This is a growing collection of my stories. I appear to favour writing about sex and death, not always together. I'm also writing two books. Some days it feels like most other people inhabit a world where you can aimlessly wander into vendor-created wonderlands and purchase things you never knew you needed - for entertainment. The mind boggles. I believe it's because I wasn't allowed to watch television as a child. I just don't get some things. I'm ok with that

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

One for the Road...



It’s about the time that you should be leaving, but you don’t. You give me that look that makes my stomach seize and grief catch in my throat, a coal-like lump of regret. I remember being able to love you easily, I remember how swiftly a look like that might have won me over and in that split-second I’m wrong, maybe you’re not such a loser. We’ve broken up, I don’t see things between us as quite so dark and gloomy anymore. The weeks have passed, the long cloud of indecision and lost opportunities that hung over us has all gone. We’ve boiled down to an occasional home visit and the sweet nostalgia that makes my throat ache when you look at me like you’re doing now. I can remember good things; what it feels like to be in your arms, or sweating above you, or lost in your eyes as I orgasm.

It’s not so hard to sweep me into a kiss, a sticky-soft embrace that is loaded with the smell of your breath, and your jacket. Your brown, well-loved leather jacket that drove me to dig you so much in the first place. You smell like hope and promises (as much as a particular cheap cologne, rolling tobacco and leather can smell like those things), you smell like the happiest times of my early twenties. You smell like my Jack Kerouac novel, the dog eared-copy with the inscription I wrote to you about love and our lives and coming into romance like a car crash.

I feel heavy and wet and all confused.

I push your jacket over your shoulders, past your biceps and over your forearms. We both allow it to fall to the floor. I’m only wearing an old t-shirt and jeans, I’m barefoot with my hair unkempt and I’ve never felt sexier. I don’t want us to be together again but I know I want this. I take your hand and put it on my chest. I show you my heart thrashing out its erratic tempo through the fabric. You drop your fingertips until they fondle my nipple through the worn fabric. While we're still kissing your inquisitive digits travel on still further and support the weight of my breast, on and on your hot fingers go, tracing the outline of underwire in my cheap lace bra, giving me goosebumps. I can feel my breath getting lighter.

It feels right, this sloppy I-don’t-want-to-stop-because-I don’t-know-where-this-is-going meeting of our mouths; tongues are old friends, you know exactly how to play in my wet mouth and tease the tiny, breathy moans that sing a siren-call to the juices in my pussy. Your sexy fat lips and magical tongue start an ache that makes me want to climb inside you. I want you lay me down on the floorboards and fuck me like the apocalypse is due in under an hour.

Logic drains from my consciousness and I’m starting to pant. I fumble with your jeans buttons (you used to have zip-fly ones) fingers anxious to clasp what’s beneath. I’m pushing my breasts into your searching hands and appreciatively against the wall of your chest. I can’t hear what you’re attempting to whisper for the roar of blood and desire in my ears. Your mouth is so very close to my face, that’s all that matters. One eager hand hurriedly undoes the top button and pushes it’s way down the front of my jeans. They stretch to accommodate your big fingers and I almost burst when you plunge a deliberate finger into my slickness. With a stroke of that deft finger and a nibble on my lip I’m mewing at you, my knees trembling. I want you inside me. I can’t think how to make it happen more quickly and when I pull away from the meeting of our mouths it’s to wrench your denim down to your ankles. I cast my eager fingers past your boxer shorts and savour the heat of your cock in my hand. It twitches. I hold you firmly in the stillness.

We’re stopped, no longer frenzied but disheveled and eager in my hallway, three-quarters of our way through your exit and so very far from it now. We’re both shaking with need and I have your cherished penis in the palm of one hand. Your blue eyes, framed by dark, full eyelashes, (that I always envied) can see beyond what misty, desirous expression I must be wearing. You look at me as though you can see something I have long forgotten, I don’t know what it is and I don’t want to take the time to examine further. I want the familiar, beautiful cock I can feel in my hand. I want you to take me with our special brand of ferocity, re-kindled here in this limbo-land - sex without consequences, idealistic and temporary (like a lounge-room pillow fort). I don’t like the serious expression you’re wearing. I don’t like the questions in your eyes.

I bring your hand out of my jeans-front and suck on your forefinger with deliberate slowness. You taste like girl-flower and sexy hand-salt. You make a noise like a teenager having his cock sucked for the first time (breathy, unbelieving). I take off your t-shirt. I continue but without looking at your face anymore, I want you to be unreadable but at last glance your expression is confused, dark with lust but not yet lost in the moment. I run an eager finger up your snail-trail, away from your cock past your belly button. Your nipples stand at attention. I lick one, kiss your collarbone and take the heat of my lips up the side of your neck, back to the waiting warmth of your mouth. Home.

With a half-smile you chase my body out of it’s clothing, the t-shirt I had on comes easily up over my head, my bra unhooks hastily, clumsily (you were never very good at this, it’s endearing). You lick my breastbone, lather one nipple, and kiss my mouth in a searing seduction that hints at tenderness. I pull away and you take to my other breast with your tongue. I’m ecstatic, aching, we’re moving too fast and too slowly all at once.

In the bedroom my phone starts to ring. It spurs something in you, a sense of urgency that at last overtakes your actions. You glide my knickers down my legs and I step out of them, with my back to the wall we’re kissing like newly-mets at a house party. I’m murmuring and half-smiling into your mouth as our teeth click awkwardly in our haste. I wrap one leg up around your thigh, stretching my pussy into an inviting smile for you. You hitch up my hips with the help of the wall, sliding inside me in an inevitable stroke that has us both reeling.

No time to stop now, its sad, beautiful and fast. I’m tight from lack of practice and our position is precarious but it feels like heaven the way your cock enters me, diving in and out of my pussy at just the right angle. Sweet, almost-unbearable pressure mounts quickly. Friction from our coupling drives at my g-spot and I’m star-bound; my arms wrapped around your neck, my legs locked around you.

My cunt is an inferno; my mind is as blank as the erotic darkness that surrounds us. I want you to explode, when I do. I lick your lips and pant and I make strange noises I wouldn’t even know how to muster were I sane and in control of my desire, my choices. I feel like I’m lit from within. In this rapid fucking I have forgotten the people we have become and all I can hear past the silence of the house is the moisture between my thighs welcoming you back.

