driver's side two and a half feet
from the wall.
   "You will take off your pantyhose and pull up the short blue
skirt you're wearing today around your armpits. Get on your hands
and knees, nose in the crevice of the seat, with your ripe ass
pointed toward the wall. Open the door with your heel, and don't
look back. I will fuck you. You will come three times. Your
juices will run like wine. You will squeeze your nipples till
they hurt, feeling the waves of pain radiate from each tit.
   "You must be as juicy as you can be. I will not get you hot.
You must do that for me. If you're not slick, I will fuck you
anyway, hard, fast, and long, and it will hurt each stroke until
your cunt starts flowing.
   "Twelve thirty-seven. Parker and Godwin, off 103rd. You will
not get a second chance if you fail to arrive."
   Then the line went dead. Her cunt was throbbing, and she looked
at the wall clock: 10:22. She had almost two hours to decide.
   Her hand, of its own accord, had gone between her legs again,
this time with three fingers pushing up hard against her cuntal
lips. Her panty hose frustrated her. Her eyes were glazed as she
stared at the keyboard, focused entirely on the feelings of her
hand on her cunt.
   Suddenly she became aware of a hand on her shoulder, and when
she looked up was somehow not surprised to see Maddy smiling down
at her.
   "I couldn't help hearing," she said, "You were repeating
everything he said as you wrote it down. If you're not going to
go, I'll go in your place, but if you <are> going to go, I want
to get you hot enough for it. If you want to be juicy, I'll make
you juicy. Go lock the door."
   Her tone had become an order, and Alice, though confused at her
acceptance, got up and locked the door.
   "Take your blouse off, and then those hose. You hate them, I
can tell. Your cunt wants to breathe."
   Alice nodded, stunned at Maddy, and wanting more than anything
to come any way she could.
   "I'll make you come myself," Maddy said, smiling wickedly.
"I'll make you come three times before your mystery man even
begins. How many times have you come in one day, Alice?"
   Alice swallowed. "Three times, once..."
   "Three is nothing. If your cunt can stand it, each come is
easier, and stronger, than the last. You could have ten, twelve
before this day is out. And you want to come more than anything,
don't you?"
   Alice stood, barecheasted, her hose off, only the short skirt
still around her hips. Her hands reached up, cupped each breast,
and pinched between thumb and forefinger of each hand a firm,
brown nipple. She squeezed hard, and tingling shards of pain/
pleasure shot through her intestines. "Yes," she groaned," I want
to come more than anything."
   "That doesn't surprise me, though you're a hottor tart than I
thought. Pull on those tits of yours again." Alice hesitated. "I
said pull on those tits," Maddy ordered. "If I tell you to do
something, you'd best do it, if you want me to make you come. And
I'm going to make you come. Pull on those hard brown nipples of
yours."
   Alice pulled, and again was wracked by sharp ripples. She
groaned, surprising herself. For a brief moment she saw herself
as she must look from the outside, nearly naked, pulling on her
nips before a fully-clothed office mate. Depraved, it practically
was. She felt mildly humiliated, but then thought better of it.
Lust took priority over shame or guilt. Lust was what drove her
during those minutes. She let lust have the wheel.
   She thrust three fingers immediately into her cunt, still
pulling on one tit. Her fingers soaked in her drenched quim when
she looked in Maddy's eyes.
   "Have you ever eaten a woman, Alice?"
   Alice waited for a moment, then shook her head. "No," she
finally got out, more embarassed at her inexperience than she was
at being pubes-in-the-air naked.
   "You'll learn. And judging from those gasps I can hear, you'll
be a fast learner." Maddy smiled, then strode over on her high
heels, her hips dancing figure eights of impending passion. Off
came the thin leather belt wrapped thrice around her waist. She
swung the middle of it over Alice's head and shoulders like a
jumprope, then yanked Alice toward her, mashing their faces
together.
   For the first time Alice tasted a woman's tongue. Thinner than
a man's, more delicate, seeking out the soft, untouched places
behind Alice's lips. Alice hungrily sucked on that tongue,
interspersing the suckling with darts of her own thin, light
tongue.  She felt her hands being pulled behind her back, and
suddenly her wrists were tied together with two loops. "What are
you..." she spluttered, pulling away from Maddy's mouth, but was
smothered immediately by her tongue again.
   For five seconds Alice struggled to get away, arching her back,
trying to pull away from Mady's insistent body. Tits clothed
rubbed against Alice's bare breasts; the rough fabric excited
her. When she discovered she didn't want to resist, she leaned
into Maddy; she was virtually imprisoned, and no choices were
open, no decisions needed to be made. She could focus on the
steam building within her, the lust let loose by submission to
her body's desires. She groaned against Madeline's tongue, a deep
groan that seemed to travel to her throat via her aching, empty
cunt.
   She felt Maddy's hand running over the round globes beneath her
bound hands, insinuating themselves between clenched butt and
tight thighs. Gradually her legs loosened, and then Maddy's other
hand began brushing Alice's outer lips, dewy with cuntjuice,
drawing circles around her swollen clit. Then Alice understood
why Maddy's hands were meeting between her legs: the long,
dangling ends of the leather were being passed from behind to the
front, using her cuntlips as a guide. Her breath cought in her
throat.
   Madeline pulled away, and took one leather lead in each hand.
Two feet long they were, reaching up almost to where they could
be tied in circles around her big tits. The thin, supple leather
pushed into her liquid channel, and then Maddy pulled her hands
apart, pulling the lips open to let the air-conditioned office
air send a brief chill inside her twat opening.
   "Feel good?" Maddy asked.
   Alice's legs were weak; imagining the leather cutting into her
thick quimlips made her knees want to buckle, as they were
threatening to do. "God, Oh, god, Maddy," Alice managed to gasp,
"I don't know... is this..." She stopped, knowing that her
objections were beyond being feeble. Nobody would ever believe
them, as she stood there with black leather being pulled around
between her cunt mouth, hands tied. Nobody would believe her
protestations, even herself.
   Even in her delirium, Alice discovered that she could pull back
on the thong by pulling up on her own bound wrists. "Oh, God,"
she repeated again.
   "Down on your knees, then down on your back," Maddy said.
   Slowly, so as not to put too much strain on the leather
thong-belt, Alice sank to the floor, following Maddy's order.
once on her back, Maddy instructed "Spread your legs. Show me
that hot whore's cunt to me."
   The words embarassed her, but still she knew her blush was
meaningless. She spread her legs.
   Maddy pulled the thong away from Alice's shiny lower lips.
"That's a whore's cunt if ever I saw one. Look how red it is, it
wants something bad. But not yet. I get mine first.
   Then she squatted over Alice's face, reversed, as if ready to
go sixty-nine, holding on to the leather thong like reins on a
sleigh.  With gentle tugs she urged Alice on.
   Alice looked up at the moist gash above her. She smelled the
heady aroma, redolent of dark, mysterious rituals in the marshes
of the South, reeking of all the down-and-dirtyfucks, the soft
sweet loves on moonlit nights, the quick inouts in cabs on the
way to the theatre; her cunt smelled experienced. Alice felt
nearly awed by the history confronting her, swathed in black
curles, oozing love juice. Down near her chin, budding out like a
bean from its pod, Maddy's clitoris gleamed.
   She stuck out her narrow tongue, arching it downward, the tip
slowly wending its way toward that forbidden little bean. Once
touched, Maddy's body reacted. Down came Maddy's cunt, pressing
down in soft moist folds upon her mouth, her chin, her nose,
suffocating her deliciously. Tart, tanngy, Maddy's cunt was as
tasty as any Creole cooking.
   Around and around Maddy's pelvis spun, in circles, pressing
Alice's nose first into her cunt, then sliding forward so her
nose sank slightly into Maddy's loosened asshole. Maddy's moans
grew louder, longer, deeper. Alice gasped breaths whenever she
could, if only to stay alive long enough to lap once more, to
stick her tongue deep into this commanding woman, this mistress'
cunt.
   Madeline's body tensed, and her thighs crushed Alice's
cheekbones together. The leather thong pulled <hard> against her
cunt, and suddenly she was coming too, rushing headlong into a
velvet brick wall, being swallowed by the delirium of her
passion.
   She realized some time had passed, how much she didn't know,
but now something cool and wide was being rolled over her own
cunt. Maddy's twat still remained poised above her face, as if
ready at any moment to once again assault her.
   Alice's cunt burned in opposition to the cool substance now
being pressed harder against her cuntal lips, her clit, now her
cunt again.
   And then it sank in, something half again as wide as a cock,
but nearly as long, pushing in like a muzzle-loading gun.
Pistoning in and out, packing the metaphoric gunpowder tighter
and tighter, so the explosion would be all the more. Maddy
plunged it in again, but this time slapped Alice's thigh, hard.
The stinging pain reverberated like an echo in a cave.
   The thick phallus-shaped object kept plunging in, each time
taking Alice higher, past any notion of honor or pride or
humility. "Yes," she moaned, "God yes, fuck me with it, fuck me
hard, oh <God> Fuck me, stick it in me, yes, deep into my cunt,
ram that fucker into me..."
   And she <came> on the next plunge, spinning miraculously into
nowhere she could name, but a place she wanted to visit again,
where everything moved in a choreographed dance of violent
motion.
   Maddy stopped completely, remaining utterly still. Alice's back
arched, as she tried to ram that thing back into her. That dance
seemed to break up, as if badly practiced, if well choreographed.
The colors moved from brilliance to pastel, and Alice thought she
was done. Until that thick protuberance was jammed again into
her, out, and jammed <in> again, and Alice, with the rhythm of
the fucking like wings pushing her through the air, flew past the
room of neverchanging dance out into starlit skies filed with
comets aghast at their own light.
   When she finally came to, Maddy was sitting in her chair,
looking down at limp Alice. "You're quite a lay," she said
quietly, still smiling.
   Alice weakly smiled back. "I never knew what they meant by
fireworks," she giggled, "Until now. Is that what a multiple
orgasm is?"
   "That, hon, and more. By the time the day's over, you may never
come back." When Maddy saw Alice's frightened expression, she
softened. "No, hon, don't worry. You <always> come back, and it's
one hell of a trip."


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 4

Larry waited for the light to change to "walk," watching a
sixteen-year-old punkette diddle with her hair beside him. The
thin cotton top she wore was almost translucent, torn in
places, revealing the soft pink skin of a young girl's torso;
behind the shirt he could see the outside of her aureoles, the
slight out-dimple of little tits. Black leather pants coming
down to mid-calf, black fishnet from ankle to spiked heel.
   A tough-looking kid. "So whattaya looking at, mister?"
   He was surprised by her voice: harsh, brassy. Surprised even
that she spoke to anyone on the street. In the city, that just
wasn't done.
   Larry tried to be casual. "Only you, my dear. You're
beautiful in some indefinable way."
   "You wanna get your rocks off thinking about fucking a young
thing like me, you go ahead, but leave me out if it." She spit
on the ground and walked into the street, balancing out of the
way of a passing taxi, then darting between oncoming cars, her
little ass swinging as she ran.
   "Hey, I didn't mean..." he began to say, but stopped. She was
gone, off into the thin crowd.
   "Walk," the sign said, and so walk he did. Across the street,
feeling stupid. How did he get himself into those sorts of
things? He couldn't figure it out. He hadn't <meant> for her to
see him looking her over. Or had he?  There had been a time
when he'd looked at a girl that way and she'd turned to him and
smiled. "Like what you see?" she had asked.
   He'd nodded. "You're very beautiful," he said, and within
moments she was six inches from him. "I just saw my boyfriend
fucking some little slut in his room," she said, "and if he can
do it, then so can I. You wanna fuck me?"
   "Well, uh..." he'd stammared, and when he saw the disgusted
look on her face he got up the gumption to unstick his mouth:
"Absolutely. I haven't seen anybody as fuckable in a long
time."
   He'd read once that compliments were good strategy for
picking up girls.
   "Okay," she said with determination, "then let's go to it."
She led him into a restaurant, back past the tables, the
booths, the lunchers eating their Special #2, toward the
bathrooms.
   "Wait a minute," he whispered to her as she shut the women's
door, "what if someone comes in?"
   She looked him straight in the eye as she unzipped his fly.
"Would you interrupt a couple fucking in the bathroom? No,
you'd smile to yourself and go to wait until they were done.
Then you'd pee. It's only sensible."
   She'd got his cock free; in the fluorescent glare it shined,
its purple head tight as the head of a snare drum. She <was>
pretty; he could see her in the mirror unbuttoning her skirt.
She peeled her pantyhose down, stepped out of them, then
grabbed his cock again. "Good sized," she said to him. "Work it
around, stretch my cunt out, so I can tell my boyfriend what a
fucking ramrod I screwed. I don't mind exaggerating a little."
   Larry had been befuddled, standing in the women's tiled
bathroom, by the girl's attitude to him. It didn't matter to
this girl if he was short or thin, muscular or scrawny,
handsome or disgusting. He was a cock to fuck, and that was
all. A tool. A means to an end.
   He tried to think about whether that bothered him, but he was
distracted by the girl's inner thighs as she hopped on the sink
counter and spread her legs. Slight bulges just past her labia.
Like fingers crooking, beckoning: come on in.
   His cock strained toward that cunt as if by its own accord.
He advanced on her slowly, but her heels hooked his back and
pulled him at her. She grabbed his prick like it was a doorknob
and pushed it into her, letting out a low moan, forcing him
into her with her heels.
   "Yeah," she had said, "that's good, that's real good, as good
as that motherfucker's cock felt in that slut, yeah, fuck me,
fuck me good, I'll get that motherfucker back, you're doing it
to me, my cunt's my own, and I'll fuck whoever I please,
whenever I want, if he's going to fuck his own little slut
nymphos, yeah, push it in, yeah, fuck me..."
   Her pants got rapid, and his began spasmotically jerking into
her; he let himself stop thinking about doing a good job. It
was clear that her satisfaction wasn't coming from being well
laid. The act of fucking was enough. So fuck he did, pushing
his rod into her at angles that stimulated him best. He held
onto her hips and pushed her twat onto his prong like he wished
he could do with his wife, Alice, but didn't dare. He pinched
her tits, made her gasp as he squeezed. Alice wouldn't like
that, would tell him he was hurting her.
   But that coed, that day, had stopped being a threat. She had
wanted to be just a body to him, since he was just a cock to
her. And it changed the feeling of the orgasm. His jism spouted
hard, into her alien cunt, filling crevices around a cervix
he'd never felt and never would feel again, into a slippery quim
existing for its own sake. To be fucked and receive whatever it
wanted. He watched them both in the mirror, her back arched to
receive him, his face reddened by the exertion.
   And then the door opened. A fat fifty-year old woman, clearly
Bible Belt material, pushed open the door. She looked down at
the joining of their two bodies, pubic hair entwined, two
inches of Larry's shaft visible, the smell of musk and juices
thick in the air, and the woman stared.
   Larry's come couldn't be stopped, and he spurted into her
hard. The woman continued staring, as if mesmerized, her
breathing shallow, her eyes wide. She held the door open with
her hand one moment longer, before suddenly letting fly an ear-
piercing scream.
   Instantly Larry and the girl's feet were on the floor,
Larry's cock still dripping jism. Pantyhose and shoes quickly
retrieved, the girl and Larry ran past the gasping woman, past
aghast lunchers stopping in mid-bite as the two fled, Larry
hitching up his pants as his legs pumped. They had split up at
the door; he never saw her again.
   Now, walking toward the post office on the surprise errand,
Larry smiled at the memory, and noticed his cock was
semihard, amplified by needing to piss.
   He thought about finding a restaurant or something, but
they'd become pretty sticky about non-customers using their
bathrooms in most of the cafes in the city. And there were no
McDonald's around.
   He passed an alley, and on an impulse turned into it. Off the
alley, twenty feet back, he found a miniature alley between
buildings, littered with MD 20-20 and beer bottles. He unzipped
his pants to relieve himself.
   "Everytime I see you, you have your cock hanging out," the
woman's voice said from behind him. This time, he didn't turn
more than just his head. It was the vampirish woman from the
night before, this time dressed in a black and nightblue
jumpsuit.
   Larry's first reaction was one of irritation, but then he
realized who was speaking. He had almost begun to piss, and
stopping was painful. Yet the pain wasn't all that bad; he was
already excited from his replay of his memory of the woman in
the cafe, and now the memory of the night before superceded it.
   Seeing her in daylight let him realize just how darkly
beautiful she was. Lips a dark magenta, eyes so brown as to
seem black. Her hips were small, but well muscled. Thin waist,
and pert little tits which had once been firm and nearly
nonexistent, but had been womanized into breasts by experience.
Her feet were encased in black half-boots with stilletto heels.
   "Didn't I tell you," she said, "that your cock was mine
whenever I wanted it?"
   He smiled, nodded, and let loose his piss, amused at the
irony.
   "<Stop that this instant!>" she commanded, and Larry was so
surprised that he stopped. His urethra burned.
   "Good boy," she purred. "You may piss now."
   He didn't particularly care for being told when to piss, but
he had to piss so badly he let loose, spraying the wall.
   "You can piss farther than you can come," she stated. "This
time, though, we're going to put that little pisser of yours to
good use."


