I am a writer, not a storyteller, and thus I need your help. I just began writing at the end of the summer, and am thus, running the course of the writings I am willing to share. So this message is to the vocal among you: please share your ideas with me... I know you have them. I will write just about anything as long as it's among consenting adults. E-mail me, facebook me, share with me...
Thank you,
Your
Pscyhe
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Camp Lindenwood Series: Pt. 4/5 Dirty Laundry
Chapter 4: Dirty Laundry
Halla
Today is Sunday, the last day of a long summer at Camp Lindenwood. In just a few days I will be returning to my small hometown in Finland, a cold little town close to the sea. I have been in America for a year, first as an exchange student and now working at camp. The other girls at camp, Simone especially, are much more sophisticated than I am, much more self-assured, but I do heartily doubt, that any of them are more experienced.
Anyway, I am in the laundry room on a rainy Sunday afternoon. The campers are gone, most of them left after closing ceremony earlier this morning. After that, most of the counselors crawled back to bed… we don’t have to leave for like another 48 hours. Donna, the senior counselor, (though I think she is right about my age, 18) asked me this morning if I would help her go through some laundry, linens and things that had to be cleaned and stored for the season… So, while she was running through each of the cabins, stripping sheets off of beds, I was alone in the laundry room reading a magazine. I hear a creak as the screen door opens. Because I was expecting Donna, I never even looked up from my reading, never noticed that it wasn’t in fact Donna, who entered at all, but it was the man whose name I’ve heard my friends whisper when they think they’re alone: Master Drake.
The first thing I notice, after I notice him at all, is that he is shirtless, the second thing I notice is the significant size of the bulge cupped between his legs. Now, I’m not loud, I’m not ostentatious, but like I told you before, I come from a small.fishing.town…. in FINLAND. There’s not much to do, and I bore quite easily.
Flushing, I put down my magazine and extend my legs which had been haphazardly creased along the chair, exposing my upper thighs under the pale pink of my skirt, a remnant of this morning’s festivities.
“Relax” he says, putting his hand on my knee.
He moves to the small fridge in the corner of the laundry and takes out a coke. Returning to me, pulling up a chair, he smiles.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me” he continues. I feel the spray of his soda mist the ridge of my chest….
“…I know all of your secrets.”
And then, brushing my wavy auburn hair away from my ear, he proceeds to whisper intimate details… of my life, my liaisons…. names: Erik, Anton, Aldo, Mike, CJ…. Intimate acts he repeats back to me… details that make my cheeks blaze scarlet.
“Donna… that bitch.”
It comes to me in a flash, decorating the gym. For the dance. A leisurely conversation… girl talk… that’s what she had said.
“on the dining room table… in the park after church… in your Sunday clothes…”
“two at one time… in the alley behind the school….”
“on my desk… right here at the camp… during the bonfire.”
“in a canoe in the middle of the day” I continue… my voice is a monotone.
“on the laundry room floor” he finishes. Dropping me back, lifting my skirt, his face is soon plastered with the sticky smears of my cunt.
“with my boss…” I trail off….
“no bitch,” he says gently, lifting me off my chair and placing me on the floor,
“with your master.”
I shiver as he pulls off my thin tank top… pulls my pale pink skirt over my head… unsnaps the tiny hooks piecing together my blue bra, and wrestles me out of my lacy thong. I lift my arms over my head, extend them across the hard concrete floor. He is kissing my arm pits, my wrists, my breasts, my electric green eyes. He is scraping the round knowledge of my clitoris with the scratch of his chin. Kneading me.
“Tell me, my pet” he says, pinning my long arms to the cold floor. “tell me about the boys you have fucked. Tell me about them all. Tell me while a real master shows you how to do it properly.”
My mind races… where to start? Where to start?
“Tell me now, pet.”
I feel the tip of his cock probe the wet seat of my pussy. The words are bubbling up inside of my throat.
“Tommy… from Juniper cabin…” I begin breathlessly as I feel the first stab.
“Tell me more… slut” I hear the command, feel it too.
“On his bunk bed, about four hours ago” I moan.
“Go on. Slut”
“Aldo, back at home, in Finland. In the candy shop owned by his parents” I weep.
He is petting my hair, my long auburn tresses. Bending my body into an “L” his wrists clutch my ankles. Pushing himself in and out of the crescent of my cunt.