You pick up the pace, slapping your thighs against mine as you drive us both to the brink. I get strands of my long hair caught in my mouth when you pull out completely before jamming your bloated, rigid penis back into my peach. There’s lots of eye contact and I can’t look away, the total honesty in your actions reflected in the impossible blue-ness of your eyes. They glow.

Finally I cum screaming, tortured into a gut-wrenching, mind-blowing orgasm that starts in my little toes and towers over me, washing me in lust and freedom and a beautiful, shameless sense of wonder that is only temporary.

Too soon it’s over. Too soon you’re pulling your flaccid cock out from between us and wiping away mine and your cum on my shirt that you’ve retrieved from the floor. You’re smiling but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You hold me steady and help me to stand. The muscles in my hips are starting to ache. You’re pulling up your jeans and adjusting your hair and finding your far-flung jacket.

In minutes you're standing in the open doorway where the daylight flooding in turns you into a silhouette.

“Bye…” you say. I can’t tell if you’re still smiling; your expression and your body language entirely unreadable.

I’m watching you in the doorway wearing only my jeans and my purple bra. I wipe my hand over my cheek and listen to the strange sound of me breathing.

Alone.   




Saturday, October 12, 2013

Romance



A love letter to the fearful future...

Dear Bruiser,

The shadows whisper. It's dark now, and quiet. I'm wondering what my life might turn into if one day I wake up and you've gone. How can we be so sure of something that has no physical form. I read that today - it left it's mark. There are few things that have no form but definitely exist; songs and love. 

I have to trust you. It is daunting at times, to possess so much faith. 

I only became a grown-up a few years ago. My emotions didn't know what they were for a long time. The constraints of maturity are new and beguiling: faith, altruism, monogamy...

Know this; when my nightmares seek me out and I wake paralysed in fear I reach for you. When I feel like I'm succeeding and I'm blissful I reach for you. I'm no longer young, I've had my share of strangers kisses. I can't imagine wanting anyone's kisses more than I crave yours. 

I miss you when you're not around, even if it's just for a day. I love every tiny piece of you. All the faults, scars and parts of your body you won't show to anyone else. And it terrifies me. What if it stops? What if it's lust not love and I have nothing?

What if 

What if you die? I allow myself to think this way, because right now you're not here. 

You are not here to wrap your big arms around me and pull me into a bear hug 
You are not here to transfer your body heat and quell my irrational fears
You are not here to hold me, in the stillness 
You are not here to say to me “Don't worry, everything is going to be all right” (you silly, hopeless romantic...)

I am no limpet. I aspire. My dreams and perversions differ from yours. You once told me that intelligent people should never get bored. I don't. I have taken the time and sought out my strengths. I can spend time by myself much more in my maturity than I ever could in my teens. But I like it better when we are together. 

You make me feel whole. 


Yours

Yngvild 

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Marco's Morning




Marco’s stalling now, he was early to work this morning, earlier than usual, to avoid the unexpected spring heat. It’s mid-morning, he casts long looks back at the house hoping to catch a glimpse of her in one of her bright dresses, the wind making the light fabric dance around her knees. Maybe she’ll wave; bring him some cold water.

He squints at the house, wipes his face with his forearm, removing his hat. Marco sighs. He can’t see much from this distance; the wide veranda drenches their windows in shadow. He thinks of the old furniture in bare-boarded rooms and their ancient, saggy mattress. She’s too good for out here. He’s busting to buy them better things, a bed with all its springs or a new kitchen table so he needn’t lean down to help prepare their dinner. It gives him backache right before mealtimes, a reminder of how much work he has yet to get done.

By next summer he hopes to buy all the comforts a young couple would want to turn the drafty old Queenslander into a cozy refuge. That’s if he can keep her that long. Familiar doubt assails him, his property is too remote, the work to constant, she’s bright and young, stoic and cheerful but delicate, not as foolhardy as he and the old man.

His entire lifetime Marco’s father wrestled his massive property, attempting year after year to make something of the red earth and abundant sunlight, attempts often doomed by unpredictable rain. For now they had a small income from the 2000 head of cattle and cane. It’s not in Marco’s nature to think on and on about things; he might fall to worrying what the future holds.

He’s big and handsome, kissed bronze by the sun. Fine hair on his arms and legs has been bleached blonde by years of staying out-of-doors. He’ll go on working the land with much the same love as his father did, now the old man is gone, recently bundling himself off to a much smaller urban property in town; his old rheumy eyes almost shot and his ability to rustle up a cup of tea, waning.

In the end it seems like the old man was almost glad to go, obviously relieved and openly curious about the young woman who joined his house. Reyna, having stumbled across Marco at a B n S Ball, came to live with them, smiled incessantly, as though her glowing, youthful face might float away at any moment. For his part Marco was as surprised as anyone when he proposed and she accepted.

The life of a bush wife promised to be a lonely, difficult pursuit - a challenge she’d accepted with alacrity at first but Marco nursed his growing reservations. She was too amazingly accommodating; she swanned around, she glowed. She kept the threadbare house shipshape, set up a vegie patch close by and rehoused the chooks from where they’d been for as long as he could remember. Their new coop was more secure and closer to the house. In fact, Reyna hadn’t wanted to bother him with details, had used her own money to pay for a handy man who came from town and built the new shelter. After he left she even decorated the thing with tiny curtains and paint.

In the two months since his father had vacated, things had begun to settle. He loved her fiercely; she brought a new sense of hope to his life, a refreshing gust of change into the rusty old way-of-things that had beset the place for the last ten years with Dad in decline. Marco was only fearful that it was all too good to be true, boredom may set in; their lovemaking would cool off.

He shut his mind from the possibilities and forced himself to look away from the house and as he did caught a glimpse of colour over by the hills-hoist. His hand shot up and he grinned, she waved back at him, dropping the basket and running towards his fence mending. His heart melted like butter in his big chest and he fought to contain himself. His mates would call him soft and stupid but the farm hands weren’t due to start at the property for another two weeks and at the moment, luxuriously, they had the place to themselves.