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 5

Alice sounded something like a washing machine: the squish-
squish, the moan-grunt, moan-grunt of the agitator, over and
over, as she felt the thick bludgeon of her lover's prick
shoving in and out of her sopping cunt. Wet she certainly well,
thanks to Maddy, whose memory and taste still lingered about
her, even as her nose rubbed back and forth along the crevice
of the passenger seat of her Ciera.
   She had been wet enough for him to take a dollop of her
juices and smear it across her lips, wet enough that his broad
tool slipped in like a stiff snake.
   Still he hadn't spoken more than the once, when he'd said
"Good. You're ready." And then he proceeded to thrust himself
in her.
   Much as he was thrusting into her now, smoothly, in a
repetitive, unhurried motion of certain conclusion. Her bare
ass rode high, pushing almost down onto him, as her tits rubbed
against the elbowrest between the seats.
   Her moaning came stronger now, faster, a lustlanguage mixed
in with words: "Unh..nh...God...ohnhhhn, God,
yes...sSss...Unhnn...Ohnn...Oh GOD god yes..."
   She clenched her fists, held them to her head, hit the seat
beneath her. Her voice was loud, and she didn't care, there was
no longer a party where someone might hear. She was in her car,
in an alley, where she could grunt and groan as loudly as she
wanted. So her voice rose, the vibrations in her throat in
rhythm with the pounding in and out of her cunt, each sound
resonating with each thrust, amplifying it.
   She raised up on her fists, on her knees, never losing him,
never looking back. Though she'd never been told explicitly,
still it was clear that she was not to look at him. This was to
be a nameless fuck, someone else entirely, a fantasy, even
though she could tell by the skill and confidence he showed
that it was the same hard prick that sent her reeling the night
before.
   She rocked now with her whole body, up and back, her focus on
the armrest on the passenger door. Her hip bumped against the
cold steering wheel, and the chill shocked her, blended into
the well of pleasure that was rising deep inside her.
   Across from her, she realized was a doodrway leading into
whatever tenement building the alley cut past. In the window of
that old, flecked-paint and iron-knobbed door was the face of a
young boy. From the height, and the face, Alice could see even
in her orgasmic delerium that the boy was no less than 15, no
more than eighteen. His eyes were wide, clearly fascinated by
what he was seeing.
   After the first shock, Alice decided to not think about the
boy. She couldn't do anything to stop it; she <certainly>
wasn't going to stop the thick sausage from continuing its
slow, delicious pace. There was nothing to do but continue.
   So continue she did, the pleasure something heightened by its
exhibitionism. She almost wished she could give the boy a
close-up of her twat lips caressing the slick shaft sliding in
between them, into that dark heated cavern awash with all the
juices she could muster. She concentrated on tightening those
lips, and the muscles inside her sheath, which sent a thrill
into her thighs, up her intestines, into her lungs.
  She began to come, slowly, as if ascending one of those Aztec
pyramids comprised entirely of steps, one by one, rising in
little chunks up, no single step, no single stroke, taking her
over the top, but each step leading her higher than the one
before it, still somehow rising upwards toward the clouds, each
step up bringing her closer to the end.
   Then her cunt clamped down solid; even his thick battering
ram slowed its rhythm, but the friction was so much the greater
that it pushed her up now two steps at a time, until finally
she reached the top of the pyramid, the place of the sun, and
revelled in the brightness and the heat.
   Her cunt was afire with pleasure, and she cried out long and
plaintively, a near howl of joy. Then he stopped, abruptly,
like he had the night before, waiting for her to want it badly.
"God, don't stop, give it to me, don't wait..."
   And she could feel the fires dimming, as her peak passed, and
she could feel her nipples humming, waiting for stimulation
even still. Then suddenly his cock rocketed into her again, and
this time the rhythm was a must faster tempo, and her body
began to dance. She felt him gripping her hips, grabbing the
nape of her neck, ramming her body back against his cock.
   Now her groan were higher up in her throat, a high-pitched
whimper of surprise. He continued the same motion, up, around,
then out and down, but now much faster. Her thick clitoris was
learning the new dance, and was ready for each grind.
   Again she peaked, this time with shrieks ripping from her
throat, timed for each invasion of her cunt with his cock.
   And then once again, finally, abruptly, he stopped again.
Alice desperately pleaded with him, "No, not yet, don't stop
yet, yes, give me more, I need more," and she twisted and
pushed her cunt and ass at him, trying to get a purchase on
that prick, pulling hin with her cunt.
   But he kept just the head in, tantalizingly, waiting as if
for some magic word to spill from her lips. "God dammit, I
can't wait, I want it now, I want it now, please, fuck me with
it, fuck me now...."
   She could feel motion behind her, but only as if he had moved
his arms. Then she discovered what he had been doing, for the
door across the allley opened and the boy (sixteen? she
thought) peeked out. She could hear muffled voices, and the
boy stayed put, the bulge in his dirty pants like a cucumber
in his pocket.
   Standing stock-still, the boy unzipped his pants. Alice could
pay no attention to the boy's face; she could look only at the
slow striptease. For a brief moment she thought he was going to
join them, but then realized that her man had told him
otherwise, for the boy simply let loose his stiff cock and
began stroking it.
   Alice's man began fucking her in earnest now, a jackhammer
pacing she hadn't thought possible for more than short bursts,
but his continued on for ten seconds, twenty, a minute,
three...
   Alice became completely consumed in the act of fucking, for
nothing existed except the cock behind her and the cock ten
feet away, and her breasts knocking against the emergency
brake, and the throbbing knob of clitoris that with every
downstroke was rubbed by the thick base of his pole.
   She saw milky seed jet out of the boy's handsome tool, arcing
in the air, landing several feet from the car, and Alice
herself began coming, pulsating as if in a heartbeat, pounding
out a beat she scarcely knew but could play by heart; her body
became once again like a marionnette's, this time held up not
by her man's hand, but by his thick, ramming cock. She jerked
and jumped as if crawling on marbles, and her screams she
couldn't hear, for she was too far away.
   Shen she came to, the boy was gone, the door shut, and her
own man nowhere to be seen. The sun was bright in the alley;
the garbage was well lit. Her cunt still oozed cum and juices
like an overripe peach, throbbing with every motion.
   She pulled down her skirt, then stepped into the underwear
she retrieved from the glove box.  From some open window above
she could hear music playing, and realized that most anyone
with an open window must surely have heard her moans and
screams, and either ignored them or masturbated to them. She
smiled; lots of people must have had a good time. With short
squeal of her tires she began backing out of the alley.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 6

The woman had led him up the sidewalk, hips undulating in
figure eights from her stiletto heels. The leather creased like
a second skin; Larry followed without really thinking, nearly
mesmerized by her movements, imagining those hips writhing as
she lowered herself onto his cock.
   Where she was leading him he didn't know, but she was walking
with purpose. Wordless, striding, she looked back not once,
certain that he was following, or as if she didn't much care
either way.
   Past the sidewalk salesmen, past the Rooms for Rent, past the
used furniture store, she led him swiftly. Larry was getting
hot from the sun, and the sweat was making his suit stick to
him.  The woman's erotic appeal would soon wane, he knew, if he
got miserable enough. She was still exciting at this point, and
he knew himself well enough to know that she'd better hurry and
find a destination.
   She passed up the "Rooms for Rent--Nap Rates."  It surprised
him, disappointed him. What was he following her for? he
wondered. For hot, illicit, nasty sex, he reminded himself, and
knew that if he had to remind himself, then the need for hurry
was even greater. His car was receding further and further, and
he was parked in a no-parking zone. What if he got a ticket?
What if he was towed? He could just imagine explaining it to
Alice....
   The woman stopped abruptly, and Larry almost careened into
her. Above them hung a hand-painted sign: "Books 8mm Vids Mags
All XXX."
   She smiled at him. "You may leave now or follow me in." Then
she turned toward the door and entered.
   For a brief moment he even considered it; but then he thought
better, and felt the cool air of the air-conditioned business
wisp out from the closing door, and strode in with scarcely a
thought at who might be seeing him enter.
   The cool air struck him first, sending chills from his cheeks
to his chest. He loosened his tie, surprised that he hadn't
done it before, while following the woman toward the booths.
   She seemed to nod hello to the proprietor; was that a smirk
the man had? Did she do this often?
   It didn't matter anymore; the charged sexual air of the place
was entering his skin. Racks of magazines lined the walls:
thick cocks deep-throated by big-titted women, pink cunts
enveloping pricks, tongues and asses and breasts all in living
color, all eyes looking right at him as he passed, inviting him
to stop, to look, to open, to buy.
   But he didn't need to buy; she was walking ahead of
him, all the steamy sultry sluttiness of cunt wanting cock
waited for him.
   "Get some quarters," she said over her shoulder.
   He stopped to get change from the man behind the counter.
   Then he walked to where she waited, in front of a booth whose
display he didn't see, for she pulled him in and shut the door.
   The coins still clinked in his hand, and she softly unbent
his fingers and pulled three free, dropping them in one, two,
three, and the film began to roll.
   A blonde with wide hips, big jugs, and white-blonde hair sat
naked in a director's chair, surrounded by plants and a table,
sipping white wine from a large goblet. Another woman entered,
dressed as a maid, white frills, black bodice, white apron,
black leather block-heeled shoes, and atop brunette hair, a white
cornice. She carried a tray with wine  and cheese upon it, and
entered hesitantly.
   Larry's cock was already out, pulled by the gentle fingers of
the woman in black. She sat him down in the little stool, then
crouched between his spread knees. The zipper snagged at the
base of his stiffening prick, so he pulled his pants down to
his ankles with her help.
   The big-titted woman instructed the maid to bring the cheese
to her and set it down beside her. The maid, almost cowering,
did, and as she lowered the tray, bending at the waist, the
sitting woman reached out a hand and patted the maid's ass
approvingly. "Join me in some wine," she said, "but first take
off the apron."
   "Yes, miss," the brunette whispered, and with the faintest
hint of a smile, untied the apron and let it drop to the floor,
then brazenly stared the woman in the eye. "Is there anything
else mistress would have me do?"
   Larry gasped as the woman took his cock in both hands and
squeezed hard. He could feel her hot breath on the head, and
ached for the feel of a tongue, lips, anything soft. But the
woman would have none of that; she backed away as he jutted his
hips out to make contact. Her breath was still hot, though, and
her hands held firm. It was as if she was letting her own
heartbeat in her hands be the stimulation; he was sure he could
feel it.
   "Bend over," the mistress said. "and pull down your panties.
Then put your hands behind your back." The brunette did, and
the camera did a close-up on the woman's white ass, the
cuntlips peeking through crisp brown hairs. Then a close-up of
her hands being bound by the strings of her apron. Crossed,
behind her back, her fingers grasping in motions precisely what
masturbation would look like without the cunt. The maid moaned
breathily. "Oh, mistress..."
   Larry, absorbed in the film, hadn't realized that his hands
were being tied by some strip of leather, even as they played
with the woman's tits. He was shocked, for he'd never in his
life been bound. For a moment he resisted, and when he did,
the woman took her hands away and stood back. "You must give
yourself without argument if you want to come," she said.
   The grunts and moans of lust pushed from the speaker, and the
maid's cunt was being invaded first by two, then by three
fingers, slick and juicier each stroke. Larry pulled his eyes
away and looked at his mystery woman. She stood, arms crossed,
weight on one hip, skirt already curled into its top, showing
off her bare cunt bordered by the white garters. Her entire
posture stated to him defiantly: "You want it. Work for it."
   He offered his wrists, still draped in loose coils of black
leather, to her to be tied. She smiled almost cynically and
resumed her tying. Larry's cock strained out at the empty
air.
   Now the blonde mistress was mashing her maid's mouth onto her
cunt, whispering her on with demands: "Yes, suck my cunt, stick
that tongue deep into my channel, ah, my little harlot, yes,
stick it in, my slut, you do just as I ask, and you love it,
don't you, my little wanton, yes, you love it, suck me harder,
pull on my clit, there, yes, suck it..."
   "Stand up," Larry's mistress commanded, and he did. She got
behind him. "Put your hands to your chest."
   She reached around and pulled the long loose ends around to
his back, cinched them tight, and tied him off. He couldn't
move his arms more than to flex his muscles, move his elbows a
bit.
   "Sit down," she commanded, and he sat. "On the
floor," she said, and he did. Then she moved toward him, cunt
first. His head was right at twat-level, and he knew what was
coming. He opened his mouth.
   Her legs covered his ears, and he could only mutedly hear the
sounds of the film; he couldn't tell what was the movie and
what was the woman's voice. But her cunt swung like a circular
pendulum upon his mouth, grinding down on his lips and teeth,
forcing his nose into her thick black pubic hair. She smelled
musky, with the faint hint of leather. Around and around she
ground, until with a thigh-tightening shudder, came with a
groan.
   Then down she dropped, unerringly aimed at his stiff cock,
but rubbing down his clenched fists, dragging her cunt along
the leather straps, pushing against his elbow, until his
erection was rewarded for its long wait by being swallowed
in the warm heat of her cunt.
   Above her head Larry could see the two women on the floor;
the maid's hands were still tied behind her, and the blonde
mistress had an immense double dong sliding back and forth in
between their spread legs, plunging into the maid's cunt while
sliding out of the blonde's, then sinking into the blonde's
cunt and out of the moaning maid.
   He let out his own moans, straining against the leather
bonds, tightening muscles just to feel the straps cut into his
arms. The woman slammed down on him like he was a piece of
erotic furniture, like his cock was a phallic pole that he had
heard the Pompeiians had: chairs for women guests which had a
prong of marble sticking out, aimed right at the guest's cunt.
Happy parties they must have had then.
   And his prick at that moment felt hard as marble, like a
thing apart from him, like a casing over his shaft. "I like my
prick," she whispered in his ear. "Your prick is mine, and I
like it very much. I fuck myself well with it. I'm fucking it
now, now, and..." and her speed increased, she bucked on top of
him and shook her tits within her blouse, throwing back her
head and wrenching out a gutteral cry.
   The sound resonated in his ear, and he felt the pressure
inside him finding a release, as if a force had found a
weakness in the body's defenses, and it wormed its way higher
and higher in his burning prick, building up pressure as it
snaked into his urethra like oil pushing up through that first
well's piping, which lets out a gusher of thick come deep into
the woman's clutching cunt.
   The door went black as the three quarters ran out, the last
image one of the maid sucking the double-dong as it still
filled the blonde's pussy. Larry's breath was ragged, and his
cock was on fire.
   The woman reached behind him and pulled the leather ends
free, untying a bow. She stood. "Carry that thong with you
always. I will use it next time. Until then," she said, and
kissed him briefly on the lips.
   Then she was out the door, and Larry sat still on the floor
of the booth, looking at his still-dribbling cock. He let out a
long, satisfied sigh, then proceeded to unravel the black thong
from his wrists.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 7

Alice was watching television, sitting in her small, fully
cushioned chair, when the phone rang. Larry answered it, and so
Alice turned back to the show. Several moments later Larry
appeared in the doorway to the tv room.
   "It's a survey. Wants to talk with the lady of the house."
   Alice laughed, heh-heh, at the non-humor. But things were so
tense with Larry recently, worse than normal. She wondered if
it were all in her head, that she was creating the tension, the
vague insecurities.
   Larry sometimes seemed so oblivious; perhaps he wasn't even
picking up her stiffness. So often he seemed almost aloof, as
if he was in a world of his own.
   She picked up the receiver: "Hello?"
   The voice still resonated, still sent chills into her sinews
and joints. "Your husband was very helpful. Now comes the real
message. Tomorrow as soon as you get off work you are to walk
to the Gold Coin Hotel, down on 58th Ave. The desk man has your
key. You will go to the room and strip naked. Lay across the
brass frame at the foot, hips on the metal. Spread your arms
out. Feel the cold metal on your stomach, think about what you
will experience.
   Do not turn on the light. Keep the shades drawn.  Face away
from the door. I will enter and ask you some questions. You
will not be free to look at me, but will be free to leave at
any time. If you fail to arrive..."
   Alice nodded mutely to the phone. She knew what that meant.

She caught Larry watching her out of the corner of her eye, and
nodded again. "That's right, Ivory Liquid. And Cascade in the
dishwasher. Yes." She paused, for effect. "That's right. Good-
bye." As she hung up the receiver, Larry strolled through the
living room as if on his way to the kitchen.
   "Kitchen products, eh? He asked me about films I'd seen
recently."
   Alice smiled (could he feel her tension?) and laughed (did
the laugh sound forced?), then said "Sounds like he's one
efficient phone surveyor." Then she laughed again. "Remember
when we were doing phone work for that candidate? What was his
name?"
   "Paxton," Larry said, and grinned. "I remember the lunches
better than the work."
   She smiled back. They had found a secluded nook between
buildings where they would often spend twenty minutes of their
half-hour lunch screwing themselves  silly. "Those were some
times, weren't they?"
   Larry sat beside her. "That they were." There was a
wistfulness in his words; a melancholy. Those days, they had
been passionate. What had changed? Their own sex had become so
mechanical, as if they'd done it all before, and were now
practicing their form. The spirit had been lost.
   They both knew it, but didn't speak it. They sat in silence
for a time, holding hands. Alice thought about what the man had
said on the phone. She really had little to remember, and she
was glad she didn't have to write something down.
   It was all so exciting, this illicit affair, though she knew
that if it continued much longer she was bound to get caught.
Imagine him, calling her at home! It meant to her that this
affair was destined to be short-lived, and that was all right.
What it was for her now was an exciting interlude so totally
removed from her normal life that it took on rules of its own.
   Larry sat with Alice's hand in his and wished he knew what
had sapped the strength from their mutual loins. When they
screwed it lasted only as long as it took for each of them to
get off. Nothing lingered, nothing lasted. Nothing like the
black-haired woman wringing him out like a washrag from the
tub.
   He remembered how she stroked him this afternoon, slowly, in
gentle increments, designed not to make him come fast, but
gradually warm to the heat of lust. He had been very
satisfied. He still wasn't sure about the dominance stuff,
but was willing to go along with it for awhile longer, since it
was certainly unusual.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 8

Behind the counter was a ferret-faced man who leered at Alice
as she inquired about a reservation. Not knowing what her
lover's name was, she had asked for a reservation in her name.
   "Just a nap rate, eh? Well, look, lady, if you think you'll
be doing this a lot, then lemme know, maybe we can work
something out where like you don't have to pay as much for the
rental. And look, sugar, if you're new at this, you usually get
your trick to pay for the room."
   "But I'm not..." she began, but he cut her off.
   "Right, sure, you're going to have a little nap in the room.
Unh-hunh. An I'm built like Johnny Wadd. Don't worry, sister,
your secret's safe with me." His voice sounded disdainful.
"That'll be twenty bucks." He held out his hand.
   Alice felt mortified. She was blushing, she was sure, from
her eyebrows to her cleavage, and then some. To be mistaken for
a prostitute, it seemed absurd.
   But perhaps that was the appeal--the nameless, faceless sex
of The Business. Except her profit in this was pleasure, not
dollars. How different am I, Alice mused, as she walked toward
the scratched doors of the elevator, from who I think I am? Am
I just a cunt to him? Am I just a whore? Or something else....
   He seemed to enjoy the game as much as the sex. He didn't
seem to be playing just for his own pleasure, either. The man
wanted her to come hard, as many times as he could make her.
Her cunt tingled as she thought of what was to waiting.
   The elevator doors opened, and Alice stepped in. As the doors
closed, she thought she could see a man as tall as the man from
the party entering the hotel. It was funny that she couldn't
remember, really, what he looked like.
   She knew he wasn't skinny, could remember that he was not
overly tall, and swarthy, but that was about all. She couldn't
remember his face, couldn't envision his eyes. Yet her cunt
remembered him, as did her tits, and her mouth. She wondered
when she would be allowed to see him.
   The elevator stopped at her floor, and she got off,
scanning the doors for numbers: 301, 303, 302, and she picked
up her pace, knowing she would have to find 327. The place
might be bigger than she imagined.
   A scream brought her to an abrupt halt, ears perked to pick
up the next sound. Adrenaline coursed through her--what was
this place?
   Then another scream, this one clearly not a scream of pain.
Coming from the room off to her right. Almost on tiptoe, she
approached, listening. Underneath, almost an <oblagato> to the
rhythmic screams, was the coarse grunts of the man doing the
fucking.
   Alice imagined them thus: a short, squat man pumping a woman
from behind. Her wrists were tied to the desk chair, and her
white ass rose up so high on her long legs that the short man
had to stand on his toes to get his short, fat cock into the
dark-haired woman's slushy quim. He imagined his broad hands
pinching the woman's nipples at just the right moments, causing
the screams.
   She became suddenly conscious that she was listening to
another couple without their permission, and felt as embarassed
as she was aroused by the sounds; she moved on.
   Finally she arrived at 327, and unlocked the door with the
shiny key. It was a corner room, but the shades were drawn.
Inside the air was no cooler than the hall; she had somehow
expected that like the highway hotels she had stayed at, the
rooms were individually air conditioned.
   But no such luck. She could already feel the sweat building
on the sides of her breasts, the roundness of her tummy, the
flesh of her loins. This was going to be a sweaty fuck.
   Alice wasted no time getting undressed. Beyond a moment's
consideration, she felt no false modesty. I've paid for the
ticket, she told herself, so let's go for a ride. The buttons
on her blouse quickly came undone, and she slipped it off and
laid it carefully on the blonde-wood desk gathering dust in the
corner.
   Next came her sensible shoes, then her skirt, beneath which
she had secreted her gartered hose. Years ago Larry had bought
them for her as almost a gag; she'd worn them once with him
that birthday night, then put them away as being just a bit too
contrived.
   But now, as she slipped off the skirt and felt the cool air
rushing around her bare thighs and exposed pubic hair, she was
very glad she had them. Without underwear, she could see in the
dresser mirror the black patch of hair covering her sopping
cunt.
   One hand snuck down to her crotch as the other loosened her
braw straps. A quick dip with one finger confirmed what she
already knew: her slit was juicy as an overripe peach.
   Then, watching herself in the mirror, she unsnapped her braw
and let her tits bounce as they were set free. In the garter
belt, stockings, and nothing else, she looked like what she
felt like: a wanton slut who just wanted to get laid.
   Her breath was coming raggedly now, and she gazed at the bed,
imagining what would happen there. The frame had bars like a
prison cell on either end, brass rail arcing over the vertical
bars, perhaps five inches above the mattress at the end, much
more at the head.
   He had instructed her to lay across the rail with her hips
making the corner, head facing away from the door, arms out.
She walked to the bed, imagination filling her mind with
visions of thick cocks pushing toward her, strong hands
directing her body toward whatever ends he wanted. She knew she
was giving herself up to him, for this time, totally. For as
long as she was in this room, she would do whatever he told her
to do.
   She could leave now if she wanted, she thought as she leaned
over the bed, felt the cold metal against her soft hip-flesh.
<I could leave now and not worry about Larry finding out, about
cheating at all. For one "no" would end it forever.> But that,
she admitted to herself as she spread her arms wide, face
toward the window, was unthinkable. Her cunt throbbed, her
clitoris ached with desire, and desire breaks down all thought.
   She waited in that position for what seemed like half an
hour, not daring to get up lest he enter at that moment,
discover her not in the position he instructed, and turn around
to leave. She envisioned the scenario then: begging for him to
stay, pulling him back, going down on her knees both to beg and
to suck his cock, to prove to him her desire.
   Finally, though, she heard the door unlatch, and supressed
the urge to turn and look at him. For a brief moment she was
afraid it wasn't him, but was someone else who would know a
good thing when he saw it.
   But then she heard his voice: "Good girl," he said quietly.
"Everything is as I instructed. Now you will listen to me. You
will be free at any time to leave."
   Alice could hear the clinking sound of his coin-filled
pockets falling past his knees, the rustle of his shirt as it
came off. She bit her lower lip, and pushed her breasts against
the rough fabric of the bed cover.
   A hand touched her bottom, stroking downward and inward,
almost brushing some stray cunthairs. Chills streaked through
her, and she shuddered.
   "I will first tie your legs to the legs of the bed. Spread
them for me."
   She swallowed, then did. His hand materialized on her cunt as
if the act of spreading her legs had brought it up to those
lips. His middle finger caressed her cuntal lips without
entering. She could feel cool fabric looping around her ankle.
Still she did not move, though the hand pulled back.
   "I tie you so you will give yourself utterly to me. Without
control of your limbs, you have no responsibilities. I will be
fucking you. You will not touch my cock unless I let you. Nor
will your tongue wrap itself around my shaft unless I let you."
The first ankle was tied now, and his hand came back to her
twat.
   "I will not hurt you. Perhaps later, if you ask me, I will
spank you; if not today, then perhaps next weekend, or next
month, or whenever I choose to see you next. That will be your
choice." Her left ankle was now tied down as well.
   She experimented with trying to move her legs back together,
but after half an inch apiece, she discovered that her legs
were immobile. She let out a low whimper, and again ground her
tits into the knobby bedcover.
   "I will now blindfold you. Do not attempt to resist." A broad
blue strip of silk was passed in front of her face, then
wrapped tight around her eyes. In the knot behind her head,
some strands of hair got caught, and the pulling brought tears
to her eyes.
   "I will now tie your wrists. Once that is done," he
continued, as he looped the cool silk around her wrists, "you
will be completely in my power. I will fuck you once in your
hot, slick cunt, until we both come.  Then I will have you suck
me to another hard, and then I will fuck you in the ass. You will
come at least once as I ream you there. Then I will either
untie you or I will leave, and tell Alan downstairs that you
need to be untied. How pleased I am will determine that
decision."
   It was a warning she couldn't ignore. Now that her wrists
were bound to the bedframe, she was completely helpless, and
she knew that he could very easily bring in the Green Bay
Packers to take turns fucking her. But she trusted that he
wouldn't do that, since she expected to please him. Would do
whatever he wanted, to please him. Because she knew she would
come harder than she'd ever come before.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 9