“Tell me about Aldo” he commands. A pierce. A jab.
My heart is racing; I struggle to recall.
“Aldo?” I whisper. “Aldo his hands were too sweaty and his penis was small.”
“That’s better pet… and Tommy?”
“Tommy… Tommy …. Tommy came very quickly.”
“How quickly, pet?”
“Under a minute” I reply.
“Go on”
“Greg.”
“Greg who loved to cuddle. Cuddle to hide the fact he’d never cum”
He is stopping me now… covering my red mouth with his hand… damming the flow of words. Before I can continue, he lifts me up. He places me on the top of the dryer… I feel the hum and vibration of the hot metal against my flesh. My nipples bend upwards as the sensation courses up my spine.
“Sit up” he commands.
I do.
“Touch yourself for me, slut.”
“Tell me what a dirty whore you really are.”
As the cycles of laundry spin around and around, the strum of the engine and the stroke of my fingers consume me. Thump. Thump. Thump. Sitting across from me now, in the chair I had vacated, he too, is pleasuring himself, moving in rhythm to my words.
And so I tell him. As he pIeases himself, as my own fingers plumb the recesses of my pussy, I tell him the stories: of sweaty nights, cool beaches, park benches and dirty garages. Of boys who came too soon, couldn’t cum at all… boys whose voices cracked in pain with every orgasm. Of older men whose hearts beat faster at the sight of my young girlish breasts, of boys whose manhood was hinged on every pitiful thrust. I tell him about two-at-a-times: mouth and cunt, filled with spicy, adolescent cum. Of girl-on-girl, with Ekatarina after school. He is leaning forward now, hinged on my words. My fingers are drenched in the sweat of my sweetness, puddling on top of the dryer lid.
Standing up, he pushes my head down, so that the front half of my body leans over his. He pushes my head down, down, down to suck the first drops of pre-cum off of his penis which throbs purple and red under the fluorescent lights.
“Tell me about your ass, pet-slut”
My lips are still stretched around the circumference of his dick.
“Who took your ass?”
“No one hath” I mumble, coming up for air. The heat of the dryer is dampening the hairs around my ears and neck, they stick to my throat in little dark orange swirls.
“No one?” he repeats, his eyes big, round with anticipation. Excitement. I feel the sudden hitch rise up in my mouth. I feel the sudden squirt of his passion squeeze down my throat. He clenches my jaw.
“Ask me”
As my mouth bubbles over with the taste of his seed, I do.
“Master Drake, will you please be the first to take my virgin ass?”
“Tomorrow.” He responds. “I will.”
For: Master Drake
Halla
Today is Sunday, the last day of a long summer at Camp Lindenwood. In just a few days I will be returning to my small hometown in Finland, a cold little town close to the sea. I have been in America for a year, first as an exchange student and now working at camp. The other girls at camp, Simone especially, are much more sophisticated than I am, much more self-assured, but I do heartily doubt, that any of them are more experienced.
Anyway, I am in the laundry room on a rainy Sunday afternoon. The campers are gone, most of them left after closing ceremony earlier this morning. After that, most of the counselors crawled back to bed… we don’t have to leave for like another 48 hours. Donna, the senior counselor, (though I think she is right about my age, 18) asked me this morning if I would help her go through some laundry, linens and things that had to be cleaned and stored for the season… So, while she was running through each of the cabins, stripping sheets off of beds, I was alone in the laundry room reading a magazine. I hear a creak as the screen door opens. Because I was expecting Donna, I never even looked up from my reading, never noticed that it wasn’t in fact Donna, who entered at all, but it was the man whose name I’ve heard my friends whisper when they think they’re alone: Master Drake.
The first thing I notice, after I notice him at all, is that he is shirtless, the second thing I notice is the significant size of the bulge cupped between his legs. Now, I’m not loud, I’m not ostentatious, but like I told you before, I come from a small.fishing.town…. in FINLAND. There’s not much to do, and I bore quite easily.
Flushing, I put down my magazine and extend my legs which had been haphazardly creased along the chair, exposing my upper thighs under the pale pink of my skirt, a remnant of this morning’s festivities.
“Relax” he says, putting his hand on my knee.