She wore a cheap, red cotton dress with buttons all down the front, it flapped as she bounded towards him, now and then he glimpsed creamy thighs. Marco put his hat back on, suddenly self-conscious, acutely aware that just as he had wished her to, she had simply appeared from out of nowhere.

His belly felt leaden, his head light. The big man plunged his hands into the pockets of his canvas work pants and shifted his boots around on the dirt. It never got easier; her presence reduced him to the quiet, over-awed awkwardness of adolescence. He jittered, his breath too fast in his chest. He knew he would have to kiss her, first up, to let her know he was pleased. Words were never his strong point.

She dropped to a brisk walk about ten paces from him, her pert breasts wobbling against the dress’s fabric as she crossed the uneven ground. Marco was aware of the head of his cock waking up, fattening with delight. She was flushed and her blue eyes sparkled.

“Phoo!” she said, stopping just short of her towering, stocky husband. She reached up to place one warm palm on his bicep

“Good morning, Sexy”.

Marco swept her up in his embrace, lifting her high so that her face was above his, looking down at him as she locked her arms around his neck. His big hands slid from her rib cage to cradling her hips. He fit her much smaller body against his. Obligingly Reyna linked her ankles together and seemed at ease, astride him, mid-air.

Then he kissed her, pressing his firm mouth against her soft lips until she yielded and he slid inside her mouth. She tasted like butter and jam. Reyna squirmed against him, bumped his nose by mistake with hers and ripped off his hat. Surrounded by Reyna’s fresh smell, her soft legs clamped against him, their skin separated by the warm cotton of his shirt, he thought he might die of glee. She didn’t seem in a hurry to release him. She sucked on his bottom lip and probed with her tongue as their kiss deepened.

“Salty” she said softly into the heat of their communal breath, adding little kisses to his broad face and the curve of his jaw.

Still holding her astride him, Marco sank to his knees. Reyna greeted the feel of the scrub beneath the soles of her feet with enthusiasm and used her new advantage to roll her hips. Marco’s erection blossomed, his jeans suddenly too tight, her underwear too thin, the delicious heat of her sex pressing invitingly against him.

“You like that?” her voice was low.

Marco pulled away, letting her see his expression. Lust reflected in his dark eyes. He didn’t need to say anything; he wouldn’t have known what it was he should say. Reyna giggled and shivered, encouraging him to draw her down onto the ground. Marco shifted his weight and kept his hand at her back, easing her body beneath his.

Reyna kissed his neck, nipping the flesh here and there, licking behind his ear and snuffling delightedly, all the while unbuttoning his shirt. She pushed it from his shoulders and the straining armhole tore on his muscled bicep. Reyna didn’t mind, she reached up and kissed the spot then slid her hands beneath his singlet. The material clung damply to his torso and a part of him was ashamed.

“My working man” She panted breezily and her fingers kept right on gliding.

Marco’s head swam with relief.

In return he undid the top few fastenings of her dress with fumbling fingers. He licked her collarbone (her hands roaming up his sides, pulling him closer, encouraging his caresses), planting deliberate kisses in a path from her neck to the taut skin between her breasts. When he ducked his head to suckle her nipple she stopped stroking his torso. Instead she arched her back a little and tucked her arm at her side making her pert breast rise to a little mound once more. He licked the entire orb and then his thumb.

Marco turned his attentions to her other breast, thumbing the pre-teased nipple with a wet digit. Reyna was rigid in his arms, pressing her hips against his cock, burning the flesh of her sex into his rod clamped against the fabric of his jeans.

“Ohhh” She said “I’m soaking.”

Marco’s stomach flip-flopped at her direct speech. Reyna forced a tiny, wicked grin, her expression opaque; lust overriding her senses.

“Can you take me here?”

She freed her legs; Marco put his shirt under her bum and rucked up her dress until her thighs were completely exposed. Her knickers had been white, now they were translucent at the cleft, beset with her juices. Ready for him. He leant his big body to one side of her, resting most of his weight on one arm and slid his hand inside the moist fabric, probing the source of her wet heat. Material clung to his digits, he pushed it to one side and she let out an airy moan.

Marco splayed her lips and bent to look at her beautiful, pearlescent sex. It glistened in the roaring daylight and he teased the tip with his thumb, lightly brushing the skin.

“MmmMm” she said, rapturous, mostly incoherent. Reyna spread her legs wider and pushed her hips towards his hand.

At first her pushed the moisture around with two digits, toying with her flesh, lightly delighting her. She closed her eyes and moments later opened them again, feasting her gaze on his face. He concentrated on his task, watching for signs he was really doing things right. She grew even wetter. Shielded from her supple body by material, his cock was so hard it ached.

Marco kissed her lips, swollen and pink with longing, his hot tongue probed her mouth and kept up his wicked work. Beneath his inquisitive hand the urgency of Reyna’s desire intensified and he chose that moment to push two fingers inside her, eliciting his favourite response. She gasped against his mouth. His cock bucked in his too-tight pants.

“Ohh”

He butterflied his fingers at her g-spot and she pressed her thighs together, willing his closer. Flustered now, Marco wanted no more teasing, his whole body throbbed. He was butter and magnets, salt, leather and lust.

Withdrawing from his intimate hold gently, Marco’s shaking hands made short work of his jeans and boxers. Reyna lay looking up at him, panting. His engorged meat seemed faintly ludicrous to him in broad daylight but she didn’t seem to mind.  Marco sat on his clothes; he pulled her gently up towards him.

A little dazed, Reyna complied. Her dress hung open to her waist and between her legs was drenched but still covered by lacy cloth. He didn’t care.

Deftly, he scooped up her tiny arse and put her onto his lap. He used one hand to move the material of her knickers to one side and the other to guide her hips ever-so-slightly into the air. Happy with the intended result Reyna wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and guided herself onto it. When she finally slid down the length of him Marco had to pause to keep from cumming.

Grinning her naughty-grin, Reyna reached behind her hip until her hand cupped his balls, she shifted her weight and lifted all of him, cock and balls in one so he slid a fraction further inside her sweetness, impossibly deep. For a moment her eyes closed and she sucked in breath.

“So good” she said, opening her eyes and biting her lips.