Though she knew it was fruitless, she tried wrinkling her brow
and nose to get a small crack of light through the blindfold.
Nothing doing: she could see nothing but blackness, though she
strained her eyes. Her fingers felt the bindings that she knew
reached from her wrists to the bedframe's head. Smooth, cool,
probably silk. They didn't hurt, surprisingly. Tight enough to
hold her, but not so tight that she would need to worry about
lack of circulation.
   But she could not move her arms more than a few inches
laterally. With an almost academic curiosity, she continued
testing her bonds; never had she been bound. A week ago she
would have told her closest friend that she had no interest in
ever even trying it.
   Today, this hot afternoon, knowing what awaited her, the
bonds were electrically erotic. From her bound wrists she could
almost feel juices seeping into her, juices that filled her up
and needed a release. From her ankles, held fast by the ties
beneath her, she felt the firm pressure almost as if they were
hands clutching at her, demanding her complete abandonment of
everything she would call civilized.
   "Let go," they said to her, in tactile chants, like tribal
songs of exotic bushmen, and darker: "Prepare, for you have no
choice." Her legs shivered from the call, as her muscles heard
the cries and prepared.
   His fingertips maddeningly stroked the outsides of her legs,
and the muscles twitched, attending to a different primal song.
Running up like elven feet over thighs, hips, dipping down to
stroke the ridge of her smashed breasts, circling on her
armpits, then departing.
   Like a red pen through a map, the path his fingertips had
found tingled. Then, again: a slight touch, this time on the
inner skin of her ass cheeks, just above her anus. No pressure,
but still she could feel her sphincter subtly relaxing in
preparation, involuntarily. Her body, she realized, was rapidly
becoming not her own. She was just along for the ride.
   Again, his touch disappeared. She strained her ears for a
clue of what he was doing, but there was nothing but his slow,
measured breaths. Then something touching the hairs around her
cunt. <What was that, his cock, please let it be something...>
she thought, and strained against the bindings, trying to push
her cunt against whatever it was.
   It stayed in exactly the same relationship to her cunt,
tantalizingly close, but not quite touching her skin. She
pulled on the restraints again, jerking back on them, saying
"please, please, put something in, oh god, put something in my
hot cunt, now, please..."
   His hand covered her mouth, and she felt his warm body on her
back. His hard prick was a hot force pressing against her right
asscheek. He hissed in her ear.
   "You must not make another sound, or I will gag you." His
breath was hot in her ear. She bit her lip, mutely nodding.
   He pulled himself off her; the cold air rushed into where
their bodies had touched. She shivered again, though not with
cold.
   Again something touched the hairs, and she tried to remain
immobile, to be completely passive, a lump of flesh - but
discovered she absolutely could not. Her body took over, aching
for touch, for contact, for release. She felt bloated with
lust.
   She realized that what her body told her was right. He didn't
want a slab of meat to fuck. He wanted a woman. But he wanted a
woman completely. She could fuck back, she could do whatever
she wanted, whatever she could. <He told me he wanted to be
pleased with me,> she thought to herself, almost removed from
the hunger that set her cunt on fire. <It's okay to want it,>
she thought.
   Then she could no longer ignore the gently increasing
pressure on her cunt. Something was working its way in with a
push so slow that her juices were soaking it with lubricant as
it sank past her outer lips. <I always have to hold them apart
for Larry,> she thought abstractly, <and it would hurt if he
wasn't going so slow...> and she arched her back in an attempt
to push it farther in.
   She was sure it was a cock now, as the head slipped in. Well
she remembered that thick head in her mouth; she licked the
insides of her teeth, thinking about sucking him hard after he
was through fucking her.
   In his cock went, stretching out her cuntwalls at an
agonizing pace. Alice could feel the ridge of his cock-helmet
springing past the ridges inside her own cunnie. He was so hard
there was virtually no give to his prick.
   She could feel his thighs as they contacted hers, then tried
to push back as his pelvis finished the final shove of his
invasion. Her cervix jumped as if goosed.
   And she almost groaned, but held it back at the last moment.
He was in fully now, and seemed to be letting his fat cock soak
up the juices, pulling the power from the ties around her
wrists and ankles, pulling the energy through  them, using her
body as a conduit. Down her arms, up her legs, meeting and
focusing with her cunt as the nexus point.
   He pulled out suddenly, and thrust his prick in fast. She
jumped, and could not stop the groan. Then she felt hands
around her head, and something on her lips; her tongue snaked
out to touch it, and lapped silk.
   "You will not stay quiet voluntarily. I am going to gag you.
Now is your last chance to stop. If you refuse the gag, I will
untie you and leave."
   He waited. Alice felt herself; felt her body stretched out on
the bed, bent over the brass, ass in the air; she felt the
nubby texture of the bedcover on her tits; she felt her lashes
fluttering against the inside of the blindfold. She gripped the
straps holding her wrists; felt his stiff cock enfolded by her
hungry cunt. Then she nodded.
   The gag separated her lips, and she opened for it. The silk
pulled the corners of her mouth against her teeth, and she
adjusted, so the tightness was only on the corners. She bit
down on the silk as he tied it behind her.
   Once the gag was tied, it was as though he had been set
completely free. Immediately he began pumping his cock in and
out of her at frightening speed. The bed rocked, squeaking as
loudly as she had groaned, as loud as she was trying to groan,
with each thrust. The pressure built inside her, and she
tried again, through the gag, to release some of it with sound,
but the grunts were too muffled, too contained, so the pressure
simply built, the songs joined voices, and the echoes began in
earnest.
   Her body rang like a forty-foot pipe organ fills a cathedral
with sound, searching for an exit, seeking escape from the
marble walls. The doors were shaking with the echoes, she
could see them shaking, as if the music was pushing them out as
a hurricane tried to push in, and her lithe body stiffened,
legs straining against their ties, arms pulling against their
restrictions, her body squeezing to help force open the doors,
and the doors burst open, the rain and hail and dust from the
hurricane rushed in as the pent-up echoes arced out through the
opening, and she came screaming bluntedly into the gag, each
breath a gutteral wrench, each thrust another explosion.
   Writhing helplessly in her bonds, she shuddered and shook
like a minnow on a dock. His hands dug into her ass cheeks,
holding her cunt tight against his crotch as he came. She could
feel the pulsations of his cock spewing jism deep into her
cunt, and that pushed her up once more, a dripping come like
rain after a long hot day.
   But the rain did nothing to chill the heat of his spume. She
could feel the driblets of cream seeping down her inner thighs,
little gushes pushing out with each slow, after-cum pump he was
giving her, and giving himself. Alice fought to catch her
breath, still feeling the reverberations of lost echoes.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 10

Alice shook her head, astounded at the power she was feeling.
He was lying on top of her now, his prick gradually deflating,
slipping out of her sloppy cunt as it did. His skin was warm,
and his breaths quick. She still couldn't believe it: she had
come with such gut-twisting convulsions that now she felt she'd
been tackled. But she was equally ready to get up and join the
next play.
   He heaved himself up off her with a faint grunt, pulling free
completely from her pussy. She listened closely, trying still
to see through her blindfold. She could almost hear him moving
beside the bed, then felt the vibration on her left arm's
binding.
   She felt almost disappointed; she was being untied so soon.
But then she felt his weight on the bed. Her free arm was
pulled up and over, turning her on her side, still tied at
three corners. It hurt her hips just a bit to be twisted that
way, but not a pain she couldn't put up with. He untied her
gag, and Alice knew immediately why, and opened her mouth.
   She lapped at the air, licking her lips around, moistening
them to more easily slip around the cockhead that she knew
awaited her. He teased her, touching her lips or her
outstretched tongue with the very tip of his limp prick, still
covered in their combined come.
   Alice could smell him, then could almost touch him, but he
held his prick tantalizingly close without allowing her the
satisfaction of engulfing it in her warm mouth. She wanted to
clean it, suck off those juices, tumble his cock around in her
mouth like a tootsie pop.
   Her free arm was up in the air, free not at all; he held the
silk tightly above her, allowing her only a little head
movement. She lunged toward his crotch, and caught the side of
his prick between her lip-covered teeth; he groaned, and let
her take it.
   At this stage it was small enough to fit completely into her
mouth while still allowing her tongue room to move. Alice loved
it. Exploring the flesh of the man controlling her thrilled
her. He pushed his pelvis closer to her, rubbing her nose into
his pubic hair.
   She could feel him thickening in her mouth, could feel the
blood pulsing into his prick. Using her tongue, she pushed out
all but his head, then sucked him back to her inner throat
wall. Pushed him out, then pulled him back. Each suck brought
back a beefier piece of meat. On the twelfth pull, he was firm
enough to stay straight, and by the twentieth, his length began
to gag her.
   Breathing through her nose helped, but she was still short of
breath, and on one release gasped for air, pulling it around
the outside of his hard shaft. He hissed his pleasure, and so
she did it again, pulling him deep into the warmth and silky
smoothness of her mouth, then pulling back a bit and streaming
cold air around his pecker.
   "Now get it wet," he ordered her, and she stiffened up.
Always, whenever Larry wanted to try anal intercourse, she got
scared. She had gone along with it a couple of times, and
though she was interested in what it made her feel, she
couldn't help but stay tense all the way through. It hurt, and
the pain was too distracting.
    "I said get it wet, Pull up spit and coat my cock with your saliva.
I intend to fuck you up the ass slowly and with great relish, and
without as much lubricant as possible, it will get painful. Slather
that tongue of yours on my cock. Make me wet enough to slip into
your ass easy."
   She pulled spit into the front of her mouth, then when his
cockhead was presented to her, coated the helmet with as much
saliva as she could leave. She felt a stray strand slap against
her cheek as he pulled his cock away.
   <Relax,> she told herself, <he'll do it right, and he'll do
it whether I want it or not.> She smiled ruefully to herself:
<I'm just along for the ride.>
   He replaced the gag around her mouth, retied her left wrist
to the bed. Then he moved behind her. She tried to loosen her
sphincter, but couldn't get it receptive.
   As if understanding her unspoken hesitation, he pushed one
wet finger against the rim of the wrinkled brown hole. He
massaged it gently, probing, sliding slowly more and more
inside, reaming her out around and around, relaxing those ass
walls.
   She involuntarily let out a groan, muffled by the gag.
Something in her seemed to wake up. As her ass loosened, the
last vestiges of responsibility dissolved. It was somehow more
private even then being fucked, having his finger exploring the
inside of her ass. She was giving him the freedom to invade
wherever he wanted, and she was happy to oblige.
   The soft, bulbous head of his hard cock pushed beside his
index finger, which was now in all the way to the knuckle. As
he drew circles inside her intestines, she undulated on the
bed, writhing under his directing finger.
   As his finger receded, it was replaced by the irresistable
pressure of his hard prong pushing against her ass. She let go
even more of her sphincter, and the chunky plum slipped in. He
stayed still for a moment, allowing her ass to accomodate. She
felt his hand reaching around his prick, smearing his own
saliva on his shaft. Then those fingers found her cunt, and her
buzzing clit.
   He began strumming her clit like a guitar, and as she grunted
in response, pushed forward on his hard cock, forcing it
another inch into her. Suddenly he jammed three fingers in her
cunt,  and the gag scarcely held back the shout she gave. Just
after she reared up in response the the three-finger thrust, he
pumped his hard cock deeply into her ass.
   Alice was overwhelmed. Never had she <enjoyed> being fucked
in the ass like this. She'd put up with it before, but now under-
stood why some women actually wanted it regularly. With each thrust
another barrier inside her melted, another wall came down. She
discovered herself grunting like an animal, spinning her ass in
little arcs to better feel his prick.
   She could feel him in ways her cunt couldn't; could feel the
depth he was achieving with each thrust. Little screams escaped
her every time he hit bottom. She thrust back as far as her
binds sould let her.
   Gradually his pace quickened. Her asshole clutched at his
prick, trying to draw him into her. His fingers left her cunt,
and she barely noticed: all her attention was focused on the
thorough reaming her ass was getting.
   His thighs began making slapping noises as they struck her
ass cheeks. Alice was nearly delirious. The thrusts had stopped
feeling separated from one another; it was as if she was being
continuously fucked by one long long prick going inch by inch
into her, foot by foot, yard by yard. <God, I'm so full,> she
thought, <he's filling me up completely,> and she felt like a
balloon reaching the limits of its size.
   The pressure kept building, rising higher and higher, and for
Alice nothing in the world existed except her ass being fucked
and the building pressure. With piston-like speed he slammed
into her chute, fucking her straight-on, his hips almost like
hands spanking her even as they caressed her deep inside.
   Then with a gutteral yell he came, somehow thrusting into her
even harder, deeper, and she began to come too, a rumbling like
the sound the far side of a dirigible makes when it explodes,
and she knew that as a passenger all she could do was wait for
the explosion to reach where she waited.
   In great crashing peals of light and sound it came, she came,
shuddering like a roadway in a long earthquake, feeling the
wrinkles in her ripples straighten, stretch, break apart, and
she was screaming as loud as her gag would allow, as much as he
would allow, for she was shouting with all her strength, held
back by the silk ribbons binding her wrists and ankles.
   Five more thrusts, while his prick was still hard, each more
slow than the last, until finally he stopped. Then slowly
pulled himself from her ass. She couldn't help think that it
felt like she was shitting him out.
   Even soft, even soiled with her own shit, she still loved the
feel of his dangling rod rubbing against her thighs as he
caught his breath.
   Then suddenly he was off her. She could hear him putting on
his clothes. Alice became frightened. Hadn't she pleased him?
Was he going to tell Alan that there was a slut upstairs
waiting to service him? In her charged state, she almost wanted
that: a new, hard prick to fuck her some more sounded good
right now. But then she caught herself, remembering what a
ferrety, skinny man he was. She was relieved when she felt him
untying her ankles.
   "I will now leave," he said as he untied the second ankle.
"You should have no trouble untying your wrist once the
tension is off. You will carry those silk scarves with you at
all times from now on, so that I can use them on you whenever I
want." Alice felt a chill of excitement that for a moment
overpowered the deep satisfaction settling on her body.
   She nodded, still blindfolded, still bound. She heard his
tread on the floor moving toward the door. She waited till he
was out of the door before scooting herself up the bed so that
her hands could reach her blindfold.
   Her cunt ached, her ass ached, but her body sang. Hands still
tied, she looked down at the faint bruises on the front of her
hips; it had been worth every drop of makeup she used to cover
them. She had learned enough to willingly pay for any inconvenience
resulting from her interludes with the mysterious man.
   She was clearly decided, now; he was a good man to be her
master. She liked her role with him, even if it was politically
incorrect. She liked being his slave, and tried to imagine what
he would do with her next.
   Alice couldn't wait to find out.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 11