He moves to the small fridge in the corner of the laundry and takes out a coke. Returning to me, pulling up a chair, he smiles.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me” he continues. I feel the spray of his soda mist the ridge of my chest….
“…I know all of your secrets.”
And then, brushing my wavy auburn hair away from my ear, he proceeds to whisper intimate details… of my life, my liaisons…. names: Erik, Anton, Aldo, Mike, CJ…. Intimate acts he repeats back to me… details that make my cheeks blaze scarlet.
“Donna… that bitch.”
It comes to me in a flash, decorating the gym. For the dance. A leisurely conversation… girl talk… that’s what she had said.
“on the dining room table… in the park after church… in your Sunday clothes…”
“two at one time… in the alley behind the school….”
“on my desk… right here at the camp… during the bonfire.”
“in a canoe in the middle of the day” I continue… my voice is a monotone.
“on the laundry room floor” he finishes. Dropping me back, lifting my skirt, his face is soon plastered with the sticky smears of my cunt.
“with my boss…” I trail off….
“no bitch,” he says gently, lifting me off my chair and placing me on the floor,
“with your master.”
I shiver as he pulls off my thin tank top… pulls my pale pink skirt over my head… unsnaps the tiny hooks piecing together my blue bra, and wrestles me out of my lacy thong. I lift my arms over my head, extend them across the hard concrete floor. He is kissing my arm pits, my wrists, my breasts, my electric green eyes. He is scraping the round knowledge of my clitoris with the scratch of his chin. Kneading me.
“Tell me, my pet” he says, pinning my long arms to the cold floor. “tell me about the boys you have fucked. Tell me about them all. Tell me while a real master shows you how to do it properly.”
My mind races… where to start? Where to start?
“Tell me now, pet.”
I feel the tip of his cock probe the wet seat of my pussy. The words are bubbling up inside of my throat.
“Tommy… from Juniper cabin…” I begin breathlessly as I feel the first stab.
“Tell me more… slut” I hear the command, feel it too.
“On his bunk bed, about four hours ago” I moan.
“Go on. Slut”
“Aldo, back at home, in Finland. In the candy shop owned by his parents” I weep.
He is petting my hair, my long auburn tresses. Bending my body into an “L” his wrists clutch my ankles. Pushing himself in and out of the crescent of my cunt.
“Tell me about Aldo” he commands. A pierce. A jab.
My heart is racing; I struggle to recall.
“Aldo?” I whisper. “Aldo his hands were too sweaty and his penis was small.”
“That’s better pet… and Tommy?”
“Tommy… Tommy …. Tommy came very quickly.”
“How quickly, pet?”
“Under a minute” I reply.
“Go on”
“Greg.”
“Greg who loved to cuddle. Cuddle to hide the fact he’d never cum”
He is stopping me now… covering my red mouth with his hand… damming the flow of words. Before I can continue, he lifts me up. He places me on the top of the dryer… I feel the hum and vibration of the hot metal against my flesh. My nipples bend upwards as the sensation courses up my spine.
“Sit up” he commands.
I do.
“Touch yourself for me, slut.”
“Tell me what a dirty whore you really are.”
As the cycles of laundry spin around and around, the strum of the engine and the stroke of my fingers consume me. Thump. Thump. Thump. Sitting across from me now, in the chair I had vacated, he too, is pleasuring himself, moving in rhythm to my words.
And so I tell him. As he pIeases himself, as my own fingers plumb the recesses of my pussy, I tell him the stories: of sweaty nights, cool beaches, park benches and dirty garages. Of boys who came too soon, couldn’t cum at all… boys whose voices cracked in pain with every orgasm. Of older men whose hearts beat faster at the sight of my young girlish breasts, of boys whose manhood was hinged on every pitiful thrust. I tell him about two-at-a-times: mouth and cunt, filled with spicy, adolescent cum. Of girl-on-girl, with Ekatarina after school. He is leaning forward now, hinged on my words. My fingers are drenched in the sweat of my sweetness, puddling on top of the dryer lid.
Standing up, he pushes my head down, so that the front half of my body leans over his. He pushes my head down, down, down to suck the first drops of pre-cum off of his penis which throbs purple and red under the fluorescent lights.
“Tell me about your ass, pet-slut”
My lips are still stretched around the circumference of his dick.
“Who took your ass?”