“You’ve never…?”

“I was on the internet this morning” she offered.

Marco clenched his cheeks and his cock flexed inside her little body. He kissed her nape, encouraging her not to talk, concentrating on the delicious task at hand. He leaned back and clenched his abs, he cupped her butt with his big, calloused hands and directed their lovemaking, jiggling and dropping her so she enveloped him in a rhythm that suited them both.

Reyna held his hair, running her fingers through it, clasped his neck. Marco was lost in pleasure. The sun beat down, he sweated, his forehead glistening as he buried his cock again and again.

“Oh… I…”

Marco stopped, he opened his eyes and Reyna looked suggestively at him. She stretched out her legs and removed most of his length, tipping her body backwards. Marco obliged, tucking her under him, stroking so their bodies were completely touching. He stole a sloppy kiss and picked up the pace.

Reyna hummed, biting her lip, scrunching her eyes. He loved this part. Leaning away from her on his haunches, carefully, he placed her ankles on his shoulders, her toes touching his ear. He pushed into her; she quaked. As he repeated the movement she seemed to shatter beneath him. He thrust a little harder, watching the glistening meat of his cock disappear into her sex. Reyna screamed. Marco forced himself to slow down, delighted. His lover made thrashing, ecstatic noises and her inner muscles spasmed, pushing him to spill his seed. It felt like gobs of the stuff unloading.

Marco moved much more gently in her slickness, she dropped her legs. He listened to the sounds of Reyna breathing hard, gradually returning to earth, swallowing, opening her eyes. He thought his body might burst from love, having fucked this firecracker of a woman in the dust of their property.

“I love you,” he said, collapsing into his elbows.

Reyna ran her hands over the back of his neck where it was damp and some of his dark hair was stuck against his skin in little-boy-curls. She heaved a big, contented sigh and lifted her eyes to stare at the sky above them.

Relaxing, nuzzled against her face Marco feel her cheeks stretch into a smile.





Monday, August 6, 2012

An evening's performance





Little, warm bulbs line the floor downstage of the performers and parcans shine on their prize. Beneath them, Elijah ambles into view. Until now Neesha has been wooing the crowd alone. She, with her dark eyes and her naked honesty; her hot gaze flitting around the room. Whether or not she has been able to make out their faces is anyone's guess, the lights are bright. Her practiced expression is frank, faintly smug and unquestionably engaging.

In joining her, Elijah comes to rest behind her. She preens, oiled and precious; her body a jewel in the darkened room. He is broadly built and virtually hairless, thick arms and a chocolate chest. He is a fine specimen of a man, naked as she, unafraid, insolent.

Elijah touches her shoulders though he need not have alerted her to his presence. His footfalls are surprisingly light for a man of his stature but it's his heat that she recognises. He reaches up to caress her shoulders, large palms engulfing each opalescent crescent.

Their stage takes up half the space in the intimate venue. The small club's walls have been expertly adorned from architraves to skirting boards in rugs and thick, dark material, successfully deadening the room acoustically, and further enhancing intimacy. Lamps on the few cabaret tables emit muted pools of light accentuating the rich, deep hues of the walls.

Elijah looks out at the assembled crowd with eyes glassy with lust. His hands travel down her arms, reassuringly sensual. The glossy platform in which pair perform is brightly lit and it is the undisputed focus of all the room's eyes. Heavy, red curtains hang on either side of the stage, framing their foreplay.

Only he is close enough to detect the tremour in her and even he is unsure of it's origin, be it nerves or desire. He pushes his partner onto her knees, her head facing their audience. Music crescendos in an undertone to the little performance, a steady, mesmeric beat. Tension heats the club, makes the couple drip with promise.

Elijah's body is exposed. Appreciative onlookers may take in his thick thighs dusted with hair, pillars that frame his aching, erect, substantial cock. His wide, dark chest undulates with each intake of air. It is enough to make the women in the room experience a physical response. He is the maker of goosebumps, a sexually aroused man in his prime.

Elijah steps around Neesha. He drops to his hands and knees and meets the glossy floor with the full length of his body. He rolls as though dancing, his feet almost touching her thighs, proud cock protruding (steady, thick and inviting). Like a circus tamer preparing for an act, Neesha watches him hungrily.

She licks her lips, taking the weight of her coffee coloured breasts in each one of her palms. Their peaks rise to form large, dark and inviting points. She toys with herself, sliding her hands across her glistening torso. A captivated audience holds it's collective breath.Neesha's eyes roam Elijah's body and finally she deigns to move.

Taking his right shin in her hands Neesha guides his knee to bend. A woman watching sighs. Emboldened,Neesha splays both his legs and begins her journey, sliding atop his solid frame. Her glistening palms mark her progress marring the glossy perfection of the stage surface, her lips travel ravenously towards his.

She doesn't kiss him, instead her fingers trace his full mouth. She straddles him, her pussy meeting his cock, it's engorged head pinned between them, peeping out.Neesha's knees touch the floor on either side of his hips. Very slowly she folds her legs up to her chest, her feet coming to rest on the floor, propelling her supple body upright. Now there is air between the two but only for a moment. She squats. Elijah's cock bobs with anticipation.

Neesha lowers herself deliberately onto him. One woman gasps, another giggles; an enthusiastic male punter grunts. In reward, Neesha's hand reaches down to wrap itself around Elijah's thick cock.

He smiles up at her, showing his teeth. She meets his eyes and guides his meat, just to the entrance of her slick cunt, holding her breath. Tearing her eyes from his, she looks out into the assembled crowd. Slowly, deliberately, Neesha nibbles her lower lip, enjoying the moment as it stretches, the rustling of shirts as necks crane in the crowd; their ill-concealed state of suspense.

She tips her head and her body sinks onto his cock, one delicious inch at a time.

Her pussy takes a moment to adjust to the size of him.

Eyes half closed, she raises her hips giving the captivated crowd a glimpse of his cock meat, exiting her heat, glistening with her juices. She shifts and descends, lowering herself until their pelvic bones meet.

“ Uuuuhh” she says airily (for the benefit of the women in the room), allowing them to imagine being impaled, his impressive penis buried deep inside their slickness.