Larry's office was hardly an office at all, really; it was a
small cubicle separated from other small cubicles by
plasterboard dividers painted get-active colors, reds and royal
blues. His at least, was in the corner, so he got a little
extra space. Still, it had no door, only a doorway.
   He had his desk catty-wampus, angled to the corner, so he had
scoot-back room; his desk formed the base of a triangle. He
liked it that way; it made him feel more spacious, as if he was
master of all he surveyed, such as it was: a calendar on the
wall, the bulletin board tacked full of notations to himself, a
pastel print, some degree-like certificates, a file cabinet.
   Through most of the day Larry made telephone calls and filled
out forms. Occasionally he was called in to personally meet
clients, but that was at most once a week. The little cubicle
was home to him, almost more than home itself was. Again: such
as it was.
   He was on the phone with a client, assuring her that the she
would get those supplies when the intent money arrived, and
that was policy, he couldn't do anything about it, she had
understood that and he was sure she could understand that now.
   Then his doorway was filled by a black and lovely presence.
He looked up and saw her standing cant-hipped, one arm up on
the top of the barrier. "Get off the phone," she mouthed.
   Larry mumbled a few more words to the woman on the other end
and then hung up, all the while looking his vampiress woman up
and down. Tits high and small, today tightly wrapped in thin
burgundy silk, above a black knee-length skirt. Her dark hair
was curled in a pert businesswoman's flair, and she carried a
briefcase.
   She looked on the outside like a member-in-good-standing of
some relatively huge conglomerate, paying a visit to a business
associate. Her dark eyes smoldered a different story. When the
phone hit the cradle, she spoke clearly: "Mr. Montgomery, how
nice to see you, do you have a few moments?"
   Larry cleared his throat, then manufactured: "Ms.... Ms.
Bartles, what are you doing in this neck of the woods?"
   Then she came toward him, her step that of a panther's. She
put a ruby-nailed hand on his desk. "So this is your office,"
she purred. "Somehow I'd pictured something like this. How
correct."
   Larry couldn't tell whether she meant him or her. He decided
she meant him. "It suits me," he said stiffly.
   "That it does," she said, and drifted her hands toward her
stomach, drawing long, slow circles around her navel. The red
nails mesmerized Larry for a moment as he watched them
circling, circling... then he watched her fingers move up to
caress her budding nipples, just now poking out from beneath
the silk.
   He glanced behind her; nobody in the corridor.
   The woman's other hand moved to the spot on her skirt that
covered her cunt, Keeping her arm fixed, her fingers pushed in,
creasing the fabric, pushing on her pussy lips. From behind,
she would look like she was simply talking with Larry, since
her briefcase was on his desk, not yet opened, but clearly
being readied.
   He relaxed and enjoyed the show, enjoyed knowing that the
risk of being noticed was slim, and that even if it was, most
of the other people on the floor were men, and would simply be
jealous of this exquisite woman touching herself in front of
him.
   But then she got serious. She began to pull up the front of
her skirt, inch by inch, gathering it in her hand just above
desk level, pulling it up in such a way that her fingers pushed
at her cunt with each fold. Her other hand was now busy at her
tits, pinching her left nipple, rolling it through the fabric,
pushing the firm flesh hither and yon.
   Even from behind, nobody could mistake what was happening. It
was no longer something that Jack or Wayne would smirk at; they
would have to talk about it. What if Mr. Higgins walked by?
What could he possibly think that wouldn't damage his chances
of promotion? Jesus, he thought, I could lose my job!
   "Look," he began to say, but she cut him off.
   "Shut up. Scoot back in your seat."
   "Now wait just a minute..."
   "If you don't I'll simply continue. There's nothing you can
do to stop me that wouldn't cause more trouble than following
my instructions."
   Larry was indignant. "Just because of what we did together,"
he whispered, "doesn't give you the right..."
   She was smiling wickedly. Her fingers began again pulling up
her skirt, the bunch of folds clearly rubbing against her cunt
lips. He was angry at his hardening cock.
   He could imagine the scenarios. What could he do? Call her
crazy? Haul her out of here physically? <That> certainly
wouldn't go unnoticed. He could find no way out. His cock
wished it could find <its> way out of his constricting
underwear. He readjusted his seating.
   "Just push back in your seat," she said in satin tones, and
I'll take care of that cock of mine." She moved to the side of
the desk. As Larry looked to the corridor, she slipped behind
it. She got down to her knees.
   He scooted back. She moved into the knee-hole of the desk,
backing in without taking her dark eyes off his. Grabbing his
calves, she rolled his chair back toward her.
   She unzipped his pants gradually, stroking his bulge as she
did. He took a deep breath, keeping his eye on the corridor.
Then he realized that only a very sharp eye could possibly
catch what was going on beneath his desk, which reached almost
to the floor. And her skirt, which hid her legs, was black as
shadow. As long as he kept his face impassive and looked like
he was working, nobody would bother him.
   So as her delicate fingers wormed between the waistband of
his underwear and his skin to haul out his erection, he picked
up a pen and brought it to his lips, as if thinking about the
report in front of him. His cock, cooled by the air, swelled
even stiffer, almost poking up past the level of the desk. He
leaned forward to angle it downward just as she hauled it down
the to face her.
   Her hands slipped up and down its length, grabbing shortly,
then releasing. He bit the pen with each grasp. Then her
fingers seemed to begin to move independently. Each finger
became a butterfly, fluttering its wings against the tight skin
of his shaft and shiny cockhead. He look down for a moment,
watching her hands move like an accomplished violinist's.
   It was incredibly erotic. His cock seemed more hard than
ever, since his pulse was racing, expecting at any minute for
Mr. Higgins to walk in just to chat, as he sometimes did. He
could be in here for twenty minutes then, with her fingers
playing arpeggios on his prick.
   Yet she wouldn't seem to use her mouth. He wanted her to take
it in her mouth, to tongue it warmly, slickly, to swallow his
weapon of pleasure, but she wouldn't. He tried edging forward
on the wheels of his chair, but she wouldn't take it in her
mouth. Hip thrusts did nothing, since he was sitting down.
   Her fingers were nearly as good as her mouth, delicately
tracing patterns of swirly dimensions on his prick. Almost
<because> he knew she wouldn't suck him, it made him want it
all the more, made him want <her> all the more.
   The skin of his cock almost hurt, it was pulled so tight. The
purple head ached with pressure so great that he almost winced
whenever her fingers would stroke it.
   Knowing he couldn't pretend concentration forever, Larry
picked up the phone, pretending to listen to a client. His cock
ached with an exquisite pain, a yearning so intense that it
became almost orgasmic. She was now stroking circles on that
head, like the laps of a tongue tip, yet dry, vaguely abrasive.
He closed his eyes tightly, wincing, gripping the phone
tightly, focusing on the sharp pleasure building like crystals
in the pit of his stomach. When he opened his eyes, Winston was
standing in the doorway,
   Panic struck Larry. Winston looked bemused, as if in on the
joke. But then Larry realized that Winston must be thinking he
had an wince-able client on the phone, and that Larry was stuck.
He put his hand over the receiver of the phone. "This will
take a little while," he mouthed, "I'll buzz you when I'm
done." Winston smiled, nodded, and waved as he left.
   The adrenaline rush from the panic was helping put him over
the edge: her fingers still danced lightly on the drum-tight
flesh. He wanted contact so badly he was trying to buck without
moving, damn whoever came by, he needed that touch. Each stroke
became more and more painful, when suddenly she grabbed his
cock with both hands and pumped up and down hard, milking his
shaft with firm practiced hands.
   He was helpless before her. He fought it back, trying to
stave off the orgasm, but her hands pulled it out of him almost
effortlessly. She hissed in a breath through her teeth, and
kept milking for a few more strokes, then tightly squeezed,
solidly, while the afterconvulsions of orgasm rocked his body.
   He pushed back on the wheels of his chair, not quite out of
reach of her grasp. Her face was dotted with jism, sparkling
now that her face was in the light. She was smiling again,
still wickedly. "That cock of mine did well," she whispered.
   Keeping hold of his softening tool with one hand, she used
the other to wipe his cream from off her face, into her mouth;
she sucked her finger, lapped it, mouthed it just as he wanted
her to do to his cock. "My come tastes good," she said, "taste
it." She wiped off a gob from her temple, then held her hand
out of the cubbyhole.
   He looked stricken. Someone could see her hand. Quickly, he
moved down to her hand, mouth open. When her finger was in his
mouth, she crooked it, taking his cheek between finger and
thumb. She pulled him down to her.
   "I can have my cock any time I want it. I have taken
possession of it." She looked straight at him with dark black
eyes. "You merely carry it around for me. Do you understand?"
   He surprised himself. Usually after coming he didn't give a
shit about sex either way. Now, he cared very much. He could
feel the beginnings of another hard stirring his prick.
   He nodded.
   "Good," she said. "Now scoot back so I can get out." He did,
and she stood, swiftly moving to the front of the desk. Again
her back was to the doorway. She put her hand on the briefcase,
ruby- tipped fingernails slipping between handle and case.
   She smiled her smile again. "Until the next time I want it,"
she said. "Until then."
   Then she turned and walked out of the doorway,
   After a few numb minutes, Winston walked back in, saw his
stricken face, and shook his head. "That bad, eh?"
   Larry looked up at him. "Yes," he said, slowly, "Quite a
call. But you know how some people are."
   "Lunch?" Winston asked.
   Larry realized that his cock was still hanging out of his
pants, luckily hidden by the desk. "No, I, uh, I've got to get
a little more finished on this report. I guess I'll take a
raincheck."
   "Okay," Winston smiled. "Next time."


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 12

Alice stood in front of the refrigerator, hair still wet from
the shower, contemplating food. Her legs were spread, because
her cunt and ass both burned with a delicious heat from the
workout that afternoon. Larry would be home soon, and while she
wasn't expected to fix him supper, it was a nice gesture when
something was laid out for the microwave.
   And somehow she wanted to be nice. She thought perhaps it was
a way to stroke her guilt over her affair, yet the feeling was
more wholesome than that. She felt forgiving toward him, ready
to be acceptant.
   She pulled out the container of chicken teriyaki, dished two
servings onto the plates, spooned rice from another container,
and then put hers into the 'wave. Three minutes later it was
steaming, and she sat down to watch "Wheel of Fortune reruns."
   During the second round she heard Larry's car pull into the
driveway. She rose to greet him at the door.
   "Hi, hon," she said to him as she leaned forward to kiss him.
He met her kiss. Tongues tentatively reached out, then tangled.
   "Hello," he said finally. "What a nice greeting."
   "Mmmmm," she replied. "Chicken's waiting in the kitchen."
   "I thought I's shower before dinner. Too hot out there
today."
   "I just got out from mine. Hope there's enough hot water,"
she said sincerely; she'd luxuriated in its spray, touching
herself everywhere she could remember her lover's caress.
   It was all new to her, this covert behavior, the cloak of
secrecy. She'd never really considered an affair, much less one
of these dimensions...
   Well she'd considered them, she admitted to herself, but not
seriously. Only in the abstract, as something exciting somebody
else does. Reading Larry's books and magazines when he was
away, she had the sense of reading a tale of a foreign land,
nowhere she'd ever visit. Yet here she was in her own home
after having been tied down and royally fucked by what amounted
to a perfect stranger.
   It was so shocking she couldn't help but smile. So out of
character, so unlike the cooly efficient woman she was. Who
would think she'd get jelly-jointed at the memory of straining
at her bonds while his thick cock plunged into her--who but
perhaps Maddy. To everyone else she was staid, predictably
competent Alice, who wouldn't dream of such things.
   Yet she found she had been dreaming about them. Confinement
had taken on a new meaning to her, and the fuzzy definition
kept trying to clarify itself in her unconscious. A butterfly
darting in beautiful patterns within a glass enclosure, she was
in one recent dream. A windless space where she could truly
test her wings, test her ability without having to compensate
for gusts of disruptive breezes.
   She heard the water running upstairs, and could imagine Larry
undressing as he waited for the hot water to rise from the
basement heater. She leaned against the stove, her right hand
toying with the square fold in the crotch of her tight jeans,
just below her clit, pushing that little fold inward and up,
the hardness chafing deliciously against her pussy lips. She
remembered the ridge of her lover's thick cockhead strumming the
top of her cunt opening as he dipped the purple helmet just
barely in.
   Her fingers pressed harder, beginning a circling motion. She
closed her eyes, imagining her lover's hands touching her
intimately, caressingly, and her left hand moved up to cup her
breast. She squeezed, and gripped her hardening nipple between
thumb and forefinger, through her shirt; she rolled it back and
forth, twisting, feeling the nerves wincing in the wrinkles of
the fabric.
   She opened her eyes; the house was quiet, except for the
water running for the shower upstairs. Setting her mind to
notice when Larry shut off the shower, she pulled out the tail
of her shirt so she could slip her hand beneath it. Her flesh
was cool beneath her warm hands; she stroked the soft skin,
circling her nipple with a trailing finger.
   She began breathing rapidly. Her cunt was warming to the
pressure even more now, and she unsnapped, then unzipped them
with tantalizing slowness, imagining her lover's hands
performing the undressing. Her fingers moved into the forest of
her pubes, pulling the hairs in pinchfulls, until finally a
finger slipped into her moist slit.
   Abstractly, she heard the shower running, and wondered if
Larry was pulling himself off. They hadn't had a good bout in
the sack for months now, but at that moment his wet, naked body
seemed attractive to her, just as she imagined her body would
be for him. She felt alluring, with one hand in her cunt and
another beneath her shirt.
   Round and round her middle finger went, circling the opening
of her cunt, rising up to stroke her love button, moving down
to caress her cunt again. A gentle rhythm revealed itself, and
she went with the beat. Around twice, then on the upstroke, a
twang on her clitoris, then again into her hot twat to swirl
around in her cuntal fluids twice again, in almost a spiral,
moving deeper into her quim.
   "Honey, are we out of sham...." Larry's voice echoed, then
stopped; Alice's eyes flew open, and she saw Larry, skin
dewdropped with water, a white towel loosely around his waist,
bulging at his crotch. She saw the bulge twitch, and took a
chance.
   "Screw the shampoo," she said slowly in a voice that sounded
almost like her lover's to her. "Drop that towel and come fuck me.
I want your hard prick inside my cunt. I want to wrap it in my
hands and stuff you into me."
   With each word the bulge in the towel had gotten bigger. By
the end, his prick was making a tent of the white fabric. Larry
had never heard his wife talk like this, though he was not
surprised it excited him. Seeing her unabashedly masturbating,
gazing at his hardening prick with undisguised hunger, he
didn't think twice.
   He dropped his grip on the towel, which fell to the floor. His
hard-on bounced for a moment, then continued its upward climb.
   "Oooh," Alice breathed. "Bring it here. Bring that hard cock
to me."
   Something clicked in Larry's head, and he played right back
to her. "First tear off your shirt. Don't unbutton it. Tear it
off those tits of yours."
   Alice smiled, and pulled her juice-covered hand from her
tunnel, pulled her other hand from around her tit, grabbed her
open neck, and pulled. Buttons spun away as her shirt flew
open. She was glad she wasn't wearing a brassier, for her
mounds felt the breeze, and her nipples stiffened even further,
standing out like thimbles.
   Alice pushed her tits together, pointing them like eyes at
Larry. "Here they are," she said, "just waiting for you. Come
suck on them, lick them, then fuck my hot cunt."
   They both looked at each other, thinking how strange all this
was. Their sex life had always been the utmost in normalcy.
Larry thought that Alice would be offended, insulted, if he
talked dirty to her, or was too graphic with her. Alice was
afraid he'd think her a slut if she expressed more than a mild
interest in sex.
   Now, as they faced each other, there was a frightening moment
when both could have destroyed the other, by laughing, or by
acting like it was all a pretense, a joke that hit too close to
home. They looked at each other, the eight years they'd known
each other passing before their eyes in clear contradiction to
this erotically charged moment, a married lifetime of sexual
protection and fear, and both stood paralyzed, afraid the other
would laugh. Would sneer. Would destroy the other.
   But there was too much lust in their eyes for either to
ignore. Larry took a breath, as did Alice, and they lunged at
each other like two panthers fighting over a prize. Alice
gripped Larry's naked buns to pull his hard prick against her
lower stomach. Larry had one hand on a bare breast, the other
on her butt, pulling for the same reason. Their mouths locked,
tongues battling each other, trying for more depth, more
contact, more stimulation.
   Alice moaned, moving one hand up to pull Larry's face to hers
even more tightly. His face was rough, but his lips were strong
and soft, his tongue, molten. He thrust against her stomach
with is pelvis, pushing his hardness at her, feeling her jeans
against his thighs.
   He broke away from her: "Take off your pants. I want to see
that cunt of yours open. Open your cunt to me, spread your
lips, I want to see your finger inside your cunt, and then I'll
shove this hard prick into you."
   Alice smiled, relaxing still further; this wasn't so
difficult. She never would have thought it possible, but here
they were talking the language of lust to each other. "Yes,"
she said to him, backing away, pulling down her tight jeans and
bikini underwear slowly, rolling her hips lewdly, as if backing
onto a prick behind her.
   Then she was down on the kitchen floor, only the ragged, torn
shirt on her body, legs bare and wide, and she pushed first
one, then two, then three fingers into her cunt right in front
of Larry, moaning as she did. Her cunt was brimfull with
juices, sloppy and wet and she wanted more than what her
fingers could do.
   "Oh god, Larry, stick that cock into me, I want you now, push
it in me." Her legs were up in the air, and her free hand
beckoned toward her twat.
   He moved down to the floor and put the swollen head of his
prick against her embedded fingers. "Pull me in," he said, and
she grabbed his prick with slick fingers and pulled him down
into her.
   As he sank into her, she reached back to hold onto something,
and found the broiler pan handle on the bottom of the stove.
She held on as he began to pump, and imagined that her hands
were tied to the stove, that she was helpless and willing, then
realized that she hardly needed the fantasy; she <was> willing,
and could choose helplessness to her desire.
   His hard rod pistoned into her love channel, and she made
mewling sounds, driving Larry to greater efforts: he pumped
into her, changing his angle with each thrust, rubbing the
tight skin of his prick against her cuntal walls. Each thrust
felt new, as if it was the first dip into her pool, and he
could feel the pressure building beneath his balls.
   "Yes, I'm fucking you now, aren't I?" he asked, "Yes, fucking
you, and you're loving it. You like having my cock in your hot
cunt, you want me to fuck you hard...."
   "Yes, fuck me, keep fucking me, I love that cock, give me all
of it, shove it in, yes, fuck me, keep fucking me, fuck me,
keep fucking me...."
   And her thighs clamped against his sides and she began to
shudder and shake in a way Larry hadn't seen in six years; she
jerked and bucked and <screamed> through gritted teeth as she
came, pulling out the broiler drawer with a great clatter,
shoving it back in, screaming again, thrusting back against
that hard pole that was nailing her down, pushing her to the
floor.
   "God! Oh! Yes! Shit, fuck me, yes, fuck me, fuck me," and her
voice went down to a hiss, sibilants essing out with each of
his thrusts.
   "You're so hot," Larry whispered in her ear, "your cunt is
hot and slick, you're coming for me, coming with me, you love
being fucked, don't you, yes, you're my whore, my cunt, yes,
you love it, god, I'm fucking you hard, fucking you..."
   The pressure beneath his balls increased; he could feel his
jism building up, and didn't want to hold it off any longer.
"I'm going to come inside you soon, I'm going to come in that
hot cunt of yours, wide open, yes, wide open cunt, I'm coming,
I'm coming...."
   Alice fell over another edge, and her cunt wall clamped down
on his pistoning prick like a velvet vice, milking it,
uncontrollably, as she came with him. He hollered out <"Yes!
God, yes! Oh, fuck, yes!"> as he came, and her words echoed with
his:
   "Yes, fuck me! Fuck me! Aaaaah! Yes! Yes!"
   Then Larry collapsed limply on top of her, lungs heaving,
prick throbbing, throbbing as it slowly shrank out of her quim.
They quietly held each other, still amazed at what had
happened. Yet how could they talk about it? Did they need to?
   Alice's questions were answered when Larry snorted a chuckle.
"Wow," he said, "and all I wanted was shampoo."
   They both laughed, the kissed each other as they rolled
apart. "Dinner will have to be nuked again," she said. "Another
explosion took its place."


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 13

"Mine's been waking up; he's losing the context that closes him
down."
   "Good," he said. "So has mine. Such ripeness, such sweet lust
waiting to be unleashed. Such an exciting game. A certain
conclusion, but exciting nonetheless."
   "I was certain of it," a third voice murmurs in the darkness.
A rustle: a body shifting, then a second moving in
accomodation.
   "You were right," the first woman's voice answers. "Both were
just waiting to awaken. Two, perhaps three more scenes and
anything we want they will want as well."
   "Mine would do that right now," the second voice rumbles
pleasantly. "But then, women are naturally more erotic than
men, wouldn't you agree?"
   The third voice purrs in reply: "Let's try again, and see."