“No one hath” I mumble, coming up for air. The heat of the dryer is dampening the hairs around my ears and neck, they stick to my throat in little dark orange swirls.
“No one?” he repeats, his eyes big, round with anticipation. Excitement. I feel the sudden hitch rise up in my mouth. I feel the sudden squirt of his passion squeeze down my throat. He clenches my jaw.
“Ask me”
As my mouth bubbles over with the taste of his seed, I do.
“Master Drake, will you please be the first to take my virgin ass?”
“Tomorrow.” He responds. “I will.”
For: Master Drake
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Meet my Newest Character: Pandora Jones
Hey Everyone,
Please meet my newest creation, Pandora Jones. Like all of my characters, there is a little bit of me inside her. Pandora is in her young thirties with dark hair and dark eyes. She has a petite frame, belied by large, round breasts. She has a compassionate heart but a lazy tempermant. She, like me, is a school teacher.
Pandora is married to her high school sweetheart, Cory. She married quite young, thus curtailing her sexual experiences with other men. They have been married for 10.5 years, but have recently entered into terms of "negotiated infidelity." Pandora;s stories will revolve around her escalating hijinks as she is suddenly free to explore what she has been missing for the past ten years.
Hope you enjoy!
~Psyche
Please meet my newest creation, Pandora Jones. Like all of my characters, there is a little bit of me inside her. Pandora is in her young thirties with dark hair and dark eyes. She has a petite frame, belied by large, round breasts. She has a compassionate heart but a lazy tempermant. She, like me, is a school teacher.
Pandora is married to her high school sweetheart, Cory. She married quite young, thus curtailing her sexual experiences with other men. They have been married for 10.5 years, but have recently entered into terms of "negotiated infidelity." Pandora;s stories will revolve around her escalating hijinks as she is suddenly free to explore what she has been missing for the past ten years.
Hope you enjoy!
~Psyche
Pandora's Box: A Hot Wife Story
Pandora’s Box: In which I lose my Wifely Virginity
By: Psyche Summer
It all began with the kitchen sink.
And the small leak that spread like melting butter: a small puddle that pooled along the base of the cupboard until it eventually expanded into puddles on the floor, tracing the treads of the ceramic tiles until I knew it was time to call the plumber.
I don’t know if… well, maybe subconsciously…. whether the whole thing had been planned in the back of my mind or not. My husband and I had recently had “the conversation,” a talk, or series of talks, really, in which, after more than a decade of marital fidelity, we had decided to take a “time out from monogamy.” But deciding to do something and actually doing it were two different things, and so that’s why it’s hard for me to say, in truth… what was planned and what happened of its own accord.
Jayson arrived at 11:30 that morning, his tall frame stopping to get through my doorway. Jayson had been tending to our family’s plumbing needs for many years… I had always been attracted to him… to the physicality of him… his tall, lanky body, his wide, agile hands… the curlicues of dark hair winding their way up his arms…
“Alright, Mrs. Jones,” he said, following me into the kitchen “what seems to be the problem today?”
Sidestepping puddles on the floor, I open the cupboard under the sink. He squats next to me, twisting his head to peer into the dark recesses of the cabinet.
“Ahhh, see here Mrs. Jones…” he is gesturing for me to bend.
I sink down on my knees next to him, dampening the hemline of my lemony yellow skirt in an accidental puddle, shift to follow where his finger points, my large breasts shifting, knocking against each other, threatening to spill out of the too-tiny v-neck in which they are bound.
“You have a leak right here at the base” he is explaining, guiding my finger to where a slow leak of water is cresting against the cool metal… “I can use some putty… patch it up right now?” he murmurs, turning toward me, brushing up against my body, so that I fall back a little on the balls of my feet, exposing the tops of my tanned thighs against the soft, bright hue of my skirt.
Sunlight pours through my kitchen window, dousing me in its gaze, I am not wearing panties. Does he notice, did he? I wasn’t sure at the moment, but something must have happened, because right then and there he takes his hand and rubs it along the base of my ankle, following the line of my calve, up, up, up… There’s no way, it was an accident.
“So…” I respond… leaning back onto the flat of my forearms… “you can plug up my hole?” A wink, nod of assent, a not so clever pun…. Is all the permission he needs to mount my lap, stroking my hair, bending my head back, hands feeling up my shirt, unsnapping the hooks of my bra, there on my kitchen floor. I can feel my heart beatg up against my rib cage... feel the rush of excitement... mount.