Her pause is costly. Elijah has endured her teasing and the caresses she bestows upon him only for the assembled voyeurs. He throbs within her, eager and aching to own her, to fulfill her unspoken wish. So, as she is poised to once more prolong the moment, he undermines her theatrical conceit. Elijah firmly grasps her by her small hips and deftly removes a measure of himself from her pussy. Tensing his buttocks he jerks upwards, ramming his cock once more into her slick sheath. Large hands hold her steady. He repeats the action, 2..3..4 times.Neesha gasps, her breasts bobbing with each thrust.

Its hard to make out individual faces in the crowd.Neesha warms herself with the knowledge that before them, some men in expensive trousers and dinner jackets will seek to hide their erections, folding their legs to cover protruding, silken steel, defeated somehow by the arousing scene.

A woman brushes her hand over one of her breasts as though smoothing away crumbs, her cheeks aflame, her lips parted. Beside her a couple progress from caressing one another's thighs to open-mouthed kissing. At the bar, a sole barman refills one patron's empty whiskey glass. He turns from his task to adjust the backing track as the action on stage continues, skilfully reducing the melody to their love play. Silence makes way for the wet sounds of sex; Neesha's uneven breath in the room, Elijah's grunts amid their consensual climb towards orgasm.

After a minute or more of quick thrusting, he halts his progress.Neesha climbs gracefully clear, extracting herself, Elijah rolls onto his forearms, pushing himself up onto his knees. His wide torso gleams with proof of his exertions, he places massive palms on impressive thighs and stands. From the wings he retrieves a chair and walks it out to centre stage.Neesha stands before him and swings her arms to rest around his neck, kissing him soundly. He holds her face tenderly in his hands, feasting on her lips, shifting his focus to her swan-like nape and devouring her salty, heady, scent and taste.

Elijah guides the languid woman to the round-backed, wooden chair with it's padded seat. She reclines; right arm supporting her weight, thighs parted to allow one half of their audience an exclusive view of her aroused sex. He kneels before her enjoying the view of her splayed, sopping peach and lowers his head. His elaborate movements enhance the theatricality of the moment and her legs begin to tremble. He laps at her pussy, soft full strokes.

“ Nnnnhu!” she says, from high in her throat.

He cups her buttocks, she grinds her pelvis into his face alive with desire, writhing in pleasure, her pretty head thrown back, tendrils of long, satin-soft, dark hair touching the ground behind her. The room begins to smell of her sex.

Without music to hide them, his breathing is amplified. Caught in the moment, her knees swing wildly. Elijah grasps hold, steadying her body. She raises her head as though in a daze; he chooses that precise moment to begin to finger fuck her.Neesha resumes her prone posture, head thrown back in delight.

A keen observer hoots enthusiastically. Elijah raises his head. He taps Neesha's thigh playfully and after a moment she responds, activating her rubbery legs, bounding to stand. Away from the touch of his tongue her pussy throbs. In the close space, she smells their lovemaking, her pheromones lacing the room.

In a practiced, provocative gesture she bends from the waist, leaning her lovely elbows on the wooden chair's seat and thrusting her arse out into the room, she adjusts her weight. Her peach peaks at the crowd, lustrous with longing. She peers over her shoulder playing the provocateur. An eager on-looker growls, his voice thick with desire.

Neesha curls her toes and turns on her heels, brushing past Elijah and giving their intimate audience a good view of her tight, perky derriere. Her breasts sway as she walks, her coffee skin luxuriant in the light. Coming to stand behind their prop she bends, thrusting out her hips behind her, curling her forearms around the chair's curved back. Obscured slightly by smooth lines of furniture design, her breasts undulate. Thick eyelashes trap light as it passes, shadowing her face. She looks down at the ground first, then flicks a look at her partner. Her hair descends to cascade in front of her face.

Elijah goes to her. He parts her cheeks, rubbing his heavy cock against her flanks. Her face is no longer visible but she shivers, adjusting her feet. Elijah deftly aims his massive meat at her tight sphincter and she looks up. Disbelief (feigned or actual?) shines in her dark eyes. He begins his entry and her slight body slowly adjusts to take his length, her mouth a perfect tight 'O' as he slides inside.

She's hot, tight and surprised.

As his cock entering her passage Elijah flexes his thighs and rolls on his heels. He offers Neesha his palm in an unspoken request and she licks it, leaving behind juicy threads of saliva.. He rubs the base of his cock with her spit, parting her, forcing Neesha to accept the pleasure/pain of his continued invasion. He pulls out; strokes. Her eyes flutter open. All the room's occupants observe as the sensual tapestry unfolds.Neesha's expression hides nothing. Elijah sets a rhythm and her sphincter closes around him.

He clenches his teeth, pushes inside her and withdraws. Neesha moans. She drops her head and lowers her hands to the cushion, better supporting her weight. Elijah slides two thick fingers into her pussy as he continues to fuck her, encouraging her to cum. He plies at her love muscles, sinking his digits inside her and butterflying on her g-spot. Her sweetness closes around him, filled by his cock, caressed by his digits.

“ GnnffHhh” she says, beholden to his touch.

It only take a few more sliding thrusts and the continued pressure inside her pussy; a flurry of fancy finger work in her slit. The room vibrates with the sound of their fucking, their shallow breath and the delightful thud of flesh on flesh.

Neesha cums shaking with exertion, head bent, the flesh on her arse rippling with the repeated, hard thrusts. She clenches and unclenches her fingers, grasping at the chair.

“ UuUUuuh” Her voice is jagged, hoarse.

A tick in Elijah's jaw betrays his thinly held control. He slaps her arse as she quivers appreciatively impaled on his cock, cumming in waves, milking his member. Elijah withdraws. He gives himself a preemptive tug. Testing the strength of his steel? An unidentifiable woman in the audience emits a loud sigh. Elijah's lips widen in a wry smile. He seats himself in the chair, with Neesha leaning over him. She reaches down, past his shoulder to curl her fingers around his ample length. His cock twitches. She pumps until his organ gains in size, impossibly engorged.

Elijah watches her handiwork, her artful rapid movements jerk him towards release. He looks out at the gathered men and women. His eyes close and he ejaculates, gasping. Neesha holds onto his cock as his milky seed spills over her hand, wayward droplets landing on the glossy ground. She licks his neck, nipping his skin and he almost jumps. She hold him firmly; waiting for stillness.