Paganini's Tale, chapter 14

As soon as she saw the envelope on her desk, she knew it wasn't
part of the morning's mail. Pale white, like all envelopes, but
there was no window with the firm's name in it, nor any return
address.
   Simply "Alice" on the front, in block letters
indistinguishable from that anybody else would make.
Impersonal, untraceable. She felt excitement burble in her
stomach in anticipation.
   Maddy had already returned from her break, and was sitting
engrossed in updating the computer records. Alice knew that
Madeline would soon find out what was inside the letter. After
their session of lovemaking days ago, the two were now secret-
sharers.
   For Alice, some friends were chat-partners, others were
philosophy-traders, and the last, rare category was that which
Maddy now fell into.
   Oddly enough, she and Alice hadn't much altered their
behavior from the aftereffects of intimacy. Perhaps a few more
touches, but not anything illicit. They smiled more now, had
more warmth in their voices, but neither, as far as Alice could
see, expected an affair to develop from the interlude.
   It was as if the sex they shared had been time out of time,
separate from the events of mundane reality. Something like
what she felt with the man she was fucking--or being fucked by,
she corrected herself.
   The <separateness> was what surprised her. Before the last
week, sex had been an extension of the everyday. Now, even with
Larry, she was able to be sexual in some manner that had no
necessary connection to any routine she could recognize, and so
seemed to have no effect on her self-definition.
   And Maddy seemed the same way. They might make love again,
and Alice thought she might start it next time; she longed to
taste Maddy's honey again, to savor the sultry sweetness
lingeringly, sucking on her slick clitoris, lapping at the
folded interiors of her soft cunt.
   But wanting to eat her didn't mean that Alice had to touch
her, or speak romantically to her. All Alice felt required to
do was be herself. It was refreshing.
   Just a it was refreshing to know that with easy intimacy,
when Alice had read the new instructions, she could show the
letter to her and laugh with shared knowledge; even with shared
anticipation, since Maddy would also hear the details as well.
   The last time Alice had been only slightly graphic, growing
increasingly so as it became clear that Maddy was enjoying it.
She had felt a bit excited by using words like "thick cock" and
"tits" and "aching cunt," and looked forward to trying out many
more when she regaled Maddy, like Scheherezade, with the juicy
tale of her <tete-a-tete>.
   With a steady hand she reached for her letter opened and slit
the seam of the envelope. Inside was a typed note:

  "You will go to Sears at 3:00 today. Walk through the lingerie,
  touch the fine silk, stroke the sleek softness made to excite
  the skin's nerves. Imagine yourself in them, being watched by
  ten men, undressing slowly, sensuously, in a strip tease for
  their eyes alone, without embarassment, without fear, a
  striptease in each of those silks, ten times, and each time you
  imagine it in a particular garment, I want you to touch that
  garment to one private place on your body. Imagine the men
  invading that spot, with fingers, cock, and tongue.
     Then go to the men's department at 3:24. At the suit rack, go
  to the corner without the mirror. Investigate a suit in the
  corner. Do not turn around when I approach you.
     You will be directed from there."

   Alice dropped the note on her desk. She looked at the desk
clock: another hour until she got off, at noon.
   "Maddy," she said, surprising herself. "Have lunch with me. I
want to eat you."
   Madeline looked up expectantly, as if Alice would laugh at
the Freudian slip. She didn't. When Madeline realized that, her
full lips curled into a smile.
   "I'll get myself prepared," she said, licking her lips and
bringing a hand from the keyboard up to her left breast. She
gave it a squeeze. Then she saw the note open in front of
Alice.
   "A hot letter?"
   "Another set of instructions from my mystery lover," Alice
replied. "He's directing my fantasies now. I think he'll be
watching."
   "Watching where? Doing what?" Then Maddy laughed. "Not to
pry, or anything."
   "Just a moment, and I'll tell you." She pushed a button on
her phone. "Jerry, this is Alice. Maddy and I will be taking an
early lunch if that's all right. We're caught up on today's
work, and I stayed late yesterday..." She nodded to the
receiver. "Oh, and I'll be locking the door, since we're both
out. Can't be too careful." She nodded again.
   Then she wrote a quick note saying "M and A are at lunch.
Back 12:15. She took a slip of scotch tape and taped it to the
door, glancing into the hall to see that nobody would see her,
then locked the door from the inside.
   "Now we can eat in peace," Alice grinned. She could hardly
believe they were her own words coming out of her mouth. But it
felt right. "Take off your shirt. Let me see those pretty tits
of yours."
   Maddy looked surprised, but began undoing her buttons. "My,
but that man must have awakened a tigress." She pulled off the
blouse, and arched her back to unsnap her bra; when the hooks
came loose, her melons sprang free, and she slipped the straps
down her long arms.
   Alice was topless now too, and as excited by her own bravado
as by the eroticism of the scene. Brazen, she thought to
herself. Outright whorishness. I love it.
   She felt lucky to have someone like Maddy to be whorish with,
who she could trust not to mind, or laugh. Maddy had the same
streak of detached sensualism that had indeed been awakened in
Alice over the last week. It made her an almost perfect
officemate.
   Alice pinched her nipples, pulling out, making her skin tight
as a tent's. As if offering them to Maddy as she approached.
She kicked off her shoes.
   "Stand up now," Alice said, and Maddy complied, smiling,
clearly enjoying being told what to do. Her face spoke of both
amusement and arousal. It was new to her, but that newness only
made it more tittilating.
   "Move away from the desk," Alice told her. "Now take off
that skirt, and unroll those nylons. I want to be able to get
at your cunt while I tell the story."
   Madeline followed her instructions to the letter. She stood
buck naked in the fluorescent light, legs slightly spread, arms
to her side. The slight dew of nookfluids sparkled on her pubic
hair.
   "Now take off my skirt for me. I am wearing no underwear.
Once my skirt is removed, I want to you to breathe hotly on my
cunt, without touching it, while I begin to tell you the
fantasies I'll have."
   Slowly, sinuously, Maddy moved across the floor. Her hands
reached out, shaking slightly, wending their way through the
air toward the belt that held Alice's skirt to her hips. Still
Alice massaged her own tits, and Maddy kept her eyes on them.
Her breathing was already deep and quick.
   "Yes," Madeline murmured, "I want to smell your cunt, breathe
on it, then when the sap is running, I want to lap at your
twat, tell me how to tongue you, order my mouth around your
creamy darkness."
   Maddy was on her knees now, talking directly to Alice's cunt.
With all her fingers, like kneading bread dough, Alice massaged
her breasts. "Yes, I will tell you. Stretch your tongue out,
but don't touch. Lap the air like you would my folds. Show me
your technique."
   While Maddy tongued her imaginary cunt not more than an inch
from her real one, Alice began her tale:
   "My lover directs me to Sears, where I am to go immediately
to Lingerie and begin my fantasies. Ten times I will pick up a
negligee and imagine taking it off for a different man.
   The first is a black silky thing, frills around my
collarbones, frills around my cunt, sheer around my tits." She
reached down, put her fingers in Maddy's hair, and clenched her
fingers together. "Now do the same to my hot cunt. I need a
tongue flicking there."
   She leaned back against the desk, feeling the sharp corner
against the flesh of her buttocks. Maddy inched forward, still
on her knees. She looked up past Alice's tits. "Does mistress
wish to tie her slave's hands?"
   Stifling her surprise, Alice smiled. "A good suggestion, my
sweet slave. One moment."
   She retrieved Maddy's nylons. Maddy's hands were behind her
back. With a few deft wraps, then one around the middle, and a
neat bow, Maddy's hands were bound. Alice felt a surge of
adrenaline as she saw Maddy's aroused submission. Naked knees
on the carpeted floor, she was trying to push her cunt down
onto the floor.
   Alice took her place again, leaning against the desk,
spreading her legs even wider. Maddy hungrily lunged at Alice's
crotch, her tongue slipping from hole to bud and back,
slathering her nether lips with saliva.
   Alice continued: "Yes, my sweet slut, suck on me, yes, stick
your tongue down deep, lap at it like a dripping ice cream
cone. Oh, yessss...
   "When I find my first negligee, I begin my fantasy, knowing
that my mystery lover's eyes are upon me from somewhere in the
store, and imagine his eyes as looking through the man in my
fantasy, a black pimp appraising a potential girl.
   "I shrug my shoulders out from the frilly straps, letting the
black silk gradually slide down the mountains of my tits. He
raises an eyebrow in healthy respect. These are tits that can
work, he thinks.
   "I hold them out for him to see, showing off the creamy
whiteness, the soft skin, the delicate wrinkles around my erect
nipples. I can see beneath the zipper of his tight pants that
even with all his experience with women, he is becoming
aroused.
   "He is tall, this black pimp in my mind, tall and lean, the
muscles well defined, smooth, his face is broad-cheeked, with
deep hollows. In his left nostril is a tiny gold ring, almost
invisible.
   "As the negligee moves lower, he thinks of running his tongue
about the roundness of my belly, homing in on my navel. His
prick is hardening, and I think it will be like he is, tall,
thin, well defined. I know I am getting to him, the tough
veneer is fading beneath his desire. He wants me, he wants this
white chick, and I let the black silk finally fall to the
floor.
   "My cunt is on fire, just like it is right now, my slave,
your tongue is velvet, suck me, ah, ah yes, suck on my clit
hard, yes, <hard,> ah, yes, yes...." And she grabbed Maddy's
hair and mashed her face against  her own cunt, rubbing
Madeline's lips hard against her lips. She could feel teeth;
she could see lightening inside her lids, and she came with a
wrenching groan.
   The smell of her juice was in the air, and strong on Maddy's
face as Alice took it in her hands to kiss her. Their lips met,
followed immediately by their narrow tongues, dancing,
parrying, like joyous swords.
   She broke the kiss, looked into Maddy's eyes. "Now lean over,
put your cheek on the carpet."
   Maddy closed her eyes, and nodded, angling over until her
face touched the floor. Her butt was in the air, her big jugs
rubbed against the rough carpeting, and her hands grasped at
nothing behind her back.
   Alice sat comfortably beside her, enjoying the mastery
completely. She didn't need to worry about positioning.
Whatever she wanted was what happened. It felt wonderful. By
doing exactly what she wanted, she knew Maddy would get exactly
what she wanted as well. The feeling was one of liberation.
   "The pimp will be unable to keep his hands off me, though I
make the time move slow. I prance around the chair he sits in
like a throne," she said, and put a hand on Maddy's rear end.
   Maddy back up to it, pushing her ass against Alice's hand.
Her fingertips began to trace the outlines of Maddy's cunt.
   "I wiggle my tight rear end toward him. He reaches out, but
can't touch yet. His shaft is ready to burst his tight black
pants, and I know it, and taunt him with it.
   "Take it out if you want, I say to him. Let me really show
you how hot I am. And so he does take it out. Long it is, the
veins like black rope curling around a dark flagpole. Stiff as
steel. I see it, and know I want it deep in my cunt, but will
make him want me even more.
   "I put a finger in my cunt in front of him," she continued,
pushing a finger into Maddy's heat. Maddy responded with a
whimpering moan.
   "I swirl it around, and tell him how much I want his cock. I
tell him my mouth is watering for it, that my tongue will bathe
it, smooth it, lick around the dark head until his spunk is
ready to shoot, and then I will consume him with my tunnel.
   "In a rage of lust, the black pimp leaps from the chair and
grabs me by the shoulders. He throws me down on the floor. His
pants are around his thighs, he doesn't have the patience to
take them off, he has to have me <now>, and so he roughly
spreads my legs and without waiting a minute more jams his
black cock into my cunt <hard!>
   Three of Alice's fingers thrust into the wet heat of Maddy's
cunny. Maddy arched her back involuntarily, letting out groan.
Alice's fingers pulled out, then shoved in, "and the black pimp
fucks me, hard, fast, his speed building, and I feel him in my
cunt deep, his black shaft is battering my cervix, punching the
far wall, going deep, I can practically feel him in my throat,
and faster he goes, and faster..."
   Her hand was a blur as her slick fingers machinegunned into
Maddy's fuckhole. "God!" Maddy cried, "Oh, godyes, oh, fuck me
you black motherfucker, stick it in, yes, you love it, you love
it don't you, my white flesh, fuck me, god, oh shit fuck me
harder you bastard, yes fuck me, fuck me now Aaah yess
AAAaaargh!" Maddy flopped up and down on the carpet, trying to
push herself into Alice's fingers even deeper, coming with a
power that amazed even Alice.
   With one last shove, Alice buried her fourth finger in Maddy,
and kept her hand there, still, tight, feeling Maddy's cunt
walls convulsing on her fingers and knuckles. Maddy shuddered
for what seemed like minutes, a ratcheting sound crackling from
her throat.
   Then Maddy went completely limp. Her breaths came in heaves,
and she toppled to the floor onto her side, knees brought up to
her tits. Alice took her fingers out, and Maddy, though
practically unconscious, let out a ragged sigh.
   After a moment of gentle strokes of Maddy's flanks, Alice
untied the bow of nylon binding Maddy's wrists. Madeline
smiled, and rolled on her back, one hand moving unconsciously
to her twat. Finally she opened her eyes.
   Her smile was broad. "And you say you have nine more of these
fantasies? I hope I can make it."
   They both laughed, and kissed gently. "I still haven't gotten
lunch yet," Alice said. "Stay there, my sweet friend, and let
me massage those battered lips of yours down below."
   As Alice's tongue began its wandering path down the inside of
Maddy's thighs, she wondered how she could have been doing what
was happening. Such a tale she had woven--if she hadn't said it
all out loud, she never would have admitted that she could have
such a fantasy.
   And to be able to keep it up while being eaten out by a
beautiful woman! Something had happened to her that she
couldn't name, something about her mind and her cunt, and about
getting laid in general. No longer an eyes-closed affair, she
thought to herself. It was now with open eyes, and open mouth,
and open cunt that she welcomed sex.
   Her tongue finally encountered what it was drooling for:
Maddy's come-sloppy cunt. Like the liquid center of a cherry
cordial, it oozed with sultry sweetness.
   Things certainly were different. But she wouldn't have them
any other way.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 15

She walked into Larry's office again, this time in lavender
cotton top (clinging to her firm small tits) atop tight black
pants. No longer looking the businesswoman like she had the
last time, she seemed more a vision from a wet dream of an
adolescent, standing there in her spike heels brazenly, a look
of wanton pleasure already on her face.
   Larry for a moment panicked: what if someone saw? What would
they say?
   Then he stopped that thought. It's just a job, he said to
himself. Jobs can be found. Fucks like this can't always. I'll
look back on this for the rest of my life. The risk is worth
it.
   Just over the partition on either side were coworkers, so
blatancy wasn't the ticket. Subtlety, double-phrasings were in
order.
   "Sophia," he said, his pen still on the paper before him. "I
was just thinking about you. How's Peter?"
   He smiled as much inside as out. He felt wicked in a
delicious way.
   The woman, "Sophia," smiled back. "I imagine he's recovered
by now. I'll be finding out how recovered soon."
   She strolled in, rolling her hips. Her thighs were tightly
encased in black fabric, her pussy lips held apart separate by
the seam. Larry watched unabashedly as she approached.
   "In fact," she continued, in lower tones, "I'm meeting him
for lunch in an hour. Care to join us?"
   He thought about his rapidly-enlarging peter, which obviously
wanted her to lunch on it. He grinned more broadly.
   "That sounds good. Where?"
   "Here, let me write the address down." She picked a pen from
the jar on the desk, and jotted some words down on the paper
she took from his desk top.
   From her tiny black purse dangling from the thin cord on her
shoulder she took a black tie. "Here," she said, giving it to
him. "Wear this. Peter will get a kick out of it."
   Larry draped it across two fingers as he took it from her.
"Any particular style?"
   Sophia put her palms on the desk, and leaned over to him. Her
breath was hot in his ear; he shivered. "You will wear it over
your eyes. Once it's on, you must not take it off unless I take
it off. Should you, then I will immediately leave. I will
remove it when it's appropriate." She backed away from his ear,
looked in his eyes: "Peter will be so surprised," she said out
loud. "All right then, see you at twelve."
   She turned toward the door. Then, her tightly-clad and
tightly-packed butt facing him, she reached down between her
legs. Long fingers stroked her bulging cuntlips through the
denim. She wiggled her ass, straightened, looked over her
shoulder, winked, then was gone.
   Larry blinked, then looked down at the tie on his desk. With
a quick motion, he swept it up and wadded it into his pocket.
His stiff tool lurched as his fingers grazed it; he smiled, and
almost murmured Soon, buster, soon you'll be getting some more.
   *****
   On her tenth negligee, her fantasies had taken on a life of
their own. Alice knew that the salesmen were curious about her,
the way she'd hold up the fabric to her firm body, as if
testing the fit around her breasts, between her legs, with slow
strokes. Most of the action took place beneath eye level, so
they weren't too curious, or so Alice hoped.
   She was in ancient Rome, letting Caeser bury his stiff prick
into her virgin asshole. <Vidi, Vici, Veni>, she heard him say
in her fantasy, as he came like a firehose deep in her bowels.
His teeth sank into her shoulders, and she rubbed the silk
against her drenched pussy.
   She'd been concentrating on the fantasies, just as she had
been instructed to. When her mind would begin to wander, she
forced it back to the topic at hand: sex. Men fucking her in
all the places she could be fucked. Between her tits had been a
biker, in black leather. In her mouth was a football player,
his muscles shiny with sweat from practice.
   Under her arm, pointing up to her face, was a tribal
chieftain, built like the man she'd seen in a poster once,
whose limp cock was tied into a knot. <What must that be like
hard,> she had wondered at the time; in her fantasy she had
seen it, like a bartender's mini-bat, thrusting up toward her
face.
   Now, as Caeser plumbed the depths of her ass, she pushed the
silk against the lips of her sopping cunt. She was so wet it
was embarassing: the crotch of her maroon pants was darkened
with the ooze of her excitement.
   She glanced at her watch: 3:35. She was late! Imagining all
the men fucking her, imagining her mystery lover watching,
knowing what she was thinking, had been more consuming than
she'd expected. With fear chasing her steps, she hurried to the
men's department.
   <What if he doesn't show up,> she wondered as she reached the
corner of the suitrack. <What if I blew it, I'll never know
what might have happened.> Her hand came up, trembling, to
touch the fabric of the suit in front of her, pretending to
look at the buttons. Her heart beat fast, and it sounded in her
ears like everyone could hear it.
   She was so sexually charged she would almost fuck anybody who
asked. A pimply-faced warehouse stocker, were he to smell her
need, could have had her juicy cunt for the asking. He'd have a
cock, she thought, and that's all I want right now. A cock to
fuck, a cock to fuck me.
   She put a hand in her pocket and fingered her cunt lips
through the fabric. Her other hand stroked the long rough
sleeve of the woolen jacket she was inspecting.
   Then she heard his voice in her ear: "You're hot right now,
aren't you, my little whore. You want my prick inside you?"
   "Yes," she breathed, sinking back into him, feeling on one
butt-cheek the firmness of his crotch. "Yes, that's what I
want. I want you now, I want you badly."
   "Then go into the dressing rooms. Past the last one is a
utility room. The door says "Janitor." You will enter it and
pull your shirt over your head. Keep your arms within the
fabric, feel the tightness holding you in. I will join you
soon."
   Then he pulled away from her. She waited, feeling like Lot's
wife, wanting to turn to see him walking away. She hadn't seen
him since that very first time at the party, and could barely
remember what he looked like.
   But she controlled herself. Getting fucked was too important
right now to risk not having him just for satisfying her
curiosity. She needed his hard shaft inside her, and that took
precedence over everything else.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 16