I roll back onto the cold ceramic, spread my naked feet. He is lifting my shirt off of my head, pulling off the stubborn tug of my bra… letting my large, round breasts respond to the touch of his large hands, rolling them back and forth, enamored of their resiliency as they loll and bump against his playful swats. His mouth is bending down, sucking at my hard, pink nipples. His hands now reaching into the gathers of my skirt, fumbling in their folds, until he finds the wet, warm invitation of my cunt. Pressing his thumb against my rough, he spreads the lips of my labia with one hand as he unharnesses his cock with the other. I guess what they say about guys with big hands is true….
First he rubs his dick between my breasts, letting it push its way into the perimeter of my face, its tip just brushing my half-way opened lips. Squeezing my breasts together, almost to the point of pain, forming a mountainous sheath for his rock hard cock, as it threatens to saw off my neck… his gritty abdomen folds against my nose, I taste… smell the stench of his pre-cum as it dribbles onto my lips.
He is entering my pussy… my marital reserve, filling my loins with the thick of his penis, engorging my cunt with his foeign fat... it feels strange... delicious...to feel him there... shoving his strengthening dick against me... when I hear the bang of the screen door, the familiar footfalls… My legs are curled up against his torso, pushed into twin sideways “V”s when Cory enters the kitchen, my mouth twisted in the early stage of ecstasy. I can feel the throb of Jayson’s cock inside me, the thunder of my pulse as I wonder what Cory will say.
He doesn’t say a word. I am at a bad angle, can’t even tell if his face registers the shock. I hear him set his bags down with a thump. Hear Jayson pull up as Cory comes to collect me, extract me from Jayson’s embrace, grabbing me by my wrist, lifting me off the cold, wet floor. Giving my now bare ass a smack as he pushes me out of the kitchen, leading me up the stairs and into our bedroom where he pushes me, face down into the bed, my legs, dangling over the edge.
He pulls my hair back as he unzips his pants, calls me a slut as he pulls out his dick. Standing behind me, savoring the red flush of my face and of my behind as he smacks it again, with the flat of his hand as he enters me, feels my muscles in spasms around him as he lays his hands on me again, sees me writhe against the sheets I had just put on the bed this morning. He watches my dangling legs dance with each of his thrusts until the room spins, reverberating with the mixed stereo of his low groans and my high, piercing yelps… until Jayson is thundering up the steps, entering uninvited… climbing into my bed to arrest his desire… filling my mouth with his unsatisfaction, his hot, vein-y cock cutting off the thrill of my screaming, muffled in its enormity, while behind me my husband is pushing… so hard, so far… his fingers pressed into the soft core of my flesh as he forces his way into the narrow furthest reaches of my cunt, his excitement driving him to extremes…
My body is stretched between them… feels like it is going to be ripped in two. Behind me, my husband’s fingers probe my ass as his dick wreaks savage on my cunt, the dull ache of his first thrusts giving way to the all out, lungs-exploding passion of my orgasm. And in front of me, I am blinded by pubis, the thick, dark hairs, matted against his pelvic bone, the hard smack as he rockets against my face, the damp smell of sweat and dirty water… mix, mingle, blur in my mind… my body is twitching… pushed and pulled between their fevered touch. Until one after the other they cum, jetting their cream into my body, one then the other, filling my face, my pussy with the spent of their stamina, their salty seed dribbling out of my open mouth and down the length of my thighs.
Cory wipes his hands in the smear of his stain, running it through my dark hair, strung with fine lines of copper. Jayson, following his lead, does the same, running long fingers against my chin, catching droplets of his cum, running his fingers through my tresses, until my hair is mangled stiff with the mingled juices of their bodies… as the sighs that have racked my body slowly subside…. as the time clock beckons and the men rise to their feet, one by one leaving my room. I hear their footfalls on the steps, indistinct words… the opening and closing of the door, the start of engines… until I am alone…
My wifely virginity taken, I am alone now with my Pandora’s box: my mind is racing… the plumber, the butcher, the lawyer…. His best friend Mike, our neighbor Frank…. As I get up to shower, to wash the twin shots of cum out of my hair, I see the next few years of my life unfold before me… I am ready for the ride.