Around them, thick, protruding silence...




Sunday, April 15, 2012

Cosy in the Cool room



The front counter of the bakery is much quieter in the aftermath of the breakfast rush. At the back of the store, men tray up and shuffle pies and sweets ready for lunch, creating their own clamour. Ella can hear the trollies clanking and the big fridge door opening and closing. Jamie, the chef walks past, winks at her. He's an older man with very little hair and a New Zealand accent, lovely but strange. She doesn't respond, continuing to ready the front of the shop, replenishing bags and wiping down counters.

Outside, at the beach front, the sun is shining. Ella sighs, wanting to be out amongst it too. It's the first job she's had since she moved to the holiday town and the hours are mean, leaving her out of the fun, selling mouth-watering pastries when she could be swimming and sun baking.

After a time the noises die down in the back of the shop. Ella finishes up her tasks and makes a final check of the bain-marie, replenishing the small tray of water that prevents pastries from drying up. Jamie calls to her from the kitchen. Ella forces her attention away from the footpath and the blazing sun.

“Eh! Fish says he needs you out back.”

“Oh?”

Ella leaves the girls at the front counter, making her way past the rows and rows of baked goods stacked on trays ready to be wheeled out. The cool room door is open, she peeks in.

“Are you in here?”

In response, Fish pulls her bodily into the fridge.

“Sure.”

His breath is so close she can feel her lovers heat on her cheek, his freckles stand out on his cold face.

“But?”

“The bakers just left, I'm here all by myself.”

Ella closes her eyes. She can feel a grin on his lips as they touch hers. Soft flesh contrasts with the prickle of stubble.

“You want to make out?”

“No.” Ella has ideas, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Here?”

“Sure.” A giggle. “The exercise will keep us warm.”

“Oooh.”

She takes off his hat, bunching it in one hand. He caresses her fingers, his hands are cold. Startling almost - green eyes watch her in disbelief. Ella plonks down his chef's hat with her apron on top, shielding her knees from the cold cement. It's not much protection but it's a start. She deftly reaches into his checkered, elasticized work pants and retrieves his flaccid penis.

“Are you...?”

“Shhh.”

Fish leans over and closes the door, intensifying the room's temperature. He looks a dream, hat-less with unkempt, salty brown hair. He's pant-less with just an unbuttoned shirt over his broad, hairy chest. He stands dumbfounded in the coolness, a twinkle in his normally cool green-blue eyes. Ella takes the cold worm into her hot mouth. It's an instantaneous reaction, a rousing response. As she gums flesh, he grows.

His hairy thighs brush the soft skin of her forearms.

“I've been thinking about you all morning.”

Ella looks up, holding his cock between them, Fish's sea-coloured eyes meeting her gaze.

“Clearly not enough.”

Fish chuckles, the rich sound spreading through his abdominal muscles, causing his cock to bounce in her hand.

“It's cold in here.”

Unspoken promises of warmth fill the room, Ella slides her tongue around his shaft, coating it expertly in saliva, popping his length into her mouth and passing it further down her throat. She does all this quickly, before her effective, tantalising treatment has time to cool.

“Mhhff,” she says, happily.

“OoOh God! that's good.”

His broad hands holds her shoulders, amazement making him unsteady. He watches the top of her auburn curls. She bobs, making cock meat disappear into her mouth and re-emerge. She stops, holds the now-throbbing penis in one eager hand. Gently, she kisses his cock, before clambering up from her knees.

“I'm cold too,” Ella puts in softly, stripping off her thin work shirt and the sports bra beneath. Her breasts stand to attention, nipples pebbled and pink.

“Suck me?” She lifts her arms above her head and offers him her fruits.

Fish splays one hand against the small of her back, he licks up her belly, an eager tongue passing over the underside of one breast. He pops the budded nipple into his mouth and she sharply takes in a breath. Fish briskly teases her taut flesh, as if it's a Skittle or a Fisherman's Friend, whisking Ella's crazy-hard nipple too and fro with the end of his tongue. Her pussy start to grow moist. The coil of desire unwinds in her belly.

He plunges an eager hand down her pants, past the light cotton knickers until he reaches the bud of her sex. Her soft pussy drenches his fingers in eager approval, Fish plays with her clit, sliding a finger along her core, carefully coating his finger with her eager juice and then up, over her clitoris. As he repeats the motion it makes her feel boneless, desperate.

Ella licks her hand, applies the moisture to his cock and strokes. She kisses his neck, burying her cold nose in his nape between the stubble on his chin and the fine hair on his chest.

fuck me” she says, so softly it's hard to hear.

He turns her around, her hands brace the cold wall of their self imposed prison and the elastic of her work pants gives way under the rapid ministrations of his numb-cold hands. He stretches her pants down to her ankles, together with her cotton knickers, effectively clearing his path. Fish balances the weight of his dick on her rump, sliding down until he is cradled between the rear of her thighs. His cold hand touches her breast, rubbing, holding. She can feel the thickness of lust in the silence between them.

Ella wiggles her pretty rear and he guides his meat into her warm, tight centre, opening her softness until she is parted, splayed. He strokes and shoves himself deeper. Ella closes her eyes, lost in the bliss of it, leaning into the wall.

“That's so good.”

“I want to fuck you until you can't speak.”

He withdraws and pushes back in; hard.

“I c....”

Ella whimpers in delight.

His big, baker hands hold either side of her firm arse, he pushes his cock back into her and enjoys the elastic, silken feel. He sets a rhythm and breaks it. Her desperate, keening noises encourage him to continue pleasurably punishing her.

After a time he stops.

“I want to see you”

She turns, planting a kiss on his lush, open lips. In almost one movement, he grabs his thick jacket and tucks it behind her; pushes her back to the wall and nestles his cock neatly at the entrance to her hot, damp, pussy. Using superior strength, he lifts and enters her. By way of thanks, Ella wraps her long legs around his waist and squirms.

He slides further in. Their eyes meet, he gives her quick, short thrusts. Ella comes on his cock, locked in his embrace, impaled by his expression. It's all he can do to execute four more strokes, riding the magnificent, quivering aftershocks within her until he explodes.