   He sat on the bed, blinded by the fabric he'd tied around his
eyes, wondering what was next. Her note had only stated where
to go, to ask for a room reserved in his name. No information
about what to do once he got there, besides wait. So wait he
did, considering taking off his clothes.
   Did she want him naked, or did she want to take his clothes
off him? He didn't know; either possibility seemed to fit what
little he knew about her preferences.
   His skin prickled in anticipation; the hairs in the wrinkles
of his ball-sack felt like they were trying to pull each other
out. Larry pushed with his thumb at his nuts, then clasped his
hands on his lap again.
   It was miserable, this waiting. Not being able to see, he
couldn't amuse himself by looking around. The bed became the
only environment that mattered. Unclasping his hands, he felt
the nubby texture of the bedspread.
   Did people ever really nap here? The leer on the mousy face
of the man behind the desk told a different story. He certainly
knew that something sexual would be going on here.
   Larry wondered if there were peep-holes. If so, then what an
embarassing position to be seen in: blindfolded, waiting,
passive. Somehow with "Sophia" it wasn't embarassing. As if
they had made an agreement without saying the words: there can
be no shyness here. Carnality is the goal; modesty has no place
between us.
   Larry heard something--perhaps a door opening? Was that a
footstep on the floor? His hand came up almost independently of
will to pull up the blindfold.
   "Now, now," her voice sounded. "Don't make me turn around and
leave."
   He smiled, his hand stopped in mid-gesture. "I was afraid you
were that man behind the counter."
   There was a short silence. "Maybe he's here too," she said.
"Maybe I brought other people with me. To watch. To watch your
jism shoot out onto the floor."
   "I'd have heard them," Larry said.
   He heard a clunk. Then a click, and lazy funk jazz began
playing. "Could you hear them now?"
   The mocking tone of voice was laced with a kind of glee, like
he remembered he'd felt once, years ago, when Alice had worn a
blindfold, and he'd gone to the freezer and carried back an ice
cube. As it had neared her nipple, he had felt that shivery
power. Now he felt it in himself, but from the other end.
Still, a shivery power, but the power of being the one
pleasured.
   "Why isn't my cock naked?" she demanded, almost in rhythm
with the funky music. Her hand caressed his bulging crotch,
then grasped at the roundness of his balls. "Take your clothes
off."
   Then she moved away. Larry envisioned her undressing herself,
snaking a hand down into her cunny, watching him as he did his
striptease. So he lingered as he undressed. He was a little
proud of how well his body had stood up to his thirty-five
years. No Adonis here, or Charles Atlas. But he was still good-
looking naked.
   "Oh, yeah," she said when his shirt was undone, his chest
stretched out of it. "Yeah, that's pretty, keep it going, now.
Make me hot. Come on, my stud, my cock, show me yourself slow."
   The music came in waves, based on a beat primal and pure. He
couldn't resist almost dancing as he undressed. Leaned over,
moving his ass, untying his shoes. Kicking them off on the
beat; socks off in syncopation.
   Then the zipper, slowly, in little zips, as if tantalizing.
"Come on now, show me that cock of mine, I want to see that
prick,  show it to me hard and oozing. Ohh, you wicked one--
you're making me wait," she said, when he pulled down his pants
inch by inch, leaving his underwear on.
   His cock strained against the thin cotton fabric. Thighs
bare, the hairs straightened, enhancing the tingling his nerves
were all feeling. His prick ached.
   "I can't help myself, you fucking hunk, my hand's in my
snatch, in my cooze, ah, god, two fingers inside. You'd love to
taste my snatch, wouldn't you, but I won't until that prick is
free, I want to see it bobbing in the cool air. Show me that
purple head, I want you aching for my touch. I want your cock
waiting, drooling, wanting into me."
   Her words washed over him like erotic waves. This was
carnality incarnate. No mincing words there, no innuendo. No
hesitation. She knew what she wanted, and said so: she wanted
him, and wanted him to want her just as badly.
   As he stepped out of his slacks, crumpled at his ankles, he
brought his hands up his ankles, his knees, his thighs, then
caressingly brought them around his thick fucktool tenting out
his shorts. "And what will you do to it if I let it out?"
   "I'll touch it with my fingernails, sharpened like razors:
I'll shave that cock with my nails. Then I'll rub my tits with
it, around and around like that cock was my dildo, and I'm at
home, imagining cocks all around, rubbing me over tits and arms
and ass and cunt and hands and feet, cocks all for me, just as
that cock is all for me. Take it out. Show me my cock, you
fucking bastard stud."
   Caught up, his hunger for her directing his hands, he pulled
the waistband out, and then down, exposing his mass of meat to
the air. The coolness made him even harder; with one hand he
grabbed it, with the other pulled down his shorts as fast as he
could. No longer was the stripping what he wanted. He wanted
contact, his cock yearned for touch.
   "There it is, aaahhhh, yesss," she said, moving closer, "yes,
that cock is a beauty, that cock is mine. Stroke my cock for
me. Move that fist of yours down on my cock."
   He began stroking his boner, beating himself off slowly,
feeling each callous on each finger rubbing past the head, down
the hard shaft. "Yesss," she continued, her voice coming from
below, as if she were kneeling in front of him.
   "Yesss. Oh, yes, I can feel your hand on my cock. It feels
good, squeeze harder, oh, oh, yes, keep beating that meat, beat
off, fuck yourself with your hand."
   Larry felt lewd, beating off in front of this woman. The
other time, he'd hardly had time to think about what was going
on; this time, he knew how it felt, and he liked it.
Delightfully decadent, a wickedly aberrant perversion. He
imagined her face, talking to his cock, her mouth in an "o" as
if it was a target for the arrow of his prick.
   Electricity jolted him. Her hand was on his pelvis, inches
from his cock and balls. Sexuality, like some powerful drug,
was seeping from her fingertips into him. He arched his pelvis
forward, trying to find her mouth with the tip of his prick.
His fingers clutched at the nubby fabric of the bedcover.
   But only air was stabbed by his pole. He clutched again at
his cock, leaning back onto the edge of the bed once more.
   "Suck me off," he said, "or fuck me, or do your tits,
something, my cock wants you." He listened to his words after
he'd spoken. He wasn't used to talking dirty, and the sounds
felt alien.
   "A mouth will be there, but not yet. First you must eat me.
Eat me now. Get on all fours. I'll put my cock under your
mouth. You will suck on my clit, lap down deep."
   He heard scratching sounds, as if she still had her shoes on.
Keeping one hand on the bed, he got down on the floor; his
knees hurt at first on the wood.
   Then the sultry aroma of cooze ooze wafted into his nostrils.
He pushed his face down, still blind, and bumped his nose on
her pubic bone. He quickly adjusted, delving into her moist
cleft, pushing the curly hairs aside with his nose, his lips.
Today, she tasted a bit different than the last time he had
tasted her, but still she was like ripe fruit.
   His tongue explored her slick folds of flesh, circling the
numb of her button, then capturing it between lip-covered
teeth. He mouthed her, chewing lightly on her thickening
clitoris. He could hear her muffled moans.
   "Oh, yes," she said when the moans stopped. "Keep that up, my
stud. Lick me, taste me, make my cunt want my cock. It's
getting hot, slushy, slippery waiting for you. I want that
cock, fuck the blowjob, I want that cock in my cunt <now.>
   Her hands pushed his head away and grabbed his prick, pulling
him toward her. His cock throbbed in her hands, and then he
felt his cock being twisted to the side; he shifted his body to
accommodate it, and lost his balance. He fell on his side, and
then was pushed to his back.
   "I want to do this," she ordered, "I know just where that
cock should go, and I'm going to put it there."
   He smiled, and put his hands behind his head, while thrusting
up his cock by tensing his buttmuscles. He wanted her hot cunt
so badly it hurt.
   Suddenly his prick was engulfed by molten lava, and with one
downward drop, she impaled herself on his fuckshaft. Both of
them groaned loudly in unison.
   She was motionless. Her cuntal walls undulated over the taut
flesh inside her, and it felt like butterflies were clustered
around his prick, doing their mating dance. He writhed, but her
weight kept his cock pinioned inside her, soaking. He pulsed
his lovemuscle in response to her snatch-squeezes.
   Then she raised up. His cock cooled, and it pulsed now of its
own accord. He moaned, tried to push up, and then she slammed
down on him again. "Yess, my stud, my cock, oh, yes, you're so
big, so hard, you're deep in my cunny, deep inside me."
   "Your cunt is grabbing me like a hand, what a cunt you have,
and you're fucking me with it. Keep fucking me. Ah, shit, yes,"
Larry cried, pushing up into her. The words felt natural now,
just as wicked as he felt. Fucking was all he wanted, to keep
moving up into her, thrusting deep into that hot cunt.
   "My cock is drooling for you, inside you, my jism is waiting
for you, I want to come inside you..."
   "Go ahead, then, you bastard stud, fuck me like I'm a bitch
thrusting up my ass at you. Come inside me, give me that
spume," she cried, jamming herself down on him over and over,
like an oilwell's counterweight, a determined grind downward,
as if squeezing the come out of him from above, sucking up from
below.
   Her cunt wrung his cock out, twisting, inexorably rising and
falling in spite of his nearly frenzied thrusts. His hands were
fists outstretched, beating at the floor.
   "Shit, yes, I'm going to come," he cried, "I'm going to
shoot, aahhg, shit, yes...."
   "Give it to me, shove it in, pour it in, give me that come,
come on, you stud, shoot it in, shoot it in..."
   And with a wrenching twisting implosion, Larry came, pushing
stream after stream of viscous come out into her liquid heat.
He gasped, bucked, and let out a tortured yell, followed by the
aftershock groans of his will-wilting orgasm. He reeled inside
his mind, lost in wave after wave of sensation.
   "Ah, shit, god damn, fuck, oh, shit, god..." he murmured, as
she pulled herself free of his cock, squeezing at each inch
with her cunt.
   He lay on the hard floor, feeling the coldness for the first
time on his back and butt. The music played on.
   Then her voice: "You may take off your blindfold now."
   Bringing his hands up to his eyes, he pulled the tie away.
Sitting on the bed was Sophia, fully dressed. He sat up, and
thought back: he never had felt her tits, or any part of her
body, really, except her cunt.
   But when he looked at her legs, they were encased in a
one-piece full-leg leotard, gleaming in the afternoon light.
Her crotch was darkened with cuntjuice, but he could see no
hole that he could have penetrated. <Was I out that long?> he
wondered.
   She got off the bed, and leaned over. She kissed him. her
tongue a thin moist dart invading his lips. He kissed back, and
then she pulled away. "Until next time," she said, smiling that
wicked smile.
   She walked away; he turned to watch her leave. Her ass
gleamed metallically in the leotard as she padded toward the
door. He thought about calling out to her, stopping her, asking
her how she'd managed to dress so quickly, but then thought
better of it. There was no need. However she had done it, it
had been one hell of a fuck.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 17

Her cunt was plundered, invaded, and she felt like an Amazon
conquered by a hairy barbarian during the fall of the Tribe.
The mophandle in the crook of her elbows, holding tight her
shirt-bound hands in front of her while the wooden handle
rubbed her vertebrae, that mophandle was a spearshaft, and the
hand in her hair smelled of battle.
   Abruptly she came back to reality: the chemical fruit smells
of cleaners and solvents mingled with the perfume of humans in
rut. She couldn't help groan as her lover's iron fuckaxe
plunged back into her. He rammed into her, in complete control
of everything.
   Now he lifted her with the handle behind her back, lowering
her onto his prong, the top of his thighs a cushion for the
bottoms of hers. She was propelled into another fantasy:
   She and her lover have perfected a trapeze act--the fuck-
pass in mid-air. Swooping down into the air, holding
precariously to the bar, the two trapezes approach, she
backwards, legs spread, him with his legs back and his stiff
cock aiming like a dart toward her cunt.
   The crowd below falls into a hush of anticipation as the
first thrust is attempted. They both release their holds, and
in mid-air collide with inhuman precision, a perfection of
impact and angle that spins them each to the other's trapeze,
where they begin their swings for the next fuck.
   The crowd roars its approval, and in mid-swing she appraises
the crowd below: all eyes up, open-mouthed at the awe-
inspiring fucking going on above their heads.
   The swing through the air is a delerious rush, a controlled
falling, her cunt aching for the next surge of manmeat into her
cunt, and as she rushes toward in it in a swift arc, her legs
splay in expectation. The crowd seems to take a simultaneous
breath, and again they collide, the slapping sound resounding
through the big top, getting groans of shared lust from the
crowd below.
   Again they grip the other's trapeze, and the swing back is
thrilled by the roar of the crowd, the moans, and now as she
looks down she sees the cocks of half the men, out, some being
beaten off by silent hands, others, in the mouths of wives,
girlfriends, or women overcome by the erotic flying trapeze act
above them.
   She swung in the practiced parabolic arc, her tits riding
high on her rib cage. Her cunt rang like a huge bell. She could
feel her cunt juice dripping off in the centrifugal force,
running down her legs, baptizing the onlookers with the dew of
her snatch.
   Their finale began, each of them changing their position on
their trapeze, on the swoop downward to their meeting spot,
high up, near the peak of the big top. She could see him now,
the shaft of flesh standing out like a ship's mast from his
crotch, and she spread her legs, and bent her knees, then when
she let go, went into a backward somersault.
   He met her first with his hard prick sliding into her hot
cunt, then his hands grabbed at her tits as her heels jammed in
on his buttocks, pulling him deeper into her heat.
   They stopped in mid-air, brought to a halt by the cancelling
of their momentum, and there was a moment when they both could
look down on the vast orgy beneath them, seeing in still life
the tangled naked bodies, the mouths on cocks, the cunts
thrusting against cunts, the hands embedded, the roiling bodies
writhing among the stands.
   Spinning slightly, she and her lover began to fall, with each
spin pulling a stroke off, thrusting into each other, bucking
in a descending ballet. The crowd paid them no heed, for they
were too busy now, and so the two fell, fucking furiously, down
through the air until they hit the safety net like a
trampoline.
   Alice dug her heels in deeper, pulling him in again, afraid
of losing him, losing his stiff cock, even as they bounced
again on the mesh. Over and over they bounced, each time
slightly less, but slightly more inside. Each time they landed
one of them was on top, and the weight seemed to fuse their
bodies together, welding them with the heat of lust.
   Finally, as they rolled toward the center of the webbing, she
began to come, feeling like a top wobbling off center, spinning
in crazy angles in a last desperate attempt to stay on its
point. She came in oscillations, rising toward a high-pitched
scream.
   Suddenly his hand covered her mouth. Her tongue could taste
the salt on his palm. "You may have gone too far," his voice
said into her ear.
   "We may be all right. If it's a man, I think I will offer him
some of you. Will you accept?"
   She reeled, trying to get a grip on where she was, what he
was asking, trying to see through the blindfold covering her
eyes. . If <who> is a man, she thought, and what did I do? Her
cunt burned with his cock inside it, still hard, still waiting
for its turn. But she wanted more, she realized. Another cock
would be fine. "Yes," she said. "Yes, please, that's what I
want."
   She could hear footsteps in the hallway: "Hello?" a deep
voice said. "Anybody here?"
   The cock pulled out of her, making Alice gasp. Then a shaft
of light entered the janitor's room for the first time since
she'd entered.
   She heard whispered words. Then the door closed. She still
was tied by the mop-handle, her elbows behind her back, with
the handle sticking between biceps and back.
   "You sure about this?" she heard as the man came in.
   "Ask her."
   "You really want this, miss?"
   She hardly hesitated. "Yes. I want it."
   "Just tell me if you don't, cause if you don't, I'll just..."
   "I want your cock," Alice said in a low, throaty voice. "I
want your stiff prick up inside me. Get hard, fast, I want
you deep in me. Whoever you are, fuck me now."
   She could hear the sound of his belt coming off, the zip of
his fly. "Say, she's a hot one, isn't she. Does she like being
called a whore?"
   "Ask her."
   "Do you like being called names?"
    She paused. Did she? It all seemed so astounding anyway,
she couldn't know, couldn't remember. She'd never really done
that before, but the few times her new lover had used those
terms, a small thrill had sung through her. "Go ahead," she
said, "try me."
   "God, mister, what a hot slut you have here. And what an
ass." She felt a hot firmness probe at her thighs. "But jeez, I
kinda wish I could see her better. Can we have some light?"
   Alice cringed. <No,> she thought, that wouldn't work....
   "No," her lover said. "That isn't part of the game. Fuck her,
like she wants you to. Hard, fast, fuck her cunt deep, ream her
out. Make her groan. Fuck this hot whore of mine. She wants two
cocks.
   "Fuck her cunt good, and I'll be ramming my hard prick into
her throat. She loves to be filled with meat. Isn't that right,
Alice."
   Hearing her name, she almost rebelled, but just then the
young salesman's thin cock found the lips of her cunt and
slipped in. "Oh, God," he said, and Alice cried out "Yes!" as
if in answer to his question.
   "Yeah," the salesman continued, "oh shit, she's tight, what a
cunt, it's hot as a fucking machine gun, yeah, what a fuck she
is, oh, man..." and he pistoned into her, trying to get in as
deep as he could.
   Then she felt her lover's body before her, and in the faint
light she could, see through the crack beneath the blindfold,
his hard cock jutting out from the tangled
darkness around his crotch. She opened her mouth, wetting her
lips. "Yes," she whispered to that cock, "Come to me, fuck my
mouth, I want you on my tongue. Yes, bring it in..." and then
her words were smothered by his dense lovemuscle.
   Never before had she had two cocks in her simultaneously. It
was almost too much to bear. As if the cocks carried
electricity, her body jolted and jerked. Her front lover pulled
back, as if concerned that he was choking her, but she lunged
back at his meat with such a hunger that he laughed and plunged
back in.
   Her throat felt open; like that first time she had let loose
of her sphincter, suddenly it was easy to take him down her
throat. Her mouth writhed around it like her cunt was writhing,
and she felt herself become one long cunt, before and aft, a
fucking receptacle, and she felt like she could taste the young
boy's cock with her cunt.
   The boy began making ratcheting throat noises, his pumping
took on a frenetic pace, and he gripped her hips more tightly.
Her lover's pace increased too, and he took her head in his
hands, caressing her ears while fucking deep into her mouth,
using her cheekbones as a brace.
   In the small part of her mind untouched by the eroticism of
the moment, she was amazed that she was taking anything as big
as his shaft down her throat. She was astounded that she could
be so aroused by a strange man's prick in her quim. And she was
deliciously pleased that she could be so decadent.
   Hot jism jetted into her cunt, and she could feel it in her
stomach, like hot caramel spattering her intestines. An instant
later, she gulped as her lover's come spewed out. She pulled
back just enough to feel the spume gushing out his cock on her
tongue. She held both of them in as they softened. Then she
pushed out the boy's prick with a cuntal squeeze, and with a
sucking kiss allowed her lover's prick to slip out of her
mouth.
   "Uh, gee, thanks, Mister," the boy's voice said, and she
realized that he must have deepened his voice when he first
came in, that he had been afraid. "That was great. You, uh,
you two can come back anytime. Just ask for Danny, okay? Suh,
see you."
   And he went out the door.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 18

   Her breast hovers like a moon above, silhouetted by the
faintly-lit window. Shadowed phallus approaches, glisten of
juice glimmering on its tip, to touch her nipple. Slowly it
draws away, the precome spinning a one-stranded web between
them.
   Only one of the three can see it: "You're weaving a one-
stranded web," he says, pointing; they both look, laugh.
   "Enough to snare," the man behind the cock says. "They're
coming along so well. Alice is a natural. The way she came with
Danny inside her, the way her lips undulated around my cock.
She was randy indeed.
   "Keeps that cock hard just thinking about it, doesn't it?"
Her voice is low, mellifluous. "Bring it here. I want it
between my cheeks. I'll let you decide which ones."
   "Hmmmm..."
   The other one clears his throat. "Care for two?"
   "Wherever you want..."--her voice stays low--"just don't come
too quickly."
   "Don't I always come on cue?"
   She smiles: her cheeks gleam white in the faint light.
   "You bet. Though sometimes the cue is yours...." and with
that she takes the plump smooth sponge of his cockhead in her
mouth, moaning low and slow. A groan pushes out of her as the
man behind her pushes in to the juice of her cunt. Three
strokes, and he pulls out again. Her mouth moves with the
gyrations of her ass, seeking the hot spear behind her.
   He moves up a notch, pressing against her dark rosebud. She
pulls her mouth away from the shaft in front of her, hissing
"Yesss..."
   He pushes a bit more, and the cunt-slickened head of his cock
slips in. She makes a hard "o" of her mouth, and pushes against
the cockhead in front of her, letting its head pop into her
mouth, and is rewarded with an appreciative groan. With her
mouth she mimics the assfucking she gets. As he pushes deeper
in, and deeper still, she lets in more and more of the cock
into her mouth, her tongue dancing on the ridges and veins as
it slides in. All three groan, in surprising unison.
   Their laugh is unstoppable, and it builds to hysteria as
their laughter tickles the other: the mouth on the cock, the
cock in the ass, the jiggles of body against body, and in their
laughter they all roll different directions, disengaging,
laughing/moaning, laughing some more.
   "Three <much!>" one of them cried, and laughter began anew.
   Then the woman's voice, finally catching her breath:
"nothing's more empty than something recently filled. C'mon,
you two, fill me back up!"
   And then their laughter took on a different tone, rapidly
changing to sighs of pleasure.