For: Eammon
By: Psyche Summer
It all began with the kitchen sink.
And the small leak that spread like melting butter: a small puddle that pooled along the base of the cupboard until it eventually expanded into puddles on the floor, tracing the treads of the ceramic tiles until I knew it was time to call the plumber.
I don’t know if… well, maybe subconsciously…. whether the whole thing had been planned in the back of my mind or not. My husband and I had recently had “the conversation,” a talk, or series of talks, really, in which, after more than a decade of marital fidelity, we had decided to take a “time out from monogamy.” But deciding to do something and actually doing it were two different things, and so that’s why it’s hard for me to say, in truth… what was planned and what happened of its own accord.
Jayson arrived at 11:30 that morning, his tall frame stopping to get through my doorway. Jayson had been tending to our family’s plumbing needs for many years… I had always been attracted to him… to the physicality of him… his tall, lanky body, his wide, agile hands… the curlicues of dark hair winding their way up his arms…
“Alright, Mrs. Jones,” he said, following me into the kitchen “what seems to be the problem today?”
Sidestepping puddles on the floor, I open the cupboard under the sink. He squats next to me, twisting his head to peer into the dark recesses of the cabinet.
“Ahhh, see here Mrs. Jones…” he is gesturing for me to bend.
I sink down on my knees next to him, dampening the hemline of my lemony yellow skirt in an accidental puddle, shift to follow where his finger points, my large breasts shifting, knocking against each other, threatening to spill out of the too-tiny v-neck in which they are bound.
“You have a leak right here at the base” he is explaining, guiding my finger to where a slow leak of water is cresting against the cool metal… “I can use some putty… patch it up right now?” he murmurs, turning toward me, brushing up against my body, so that I fall back a little on the balls of my feet, exposing the tops of my tanned thighs against the soft, bright hue of my skirt.
Sunlight pours through my kitchen window, dousing me in its gaze, I am not wearing panties. Does he notice, did he? I wasn’t sure at the moment, but something must have happened, because right then and there he takes his hand and rubs it along the base of my ankle, following the line of my calve, up, up, up… There’s no way, it was an accident.
“So…” I respond… leaning back onto the flat of my forearms… “you can plug up my hole?” A wink, nod of assent, a not so clever pun…. Is all the permission he needs to mount my lap, stroking my hair, bending my head back, hands feeling up my shirt, unsnapping the hooks of my bra, there on my kitchen floor. I can feel my heart beatg up against my rib cage... feel the rush of excitement... mount.
I roll back onto the cold ceramic, spread my naked feet. He is lifting my shirt off of my head, pulling off the stubborn tug of my bra… letting my large, round breasts respond to the touch of his large hands, rolling them back and forth, enamored of their resiliency as they loll and bump against his playful swats. His mouth is bending down, sucking at my hard, pink nipples. His hands now reaching into the gathers of my skirt, fumbling in their folds, until he finds the wet, warm invitation of my cunt. Pressing his thumb against my rough, he spreads the lips of my labia with one hand as he unharnesses his cock with the other. I guess what they say about guys with big hands is true….
First he rubs his dick between my breasts, letting it push its way into the perimeter of my face, its tip just brushing my half-way opened lips. Squeezing my breasts together, almost to the point of pain, forming a mountainous sheath for his rock hard cock, as it threatens to saw off my neck… his gritty abdomen folds against my nose, I taste… smell the stench of his pre-cum as it dribbles onto my lips.
He is entering my pussy… my marital reserve, filling my loins with the thick of his penis, engorging my cunt with his foeign fat... it feels strange... delicious...to feel him there... shoving his strengthening dick against me... when I hear the bang of the screen door, the familiar footfalls… My legs are curled up against his torso, pushed into twin sideways “V”s when Cory enters the kitchen, my mouth twisted in the early stage of ecstasy. I can feel the throb of Jayson’s cock inside me, the thunder of my pulse as I wonder what Cory will say.
He doesn’t say a word. I am at a bad angle, can’t even tell if his face registers the shock. I hear him set his bags down with a thump. Hear Jayson pull up as Cory comes to collect me, extract me from Jayson’s embrace, grabbing me by my wrist, lifting me off the cold, wet floor. Giving my now bare ass a smack as he pushes me out of the kitchen, leading me up the stairs and into our bedroom where he pushes me, face down into the bed, my legs, dangling over the edge.