“...so good.”

Fish sets her down gently, they both scramble to grab their gear. He helps her to dress.

Within half a minute of their separation, the pair wrench the cool room door open once more, welcoming the warmth of a normal day. Ella and Fish look slightly dishevelled and pink cheeked as they emerge.

Fish tucks his still-hard cock into the band of his pants and leaves her, weaving his way further into the bowels of the bakery. Ella heads back to the shop front, grinning from ear to ear.



Saturday, March 31, 2012

Coming home...


A bus. An ordinary bus on an ordinary day. Its not peak hour any more, I've worked late and the time has passed since the heavy tussle that comes with the afternoon. Now things have slowed down with more places to sit on each vehicle. The book I am trying to read isn't good. I look up and about. Such is the world that we live in, few people are doing the same. Even those without a phone to play with or a friend to talk to, stare ahead squarely at nothing, as if real life is a distraction.

A man sits behind me, four seats further back. He catches my eye. Grins. His sea blue eyes are luminous, his stubble unpracticed, and his impromptu happiness breaks an otherwise handsome face into an expression of lopsided mischief. Who wouldn't be hooked? My heart pounds. I look away. The driver breaks unexpectedly and elderly passengers make annoying noises of disapproval as they bend forward, riding the motion, their old bodies like carriages at a rail yard suddenly brought to a halt.

I look out the window to catch a glimpse of my own reflection in the day's fading light and open my face up into a smile. I read somewhere if you are happy enough to smile when no one is watching, you must really mean it. Someone is watching me today. Blue eyes from the back seat makes me self conscious.

A colleague told me I looked like a nurse earlier, my work shirt is blue and white check. It accentuates my breasts and I don't mind that it brings to mind a uniform. I've left the morgue and I like to pretend I have been at an office, working somewhere that smells less like disinfectant and has a view, preferably of water and trees.

Blue eyes focused in my direction cause the hairs on the back of my neck to tingle. A few delicious minutes pass by. I shift in my seat, watch members of the geriatric community pick their way carefully down the aisle and out into the strange, suspended, autumnal sunset on the street, their large, practical handbags held with purpose under fleshy, under-used arms.

I flinch. The man at the back of the bus shows me a dimple and I imagine he might share my sense of humour. I pause to scratch an itch on my leg. My stockings dip under the weight of my nails and I'm careful to alleviate the itch with a featherlight touch. These are my last pair.

Blue eyes gets up from the back of the bus. My stomach lurches. If he leaves it will just be me and the sky, the high pitched noise of the bus breaks at each stop and row after row of shops and houses. He doesn't get off. The action of his hand curling around the arm rest near my shoulder has a sensual flavour, as though he's caressing skin, not the thin aluminium rail.

“Hullo.”

“Hi.”

He sits behind me. I swivel to look. I want to start a conversation but my throat is dry.

“Your eyes are questioning.”

“This is my poker face.”

He laughs. It's magic. I bite my lip.

“I'm Paula.”

“Tim”

“Hi Tim. Want to come home with me?”

I haven't thought about the words, they come out of my mouth before I've willingly formed them and it leaves me with a strange sensation in my middle. Say yes. I don't want to fail.

“I might...?”

Dimples.

“Paula are you always this forward?”

“No.”

I glance out the window and realise my stop is coming up. I ring the bell. Up the front of the bus feet shuffle as the elderly prepare themselves for the stop. It puts my nerves on edge. We grind to a halt. I get up without looking back. I can sense the heat his body gives off as he follows me. The bus pulls away in a blast of hot air and brake noise. Highway sounds hide my confusion. Tim gestures for me to lead the way. I start walking.

After only four paces, maybe five, he tugs on my arm and I lurch to a halt. I hadn't realised I was practically running. His palm is warm and calloused as it slips into mine. We don't say anything. I start off once more, slower this time, towing him away from the heavy noise of the street.

We take a turn, heading further away from the steady traffic and into cool, overhanging peppermint gums lining the road.

“Wait!” he says “Are you real?”

“I don't know.” It comes out in a whisper.

I want him to kiss me. Silence feels like foreplay. I'm angry at the mundane, suburban setting. In the world of my imagination my handsome stranger would tug me into an alleyway. We would embrace with passionate, frantic urgency.

I look up from my own thoughts into unsettling azure blue. I can't bear to keep staring. We're holding hands, facing each other like lovers. He uncurls his fingers, releasing me. I feel the cool afternoon air where his palm has been connected to mine. He raises his hands to my face, encircles my cheeks in an intimate gesture. I catch my breath.

“Do you want me?”

He leans forward and kisses my nose. I brush the softness of my cheek through his waiting hand, eyes closed. I don't answer the question, I don't feel I need to. I just wait.

“Do you come here often?”

“Every day.”

Humbled.
Obtuse.

He strokes his thumb across my lower lip. I know my torso trembles. I can feel my body reacting to his touch and I can hear it too, in my quiet, jagged breaths.

The not knowing is over. I stretch up on tippy-toes and connect my lips to his. Hot and full, a reward for all the pissing about. I assess their weight, time and again before drawing the courage to press for an open-mouthed gesture. He complies. The afternoon threatens rain. Tim tastes of salt and aniseed, promise and apricots. He pulls away. I don't know what he sees.

“Can we go somewhere?”

I smile, open my eyes wide and grin like the world is winning. My familiar street fades and I start to look at the surrounds as though I have never seen them before. He doesn't take my hand as we move off. We don't speak.

In the hall at the apartment block I fumble for my keys. For a moment I'm nervous. He slides a warm hand across my kidney as I rummage in my bag. I forget what it is to be nervous. It's a game, a foregone conclusion.

I open the door to my rooms and we go into the silence together. I take a drink of water and look across at him as I down the lukewarm liquid. I imagine his cock in his pants and how it might taste. I close my eyes, letting the water run over my tongue in the darkness. When I reopen them he stands with his hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground. His brown hair obscures the expression on his face. He plays with his feet, leaning on the arches, balancing and then bringing them flat to the floor.

Tim looks up. Clears his throat.

“Come here.”