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 19

   Larry took a sip of his beer, grinning through the glass at
Winston, his friend from work. Lunch with him had become a
habit on odd days when their schedules coincided. Though only
with the company for three months, Winston had already
demonstrated his ability, and Larry liked him personally. Warm,
confident without arrogance, interesting... Larry was glad
Winston had joined the company.
   This lunch, he'd risked bringing up sexuality, first
obscurely, then gradually more directly. Since Winston seemed
comfortable with it, Larry continued:
   "...and she's this sudden wildness in my life. Unpredictable.
Out of the ordinary. Completely unexpected. I mean, I'm
attractive enough, but not the sort of guy who girls get hot
for just by looking at me. Nor am I the kind of guy who goes
out looking for an affair and then blames it on being seduced.
I <was> seduced, and I hadn't even seen her before. I hadn't
played up to her at all. It's just so wild..."
   "How erotic is it?"
   Larry stumbled on the question: "uh, how erotic, well...,
uh..."
   "What I mean is, it sounds like the ideas about the sexuality
is almost more arousing than the actual sex itself. Although
you haven't told me how, shall we say, <graphic> the sex is
with this woman, I get the idea that it's pretty hot.
   Larry grinned again. "Hot it certainly is. Erotic it
certainly is. That woman could light a match with her look.
It's like she's way out of my league. Like dancing with Ginger
Rogers or something. Or maybe like talking psychology with a
mindreader. It's not so much that she's better in terms of
skill. But the way she makes it happen, the lust she
inspires...."
   Suddenly Larry realized what he was saying out loud, to
someone he really didn't know all that well. For a moment he
was embarassed at revealing so much, but then he heard Winston
start to speak:
   "Yes, I've known a few women like that. One I remember best.
Her desire, her lust was so powerful it was a drug for me. Such
an altered state--I would come to my senses afterward amazed
that the world wasn't changed. She said she was in touch with
the Goddess, and I couldn't rightly say that she was wrong. Yet
I know we all have that in us. I've tapped those nerves in
women myself. Am I in touch with the God? Connected to
something, anyway, in touch with some part of us that is
magical."
   Then Winston, who had been looking up at the chandelier as he
spoke, realized he'd begun to ramble, and brought himself
short, laughing. "Listen to me! I hope I didn't embarass you.
But it's good to talk about these things. You know."
   Larry nodded. "Yeah, and I think that this affair, this...
this event I'm having with "Sophia" is making it easier for me
to talk about it. I'm remembering things, sort of, sort of
waking up to parts of me I hadn't realized were asleep.... if
you know what I mean."
   "Absolutely," Winston said, and then looked at his watch.
"Shit," he said, instantly animated, "It's 1:30! I've got to
meet Evans down at the plant in ten minutes!"
   "Okay," Larry said, dismayed only that the conversation had
to quit, "You go on, take off, I'll get the bill. You can get
next time."
   Winston grinned, standing. "Thanks, buddy. See you later on."
And he was off.
   Larry sipped the last of his beer, sitting alone at the
cluttered table, enjoying a few rare moments to himself. He put
money on the little tray that held the bill. Then he rose to go
back to work.
   She met him as he was leaving the restaurant, wearing a laced
white blouse beneath a jet-black jacket. "I watched you eat. I
watched you talk. Your lips moved nicely. I have another
assignation for you. Do you want it?"
   He didn't hesitate. "I want it."
   They continued to walk briskly. "What do you want."
   "I want my cock in your cunt." Larry smiled, thinking of the
one-line eavesdroppers passing them.
   "You want <my> cock in my cunt."
   "I want my cock to be your cock in your wet cunt."
   Her dagger heels struck the cement sharply, clacking with
each step. "Then listen. Tonight at 6:30 you will arrive at
Jackrabbit's, over on 87th. Come alone. Come with your cock
hardened. We'll see what happens."
   He started to object: what would he tell Alice? But he could
immediately think of half a dozen reasonable lies, and even the
best truth: he'd be busy until mid-evening. And so he simply
allowed the fluttering in his chest to continue. "Jackrabbit's.
6:30. It's a date."
   She turned to look up at him then, her dark eyes mascaraed
and shadowed, her mouth in a smirk. "This will be a new one,"
she said, and then, reaching out with her hand, gave his cock a
squeeze there in the middle of the sidewalk. "Tonight, then,"
she said, and turned to walk back the way they'd come.
   ***
   Jackrabbit's smelled of stale beer and too-loud catcalls
settling like a layer of dust after every night, to coat the
gelled lights above the lacquered-pine stage, dulling the
sequins spangling the walls. Smoke masked the air, made it
muggy and thick; the noise, the rhythmic disco-like music, the
thrums of bass and bass drums, the raucous screams, the
undercurrent of shouted conversations. A strip joint, where
almost all the chairs faced the stage, and all the chairs
filled by women.
   Mostly older women, fat women, bowling-club women, ladies'
auxiliary women, office pool women. Women out for a good time,
a time apart from their lives, women not looking to be picked
up, since there were probably only a handful of men here. Women
out to watch.
   And up there on the stage, making his silk-sacked privates
swing around in circles, a well-built man danced. Fives and
tens were pushed through and around the string around his hips
holding the sack on; the bills clustered around his crotch,
where the women's fingers got a touch of pubic hair, perhaps
even some soft flesh.
   And as he watched, an overly-plump woman with flabby upper
arms jiggling in her polyester knit top reached up with a
twenty. The dancer began doing a limbo-like dance up to her
spot by the stage, shimmying his ass, stroking his thighs as he
scooted forward. Hoots and squeals resounded around: the woman
was licking her lips, making the most of her twenty.
   The dancer got within a foot of her, his knees at the level
of her shoulders, his crotch near her face. She stroked the
silk sack with the twenty, in circular motions, and he played
back at her, circling his pelvis toward her. And as Larry
watched, he heard the shrill screams change their tenor, as
well as their pitch, nearly drowning out the music. He squinted
to see what the dancer was doing.
   Then he finally realized what it was: the dancer's silk pouch
was starting to push up--the man was getting a hard-on, and the
woman with the stroking twenty kept playing at it, licking her
lips some more, raising her eyebrows in overplayed amazement,
while the crowd cheered their pleasure. The stripper's prick
got larger, changing the dimensions of the pouch till it was
tight as a puptent, a black silk spearhead of magnum
proportions.
   The dancer was grinning, humping the air, lapping at the
lights as if they were the woman's cunt, and she, laughing,
cackling, slips the twenty in at the top of that spear, her
hand lingering, gripping the hard knob of his phallus. After
letting her feel him for a few seconds, he backed away, shaking
his finger at her, telling her she was a naughty girl.
   A voice behind him: "This is just decadence. The real show is
in the back. Follow me."
   He turned and saw her glove-tight blackjeaned ass move away
from him, and he followed, slipping between the women standing,
drinking, appraising. More than one hand reached between his
legs as he walked by to stroke his balls, grab his ass.
   Sophia reached the back wall. She ducked into the men's room;
he followed. In the middle stall an "out of order" sign was
stuck on the door, but she pushed in, and he saw as he came up
behind her that the flusher was a latch, and the back wall a
door.
   They entered a dark and narrow corridor, barely enough room
for two people to pass if they hugged each other. Faintly lit.
The sounds from the main room were muffled. And other sounds,
more muffled still, came from up ahead.
   They squeezed ahead, Larry smelling the faint musky perfume
that he associated so strongly with her; it smelled almost like
her cunt tasted: deeply textured, a funk of desire. Over her
shoulder, he could see light thrown into the corridor. And he
began to be able to discriminate the sounds.
   Fucking sounds. Grunts, moans. Lusty anguish. Cries of
delight. And then they arrived, and Larry looked over the
tableau:
   A three-tiered circular arena. On the top tier, women lounged
in various states of dress, one on the right naked but for the
push-up bra, another in a teddy, but with her thumb stuffed
deep into her cunt. Altogether, perhaps a dozen watchers
reclining in a rough circle around the second circular tier,
where five women lay with their legs spread, a five-pointed
star inside of which stood two men, on the bottom tier, the
circle around which the other two were built, each with his
prong embedded in a woman, and both hands busy with the women
next to the ones being fucked.
   They stood in the doorway, unnoticed. Larry watched as one of
the men, an ebony black man with wiry muscles, pulled his cock
slowly out of the 45-year old woman in front of him. After
pulling out perhaps six inches of black prick, Larry expected
the head to come out, but he kept pulling back, as inch after
slick inch slid out of the wet cunt. Amazed, Larry focused,
squinting, not believing the prodigious length of the cock
below. At least a foot long, sticking out proud and rampant
from a dark mass of curls.
   The woman losing it moaned in dismay, then cooed when his
fingers replaced his dong. He moved his bat of a cock to the
next woman, whose fat thighs opened for him, revealing a deep
red gash sloppy and glistening from masturbation. He easily
slid in, and there was a collective sigh around the room.
   Larry felt his cock hardening. Seventeen women, two men.
Three, with him. Sophia looked at him, grinning. "I've brought
you here to show my cock off. This is the Stud Room. You are my
stud. Now strip. Show off my meat."
   She hadn't spoken loudly, but since nobody else was speaking,
nearly all eyes but those delirious in the inner ring turned
toward them.  Lots of smiles, from women who for the most part
were attractive. All of them were flushed with sexual
excitement, all nipples that he could see were hard, and all
that looked at him were looking with lustful approval.
   His cock lurched inside his pants, clearly having a mind of
its own: it wanted out, and then in again. Sophia helped it out
by unzipping and unbuckling his pants. "His name is Brett," she
said loudly. "He is my cock. I put him at our disposal. He will
do whatever he is called upon to do. Isn't that right, Brett?"
   Larry half-embarassedly grinned. "That's right," he said to
her, then looked around the room, directly into the eyes of
those who he might be fucking soon. Some murmured to each
other, others licked their lips; he spoke again to the group at
large, "We'll all have some fun tonight." He felt brazen.
   "You don't think we aren't already, cock?" a woman's harsh
voice took the wind out of his sail. "But you look good enough
to me. She brings you, you've got to be good. Bring that big
cock of yours down into the circle." She was a slender fifty,
breasts loose beneath a gauze top, naked from the waist down.
Her legs weren't bad at all. She stood, and gracefully moved
down toward the inner circle, taking the two-foot drops with
ease.  "I want you first. Come on in."
   Larry felt like a servent in the employ of royalty: this was
like the debauches hinted at in some of the textbooks he'd
read, the orgies of the nobility in the eighteenth century. The
Duchess' mountain retreat, where gigolos were imported for an
evening's entertainment for all her friends.
   As he made his way past the women, hands grabbed his hairy
butt, his balls, his hard-on. Tweaks, yanks interspersed the
caresses, but all of these women wanted him. He was an object
for them, to gratify their desires. And it didn't feel that
bad. His cock stuck out, a beefy rod that Larry felt proud of.
It wasn't as long as the black man's, but it was dense, thick,
and ready. With each step, it bobbed.
   The Duchess changed the pentangle to a hexagon of spread legs
by squeezing between a blonde (whose wife was that? whose
mother? he thought, they have no idea she is like this) and the
woman who owned the snatch the black man's fingers were still
buried in. The black man grinned at Larry as he approached.
   Head thrown back, the Duchess leaned back on straight arms,
her kneees bent, her thighs spread. "Bring that randy cock to
me. Stick it in my cunt. I'm ready for it. I've been watching
for too long, and I want that prick in me. Bring it here,
pretty boy, bring that thick hunk of meat over here."
   The last step was three feet down, a depth that allowed him
to stand almost upright, his cock just above cunt-level.
Standing between his legs, his cock lay pulsing atop her pubic
hair. He tensed a muscle, and his cock jumped, then slapped
back down against her. He repeated it, giving his cock the
impression of independent life. The Duchess laughed with honest
pleasure.
   "Oh, Irene," she called back at "Sophia," "great cock you
found here. Looks like it'll burrow into me like a prairie
dog!"
   He laughed along with the rest, and then, holding the
Duchess' knees in each hand, guided his cock down toward her
opening. His cockhead lodged into her notch.
   "Ready to be fucked?" Larry said with bravado. Their eyes
met.
   "Sure, honey, I'm ready as hell. Now fuck me, you bastard
cock. Fuck me deep and wide."
   Their eyes lingered, blazing into each other; he wanted some
mastery here, and it was like she was daring him to please her.
Go ahead and try. Just try to make me come.
   He took it as a challenge. Twisting his pelvis up, he kept
pressure on the top of her cunt against her pubic bone as he
entered her, scraping the top of her vagina with the ridges of
his prick.
   Slowly, easily, moving slightly side to side, his cock forced
itself into her furrow. Her eyes widened just a little once he
was halfway in and she could feel the girth of his cock swollen
inside her.
   Round and around he moved, rotating her thighs from her
knees, now her ankles, and he held her ankles up high and
pulled her entire body suddenly up and in to his cock. She
groaned.
   From behind he could hear admiring commentary: "I haven't
seen that move in ten years," a woman's voice said. Larry felt
proud, and pressed on, and in, grinding pubis against pubis,
yanking her pelvis in the direction that seemed right.
   The air itself was swollen with the smells of fucking, the
odor of lust. Everyone had only one main theme in their minds:
sex. Larry could only join in, and it seemed to make him more
perceptive a lover. He could read her perfectly, gauging the
everchanging desires of her cunt and modifying his technique
accordingly. Pressing down to achieve the right angle. Canting
his hips to rub the right side, at the right pace. The Duchess
was beginning to writhe.
   The woman on his right watched from close up, a foot away,
sighing, watching, breathing on the joinings of their bodies.
The Duchess, whose tight clothes pushed hard against her skin,
began gutteral thrums in her throat timed to her writhes. A low
call to the reaches, the distance, the wilderness of orgasm.
Larry listened and was amazed.
   He knew precisely what moves to make, felt in complete
control because he'd mastered the connection. He rode in low,
crushing the membrane between cunt and tube, aiming for atop
the cervix with his tip. Bearing sideways to stroke the dark
chamber behind her cervix, which exists just for man. Rising up
as he drew out of her, to stretch out the labia tightly. And the
Duchess was lost in the sensations.
   Beside him, between them, the woman breathed, and now began
to lap at skin, paint shafts of cold evaporation up their
flesh, touch and soothe and pinch. "Fuck, yes, oh fuck, you
two fuck each other, slam in there, move around, yesss... yes
you do it so well, keep on fucking, fucking, it is so
beautiful, so good, fucking each other...."
   And around them, the audience, the other couples fucking, the
hands in snatches and tongues in mouths. The sounds of group
arousal. The scent of cooze and semen, sweat, and pants. Larry
was amazed. "Fuck, yes, up now, up high in her snatch, and you,
fuck him back, yes, twist those hips, writhe, baby, writhe..."
and the Duchess' rumbles were turning to a roar, and the
woman's voice was rising in pitch to breathless screams, "yes
come, baby, come, come hard, go on over, let it go, come you
bitch, come you slut, don't you love it, let it go, feel like
that whore, let that harlot come out and fuck him back, fuck
him back, take in, take it all in..."
   And his cock felt terrific. Incredibly tight, strong,
sensitive, and in control. The pleasure was lasting. He could
relish it without having to fight against coming. The pleasure
just rolled on and on, and he felt free.
   Then he looked up, over the bucking woman beneath him, over
the woman whispering diamonds from the gutter, over the large
woman with her hand in her cunt, thumb and all, then over the
pair of lovelies enwrapped in themselves, all lips and tits and
legs; over them all, he matched eyes with Sophia. The wild
woman. The dark woman. The vampiress, and he saw her eyes
flashing blazing crashing down through him and he flashed the
power right back at her, and then they understood somehow, made
a pact, and then they were done.
   Larry reached under the Duchess' arched back and jammed his
cock deep into her. She was just to the edge, and so he pulled
back and rammed into her again, and then again, gradually
accellerating, picking up speed and power, till his hammer was
pounding as fast as he possibly could, and the Duchess began to
shout with every other thrust, the tempo building to a
tremendous gutteral roar.... then she went limp, her chest
heaving, a smile of satisfied delight on her face. Her eyes
fluttered, and then she smiled again.
   Larry's cock was still hard. He looked up to Sophia.
   "Hey, Isabella," the woman beneath him panted, "this cock of
yours is choice. Do you rent him out?"
   Larry watched Sophia's face shift into a smile; their eyes
lanced again. "No," she said, "He's an independent contractor.
But you'll still have to talk to me. Brett, put that cock away.
We have elsewhere to go."