Before I've closed the distance between us entirely I've started work on the buttons of his shirt. It's a light plaid, not dissimilar to mine and I want it gone. It feels like I'm unwrapping a present. He brushes my hair back behind my ear, assisting me and at the same time adding a tingling sensation to my face, my neck and the zero-ing heat in my middle.

A gentle finger under my chin draws my eye line away from small, clear buttons. This time it's Tim who leans in, offering his lips for an embrace. The moment feels quiet, fragile, a palpable amount of trust in the air. In my minds eye our passion explodes like sex in a foreign film, all heaving breaths and rank, rabid movement as the participants devour one another in love play. Tim takes his time. He presses kisses on my mouth as though savouring the taste.

With my eyes closed I will him to hurry up. I don't want gentle, I don't want affection. My body sings to be fucked. I lean in, opening my mouth, our teeth click. My eyes are closed as I fumble for shirt buttons, clearing the material from his chest, bending my head, biting his nipple. He squirms, swats me away. His eyes are a deeper blue, steeped in lust. I lick my lips and flick his belt buckle.

Tim takes a run at my shirt, foregoing buttons, a few of them pop as he slides material over my breasts, over my head, discarding the garment carelessly on the floor. I've a light pink lace bra and my nipples stand to attention trapped beneath it. Tim bends his head and adds moisture to the lace, embracing first one aureole, then the other in a sloppy, covetous kiss.

“Oo Oh.”

I can't help it. I squeeze my thighs together. He rubs the front of my skirt, cupping what he can find of my pussy in my tight, navy work skirt.

“Paula?”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me what you want?”

I open my eyes. He drags a thumb across the wet material on my nipple, expertly distracting my thoughts.

“I want you to take all your clothes off. I want to watch you do it. By the time you get to naked I want your stiff cock to spring free, begging to be buried in me. I want you to stand in front of me and hold onto it. So I can see you throbbing to fuck a woman. Then I want you to go find my bedroom. I'll get undressed. I'll follow you and I want you to start by eating my pussy. What I want most is to have your head buried between my legs... You know, you've got beautiful eyes”

“And you've a dirty mouth.” His voice is uncommonly deep, desirous.

I take a breath, close my eyes to steady myself.

“Will you do it?”

“No.”

Tim unclasps my bra and removes the lace garment. My breasts feel heavy, needy. He cups them in both hands and slides his palms up my torso. I snap the catch on his pants. My shaking thumb and forefinger find the zipper, the cotton of his jocks and the cock beneath. His adam's apple bobs in amazement. I take the flesh and grasp his meat in my hand. It grows and grows. Tim kicks off his shoes.

He leads me to the couch, just a few steps away and seats me facing him. We kiss. It's an encounter loaded with promise and heavy breathing. I revel in it. Our messy tongues find warm, moist flesh. Tim rips my tights. He rolls them down, off my thighs and shimmies up my skirt. My knickers are damp and he tugs my hips towards him, I slump in the seat. He drags my knickers to one side and tastes my pussy, wetting the material and my flesh with his tongue. It's delicious. I squirm, reaching to bury my hands into his hair.

“Ah!”

My knickers slide off in his deft hands and I spread my thighs wide. Tim licks and toys with my clit. I tremble, I ache. I ply at his shoulders, willing him to break contact with my wet skin. I want his cock to slide inside me. I can feel an orgasm blooming.

He inserts digits. I lose control. On the verge of orgasm I pull on his arms. Come to me. Don't let me die in your arms. Lust and blackness engulf my vision. I feel him pull back, finally, moments before my surrender. He sits astride the coffee table, creating distance between us. His proud, protruding member is hard and thick. I lick my lips, crawl on my knees towards him but fail to take the meat in my mouth. Instead we exchange sticky kisses, he tastes of sweat and me. It's exhilarating. I waste no time beginning to slide my pussy down his pole.

His blue eyes are hidden behind dilated irises. Tim's breath is short and his chest heaves. I feel so proud. We both look down at the connection of our sexes, my pussy juice coating his shaft. Before I'm sunk full of cock, he braces his heels and moves us, until I'm buried in the couch, my back to the cushions, cock meat all the way in.

“Unnngh!”

I bite my lip bury my nose in his neck. I don't want him to stroke. I feel sated, played, he's all the way inside me and I'm full up, dominated, aroused. With his big hands, Tim tilts my hips. His thumbs press upon my hip bones and his cock begins to glide in and out. Blue-black eyes feast on my expression. I stare back up at him, relishing the unfamiliar feeling of being taken, ridden, enjoyed.

I use my hands to steady us and make an effort to push back. The couch is too forgiving and the sensation dwindles. Wordlessly we switch to the floor, dragging a cushion for my pelvis and another for my head as we shift. My toes touch his ears as he drives into my softness. I'm alive. I tingle with knowledge and the precipice beckons. I don't know when I'll fall.

Tim leans back, he takes a moment to watch his cock as it hides and reveals itself. Then he licks a thumb and thrusts it towards my clit. I grind on his hand and explode into shards of delirium. Tim stops the action of his fingers and shifts his weight. He pistons into me, shaking with the effort of it. I hold onto his back, his butt; spent and waiting for him to cum.

He doesn't. Instead he withdraws, I keep my legs spread and he beckons my hands, willing me to jerk him off as I lie underneath him. Blue eyes wander over my prone body. I feel him go extra-specially hard in my hands. He cups my breast. I bite my lip and concentrate on the action of pumping his purple cock. He shudders and a ribbon of semen explodes onto my belly. His cock pulses, still in my hand. Spoof runs down my digits.

He drops his weight onto his hands and leans down to kiss me on the lips. He's panting more than I and we are both slightly sticky with sweat. I let go of his penis. I wipe my hand along the cooling cum on my belly and taste it, just for effect. I get dimples as payoff. Tim flops down onto the floor at my side and for a moment we both stare at my familiar ceiling.

Shyly I slide a palm over his hip. I lean on one elbow, looking at my freshly-found lover. After a moment he opens his eyes.

“Wow.”

Silence.

“I've never picked up a woman on public transport before.”

“I wanted to fuck you on the bus.”

“You have a terrible poker face.”

Tim kisses my nose.