Paganini's Tale, Chapter 20

   The lips of Alice's cunt throbbed. Her clit felt like a
pencil eraser rubbed down to the nub. As she picked up socks,
shirts, blouses, and the other dirty laundry littering their
bedroom, Alice squeezed her legs together when she got the
chance. In the background she could hear the bathwater running
hot and steamy. Her body ached for the salve of a long bath.
   She couldn't get rid of the smile that kept creeping up to
the corners of her mouth, whenever she thought back over the
afternoon's encounter. In Sears, no less! And that stockboy, or
whatever, Danny, with his strong lean cock, as much a surprise
for him as for her. She remembered the feel of his cock
slipping inside her and smiled again.
   The laundry was piled onto the basket; she turned off the
bathwater and tested the temperature, stroking the rippled
surface with the tips of her fingers. She felt luxurious: the
bath oils smelled like a garden of soft ferns. The towel
awaiting her was large and thick. And the water was... just a
little too hot.
   <Like maybe I am,> she thought, and grinned at herself in the
full-length mirror. Then she faced herself, legs spread as if
braced against the center of the earth. First she unsnapped
skirt fasteners and unwrapped her hips. She wore no underwear.
Then she unbuttoned her white blouse in a slow striptease. Bits
of lace began to show, and she pulled the tails of her blouse
down, tightening the fabric against her soft-brassiered
breasts. Nipples poked through enough to show.
   The white cloth slipped off her smooth shoulders, and gently,
gently, she withdrew her hand from the sleeve, relishing the
lines of her arms and torso. The other sleeve, and then a
cross-armed pulling off of her bra, fast enough to set her jugs
bouncing. She stared at herself, as she had before, appraising,
criticizing.
   But this time she could see herself with a new eye. There was
compaction there. She could see the sex lines to her body.
Those curves that move toward tits and cunt  like roads to
Rome.
   Nature had sculpted her body for fucking--solid, wide-tipped
tits, ample hips, slim waist, tight thighs. Full lips, still
pouting slightly from the reaming of the afternoon.
   She pulled her hands up her belly to her chest, cupping each
breast in a hand, offering them to herself in the mirror. She
posed for herself: one round moon out, looking over her
shoulder, one hand between her legs. Then a falsely demure
Betty Grable pose. Then a raunchy movie pose, one hand on her
snatch, one pinching her nipple hard, and her mouth a sensuous
pout of lips wanting to taste cock.
   The temperature of the water was just right now, and so she
stepped into it, wincing at the delicious heat. Then gradually
lowered herself, feeling the searing of her buttocks, the sharp
jab with the water reached her asshole, then her chafed cunt,
and finally her sensitized clit... then on up her stomach and
and back as she reclined against the gold back of the tub.
   The phone rang. She sighed, and let it ring. She already knew
Larry was going to be late, and if was going to be later, that
would be okay. So she didn't need to answer the phone. Anybody
else would call back sooner or later....
      She sank down even further into the water listening to
the third ring: and then she remembered--it might be her lover
calling with an assignation. She sat bolt upright, water
streaming from her skin. Fourth ring. She stepped out of the
bath, gathered the towel around her as she moved to the door.
Fifth ring. She might make it by seven, and she might not--she
rushed through the utility room, then through the living room,
heading toward the bedroom, sixth ring, and she grabbed it just
before the seventh ring would have rung.
   "Hello!" she nearly yelled into the receiver.
   "Six and a half rings," his voice purred. She had been right.
"You shouldn't keep me waiting that long."
   "I'm... " she stopped herself. "I was in the bathtub."
   "Ah, so you're naked, then."
   "Well... yes. Yes," she repeated, "I'm naked."
   "Is your hand between your legs?"
   "It is now."
   "Push your middle finger in between those luscious cunt lips
of yours. Move it around slowly."
   "I'm doing that now. Yes, it feels good. I wish it was your
cock."
   "What would you be doing with my cock?"
   "I'd be riding it, feeling it split my cuntlips apart,
rubbing my hot clit, fucking it hard...."
   "Now pinch one nipple with the other hand, hard. I have bound
you over a chair, you are held fast, but your hands are free. I
fuck your tight cunt while your squeeze and pull your tits.
Your snatch quivers around my pulsing cock, and then you see a
cock in front of you, manmeat waiting for you to suck. Your
mouth opens, and you ensnare its head between your lips. Suck
on it, babe, suck that cock. There are more waiting for you to
suck, all shapes and sizes, all cocks for you to suck and fuck
and stroke and squeeze. Suck that cock, my beautiful slut, and
fuck back at me as I shove into you. Yes, fuck back, fuck me,
you sweet bitch, ripple that cunt of yours."
   Alice was moaning in response to his commands, his fantasy,
as her fingers shoved into her cunt, pinched her nipple and
kneaded her tit. She imagined the parade of cocks lining up for
her, as many to fuck as she could have, could want, could suck
and fuck to complete satiety.
   She imagined their taste, their feel, and felt her own
fingers stretching out her lips, and began groaning in earnest,
finally oblivious to anything he was saying, just consumed by
the fantasy she was creating, by the power of her arousal. She
came with a wrenching sob, dropping the phone, dropping to her
knees, pulling up against her pubic bone with her full hand,
clutching at her jug like she was crushing an orange. She
tipped over to lay her head on the bed. She caught her breath
there, face on the bedcover, and then picked up the phone.
   "I'm back," she said.
   "Good. If you want three cocks in you, then wear your black
pumps with the brass buckles tomorrow. If you want three cocks
in you, then the next day, at noon, you will arrive at the Bill
Bateman Dance Studio, 2400 S. 53rd, at noon. You will open the
door and undress. Lay yourself over the small low bench which
will be set up in the middle of one of the rooms.
   "Do not turn on any more lights than are on when you arrive.
Once you have laid yourself over it, head and cunt hanging over
the ends, you must tie the bonds I leave for you to your
wrists. I will then enter behind you and tie your arms under
the bench. I will ask you, before I tie you down, if that is
what you want. If you tell me you want three cocks inside of
you, then we will proceed. 2400 S. 53rd. Noon day after
tomorrow. Have a pleasant bath. Treat that sweet cunt gently."
   With that he hung up the phone. Alice, still on her knees
leaning against the bed, laughed at the dead receiver. Still
tingling with her orgasm, chilled from the cold air on drop-
dappled skin, and holding the phone while his words
reverberated inside her. <Three cocks inside me," she thought.
"I've had that fantasy for too long to not let it come true.>

   Alice returned to her bath and soaked in perfumed splendor
for fifteen minutes, then arose and put the casserole in the
oven to heat while she dressed. She had on her brassiere and
panties when she heard Larry's car drive up. She put on her
blue silk robe and loosely tighed it with the sash, then went
to the door to greet him.
   "I didn't expect you home so soon," she said as she kissed
him hello. "When you say late usually you mean late. But you're
in luck. Dinner's almost ready. I wasn't hungry, so I haven't
eaten either."
   Larry smiled a he tightened his arms around his wife. "Good.
I'm sure hungry."
   Larry made drinks while they chatted about nothing: the same
old things at the office, some minor updates on office gossip,
and the like. Alice noticed while they talked that Larry's eyes
were on the opening of her robe where her cleavage showed, and
to the flash of thigh that the robe showed when she moved.
Alice began to subtly chanage how she moved and sat to give him
a better eyeful.
   A slight bulge began to appear in his pants. She smiled,
pleased with the power of her body to arouse. Their
conversation meandered, until she brought the undercurrent of
sexuality out into the open. "I love watching your cock get
full behind your zipper," she said, shocking even herself.
   Larry looked embarassed, and almost turned his hips away from
her, but then checked himself and brought himself around to
face her fully. He took a breath. "And I love watching your
tits bounce under that silk. You're a babe, you know that?"
   He moved toward the sofa she was sitting on. "I also love the
way we've been, lately, with each other. I mean...."
   The pause almost became awkward, but she saved it for him,
afraid that if it got uncomfortable, they would get embarassed,
and fall back on the old safe ways. And those safe ways looked
too much like grey clouds for her to allow that. "I know what
you mean," she said, "I'm glad too. It's so... so erotic to
talk about it directly."
   He smiled. "Talk about <what> directly?"
   She smiled back, seeing what he was doing, and playing right
back to him. "Talking about fucking, and bodies, and cocks, and
cunts."
   "Plural?" he asked, tauntingly.
   "How hot do you want me to be?"
   "As hot as you are."
   "I'm real hot. I have thoughts that are whorish and crude. I
feel like a slut sometimes just for thinking them."
   He was close beside her, and he slid his hand beneath the
blue silk; her skin was more smooth than the fabric, and her
tit felt heavy in his hand.
   "You can't shock me," he murmured. "You have no idea how many
crude thoughts I have. And I'll tell them to you if you tell me
yours."
   She leaned back, taking a deep breath to push her breast into
his hand. "I love it when you touch me like you want me. Like
I'm a woman, rather than your wife. Pinch my nipples, just a
little. Yes, like that, oooh, that sends hot flashes through
me."
      Her hands caressed his shoulders, his chest; snuck
between his buttons to play with his chest hair. Then her
fingers moved down, and pushed behind his belt. Her nails made
the soft flesh above his pubes shrink and shudder. His cock
thrust painfully against his pants.
   "I'm going to suck you off," Alice said to him, moving down
off the couch to kneel between his legs. "and I want you to
tell me the dirty things you think about. Then I want you to
suck me off and I'll do the same." She was unzipping him, and
he nodded, amazed to see Alice, pretty, chaste Alice between
his legs leering at the cock bulging beneath the white cotton
underwear.
   "Yess... yes, I'll tell you, I'll tell you a few of the dirty
things I think. But get those lips around my shaft before I
chicken out. Suck on me, baby, mouth my cock."
   She pulled the manmeat out, gasping at the tautness of his
lovemuscle. "Oh, Larry, you're so hard, I can see the veins
pulsing. I love this cock. I've always loved it, but I could
never tell you." She lapped up at it, her tongue broad and wet,
from the root up to the purple tip.
   Suddenly Larry realized that he hadn't showered since
screwing the Duchess at Jackrabbit's back room. His cock, no
doubt, was coated with the dried cream of that fuck. Alice
would taste it, could probably smell it even now, and there was
nothing he could do about it. He certainly couldn't take a
shower now.
   But he could take the moment and run with it. Show her that
she didn't need to be threatened. Show her that she could do
the same....
   "That mouth of yours, god, you're (oohh) good, yes," he said,
as her mouth enfolded his purple helmet, "yesss...."
   He cleared his throat. "Sometimes I think about you fucking.
I remember what you can be like fucking, and wonder what it
would be like to watch you fucking someone. Yes, suck it in,
oh, Alice, that tongue....
   "Someday I want to see you with some stud-stalk in your mouth
while I fuck you from behind. That's something I think about. I
think about hearing from your lips, those talented lips, about
how it felt to have a cock in your cunt while mine was in your
ass. Oh, god, Alice, that mouth..."
   Alice made her tongue a circular lathe smoothing the already
smooth skin of his hard pecker. She could taste the other
woman's juices on his cock, but oddly, she didn't even mind
that much. At first, she had been aghast, but as soon as her
tongue touched his shaft, she was just amused. <So he's fucking
somebody else, too> she thought, and then, <if this is the
result, then I'm all for it.>
   She could hear his throat sporadically tightening as he
talked, whenever she would take his column down deep, and so
she bagan to take him rhythmically, using the skills she'd
recently learned from her mystery lover. Her throat opened more
than it ever had with Larry before, and she was loving every
touch of his thick hot cock in her mouth.
   She groaned, then lunged back at his cock, down, pubic hairs
tickling the end of her nose, then back up, smacking her lips.
The other woman's juices and scent gave the blowjob a decadent
perversity which perfectly matched what was going on.
      Larry was losing track of his train of thought. Alice's
burning tongue was nearly all he could think of. "God, Alice,
god you're good, what a cocksucker, jesus, oh man, suck me,
yes, oh, you whore, suck it deep now..." and thinking <when did
she decide she liked sucking cock? Maybe she has a lover? That
would even things up, now wouldn't it? But man, am I
benefitting from that shit...>
   Alice's head began to bob, as her lips encircled the head at
each rising, keeping her teeth from tearing his skin as he
thrust up into her mouth. He began to buck as she grabbed the
base of his wang and jacked him off with her fist as she rammed
down with her mouth.
   The effect was just what she wanted. He felt encased,
engulfed, as if his cock was being dissolved into her mouth. He
took her face in both hands, feeling her cheeks sunken with
sucking, and held her face as he shoved his ramrod into her
mouth. With her fist at the base, he knew he couldn't hurt her,
so he could thrust as hard as he liked. She was so obviously
loving every minute of the suckjob that he knew whatever he
wanted, she wanted too.
   So he rammed into her, his breath coming in gasps, pants, and
he grunted out his words: "god, yes, suck it, fuck, yes, I'm
fucking your face, you're sucking my cock, suck it, yeah, suck
it, oh you whore, you sweet slut, suck me off, yess, oh god
yes, I'm going to come, yes, oh god oh god o ga<aaAAGHhh> oh
shit god yes, fuck oh fuck, yes...."
   His come was more of a gusher than she'd expected, especially
if he got laid earlier in the day. But the sweet cream pumped
out faster than she could swallow, and some dribbled past her
lips and down his cock. She sucked more gently now, almost
massaging his softening sausage with her lips. She smiled up at
his face, his closed eyes, his splayed arms, the tie slightly
askew, one forelock of hair falling in an unruly curl on his
forehead.
   She smiled as she sucked the last droplets from the hole at
the end of his tube. She <was> getting to be a good cocksucker.
Mostly because now she loved it. Such direct control. Sucking
him, she had completely possessed his cock for that time. She
liked that.
   Alice let him catch his breath for a few moments, then
climbed up, knees on his thighs, then put her feet onto the
couch. He looked up at her, with her legs on either side of his
hips, towering over him. Still leaned back, his head on the
back of the couch, he watched her untie the sash and let her
blue robe come completely open.
   Her breasts jutted out, her belly was a soft roundness, and
her sweet cunt lay open above him. She began to bend her knees,
slowly, so that her snatch would lower inch by inch.
   "Now it's my turn," she said, "my turn to tell you my dirty
thoughts. Suck on my clit, move your tongue within my lips. Eat
me, Larry, here comes my cunt, moving down. Stick out that
tongue of yours, get it slick, get it ready.
   "My thoughts are dirty, Larry, filthy and sluttish. I loved
hearing you want strange cocks in me." She was two inches away
from his open mouth, her cunt so hot she could almost imagine
the drips of juice running down her thighs. Like her cunt was
drooling for his tongue.
   She bent the final inches in a rush, grinding her gash
against his tongue, lips and chin. She groaned "ohh, Larry,
ohhh, yes...," then positioned one knee up atop the couch,
giving him easy access to the inner walls of her tube. "Lick
me, lick me deep. Ohh, yes, lap it around, up around my clit.
Flick it, yes, oh god yes...
   "You're so good, god, yes, eat me out, you bastard, yes suck
me. I imagine sucking someone's cock while you eat me out. A
young man's cock, long and rock-hard. He groans and tells you
what a great cocksucker you've got. You tell him you know, and
that he should taste how good I am. Then, he lays down and
pulls me over his face.  `Sit on my face,' he says. And then
you move behind my ass.
   "Beneath my cunt his mouth works like yours is, now, but then
you begin to finger my ass, opening it, loosening my rosebud.
Then you ease your cock slowly in to replace your finger. Just
the tip at first. You feel your balls bounce on the forehead of
the young man beneath you."
   Larry's hands, which had been squeezing her inner thighs, now
moved up to squeeze her butthams. His index finger spiraled
around, homing in on her brownie, while his tongue mimicked the
motion around her clit. Tongue and fingertip found their mark
at the same time, and Alice groaned as he began to press
against her tight asshole.
   His amazement was only matched by his excitement at seeing
his wife, hearing his wife act like a wanton whore. She was
backing into his intruding finger. Even more amazingly, he
could feel himself hardening again, not more than five minutes
after coming like a geyser.
   He thrust his tonge deep into her cunt, then withdrew it to
moisten his finger. With the lubrication, he began to enter the
wrinkly button, rippling the folds of skin and muscle. Round
and round his finger moved, into a dark pit that he'd never
entered before.
   Alice gyrated her ass on his impaling finger, pushing his
finger deeper into her chute. Her belly began to burn. "Your
cockhead is inside now, and the pressure keeps increasing. The
man's tongue is like a flickering flame, and then a hot iron,
working my cock like a bear at a salt lick. But that cock in my
ass starts to hurt, a good hurt, but I can't tell how much it's
going to hurt.
   "I begin to struggle, and you grab my wrists and pull them
behind my back." She brought her arms behind her. With his free
left hand, he held her wrists. At best the hold he had on them
was symbolic. He squeezed to help the fantasy along, as if her
wrists were held fast.
   "And I try to pull away, but you won't let me, you whisper in
my ear that it's all right, you know I'll like it, you know it
won't hurt more than I can stand, and I trust you, and want
your cock in my ass. Your hot breath in my ear saying how much
you want me, what a great whore I am, that to be a good slut I
have to take it up the ass, and you bastard, you begin to push
in farther, slowly, tantalizingly, gaining an inch, then
stopping, making me want it."
   His finger followed the instructions she was giving him by
implication: he pushed another inch in, then stopped.
   "You say, `say it, you sweet slut, tell me what you want,'
and so I tell you, I say I want you to fuck me in the ass,
stick that cock up by chute, ream me out, fuck my ass hard,
like you mean it, and so you begin pushing deeper. The pain is
a rage of pleasure that keeps pushing me higher and higher.
Fuck my ass! I shout, fuck me hard, suck me hard, oh shit,
deeper, deeper...."
   His finger was in up to his knuckle, and he thrust it in and
out, winding around her relaxing sphincter. He lapped as fast
as he could, and she ground her cunt hard against his face.
clit against nose and lips.
   "Deeper, oh god you two fuckers bring out the whore in me, I
love fucking and being fucked, yes, shove it in, you fucker,
ram me, ram me, god yes, <yes>, Yes, <YES> AAAggghhhh! Oh <GOD>
DAMN fuck me shit oh FUCK goddammit Oh fuck me hard harder oh
<YEAH!> motherfucking oh shove that asshole oh yes, oh...
ohh..." and she wilted down his suited chest.
   His finger stayed in her asshole, and after a moment, he
began to move it around again. Her moans gave him the go-ahead.
She was oblivious to anything more than motion now, so he
rolled her over, then over again, kneeling over with her tits
on the couch, her ass in the air. On the second roll, his
finger had stayed stationary while her ass rotated upon it; her
gasp was full of passion.
   "I'm going to fuck you in the ass, sweet Alice, my sweet
slut, and you're going to love it. Because you <are> a whore,
aren't you. Don't you want it. Don't you."
   He took a risk, carrying the fantasy into reality. But the
risk was worth it. She responded completely.
   "Yes, anything, fuck me anywhere. I need your cock in me
somewhere."
   He pushed his finger in deep again, feeling way up inside a
few firm pellets of shit. <I'll pack that back>, he thought to
himself, <but she has to be ready. This is a virgin asshole. I
want her to want this again.>
   So before moving his marble-hard cock to her ass opening, he
leaned over and spit on her crack, a drooly stream that he
caught with his middle finger and used as a lubricant to push
in as a second finger. Index and middle fingers squirmed inside
her, and she gasped. "Oh, fuck me, yes, god that's so good, oh,
yes...."
   Then suddenly he withdrew both fingers and pulled back from
her. Her ass involuntarily clutched at the open air. "Oh, god,
put it back, my ass is hungry, jesus don't make me wait, fuck
me..."
   And he spit in his hand to coat his cockhead. Then he put it
against her brown bud. "This is my cock," he told her. "Now I'm
going to fuck your ass for real. Are you ready?"
   "Yes, oh, yes, I'm ready for your thick cock in my ass. Oh
yes I'm ready, don't make me wait, fuck me...."
   His cock popped in, almost being grabbed by her sphincter,
her buttmuscles. Her moons lay creamy beneath his hands as he
splayed them out, to see her asshole.
   The sight of his cock in Alice's forbidden tunnel astounded
him, and almost made hime come, but he stilled and regained
control. Then he pushed onward, into that darkness, the moist
channel of her bowels. Bit by bit he shoved his way in, urged
on by Alice's cries. Finally he was in almost to the root.
   He leaned over. "You like my cock in your ass, I can tell.
You are a whore, aren't you, my whore, fucking my cock with
your ass. Tell me that you like it, tell me how much you like
my prick in your poopchute."
   "I love it, fuck me with that prick, fuck my ass, fuck me
like a truck through a tunnel fuck up to my belly, god I can
feel you in my stomach, fucking me, jesus, fuck me, back, in,
back, yes, god, plow me, plow me you bastard, fuck my ass, fuck
my ass, yes..."
   "I'm all the way inside you," he whispered hotly into her
ear. Yes I'm deep, so deep, and <now> you're going to find out
what a real assfucking is. Are you ready to get assfucked, you
sweet slut?"
   "Do it, plow me, ram me, fuck me hard, <agh yes! yes!> Ohhh,
<AH> yes <AH> god <AGH> fuck me <AGH> is that all you can <UH>
do you bastard c'mon <UHN> fuck me you cocksucker, you <UKH> Oh
god I'm going to <UNKH> come from my ass oh <OHHH> shit yes
fuck me fuck <UNKKH> fuck me yes <YES> oh <GOD DAMN SHIT
ANKHKHKHKH....>
   What a reaming he was giving her, and watching his cock
sinking into her asshole, hearing her actually coming from
getting it up the ass, was too much for him. His cock began to
pulse, to tighten even further, and he could feel each ridge on
his cock getting a massage from her ass muscles. The jism rose
like a beaker boiling to overflow, and bubbled out first before
pressurizing to a stream that felt like his intestines were
being strained through his dick.
   He screamed with her, punching his rod into her ass like he
was packing a muzzle-loader, and the explosion rocked them
both, sent them reeling into a collapse neither realized till
they both gradually awoke from the trance state. His pecker was
now soft, though still held tight by her ass. He eased it out,
and she squeezed the last spunk out as she expelled him.
   Then he rolled her over. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes
dilated, her smile infectious. He leaned down and kissed her
deeply. He could still taste a little of his come in her mouth.
The kiss was tender. From both sides, an appreciation, a joy.
Both felt more loving and more loved than they had for years.
Their arms came around each other and the embraced, their
tongues dancing a slow gavotte, while their pulses gradually
wound down, and their breathing became even. The kiss was
sweet.
   And then they both smelled the casserole burning in the oven.