He pulls my hair back as he unzips his pants, calls me a slut as he pulls out his dick. Standing behind me, savoring the red flush of my face and of my behind as he smacks it again, with the flat of his hand as he enters me, feels my muscles in spasms around him as he lays his hands on me again, sees me writhe against the sheets I had just put on the bed this morning. He watches my dangling legs dance with each of his thrusts until the room spins, reverberating with the mixed stereo of his low groans and my high, piercing yelps… until Jayson is thundering up the steps, entering uninvited… climbing into my bed to arrest his desire… filling my mouth with his unsatisfaction, his hot, vein-y cock cutting off the thrill of my screaming, muffled in its enormity, while behind me my husband is pushing… so hard, so far… his fingers pressed into the soft core of my flesh as he forces his way into the narrow furthest reaches of my cunt, his excitement driving him to extremes…
My body is stretched between them… feels like it is going to be ripped in two. Behind me, my husband’s fingers probe my ass as his dick wreaks savage on my cunt, the dull ache of his first thrusts giving way to the all out, lungs-exploding passion of my orgasm. And in front of me, I am blinded by pubis, the thick, dark hairs, matted against his pelvic bone, the hard smack as he rockets against my face, the damp smell of sweat and dirty water… mix, mingle, blur in my mind… my body is twitching… pushed and pulled between their fevered touch. Until one after the other they cum, jetting their cream into my body, one then the other, filling my face, my pussy with the spent of their stamina, their salty seed dribbling out of my open mouth and down the length of my thighs.
Cory wipes his hands in the smear of his stain, running it through my dark hair, strung with fine lines of copper. Jayson, following his lead, does the same, running long fingers against my chin, catching droplets of his cum, running his fingers through my tresses, until my hair is mangled stiff with the mingled juices of their bodies… as the sighs that have racked my body slowly subside…. as the time clock beckons and the men rise to their feet, one by one leaving my room. I hear their footfalls on the steps, indistinct words… the opening and closing of the door, the start of engines… until I am alone…
My wifely virginity taken, I am alone now with my Pandora’s box: my mind is racing… the plumber, the butcher, the lawyer…. His best friend Mike, our neighbor Frank…. As I get up to shower, to wash the twin shots of cum out of my hair, I see the next few years of my life unfold before me… I am ready for the ride.
For: Eammon
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Camp Lindenwood Part 3/5 Of Clowns and Other Costumes
Chapter 3: Of Clowns and other Costumes
Donna
The next day is Saturday. Together with Halla, Avery and Simone I am decorating the gym for tonight’s grand finale, the homecoming dance. This year’s theme? A costume party. As we hang streamers and inflate balloons, I watch each of the three girls that remain from my master’s selection. I survey each one’s body, temperament, preferences and habits, making mental notes. Instead of painting banners I
study the way Simone paints her lips a deep crimson to contrast her light red hair. Instead of testing the sound system I quiz Halla on the sexual conquests she experienced as an exchange student earlier this year. And instead of covering the 15 round tables scattered across the gym with 15 little gold tablecloths, I observe how Avery covers her body with the loose folds of her flowery sun-dresses, hiding the graceful figure that lurks beneath.
As night descends the cabins are a-bustle with campers and counselors readying themselves for the evening’s festivities. In the girl cabins, which I head, carefree adolescents, independent of their fathers’ watchful reproaches are bedecking themselves as scantily clad geniis, French waitresses, and other assorted stereotypes. I would like to say that the counselors took a more mature approach, but that would be a sad little lie. I myself, knowing what is on my master’s agenda for the evening, have selected a cowgirl costume. In my tight blue plaid shirt knotted at the waist, short dark tan shorts, cowboy boots and ten gallon hat, I am hardly the picture of modesty. My hair is braided into two little braids, much as it was on that very first day: the day I became pet number 16; the buttons of my blouse can barely contain the cups of my overflowing bra. The other girls are no better.
When I enter the crowded gym, I feel like I have been displaced inside a thirteen year old’s wet dream. Everywhere I look, I see skin. Pale skin, tanned skin, dark skin, green skin, floating about me in an orgasm of tulle and satin, spandex and paper mache. Costumes, a flimsy mask… a poor excuse for a chance to abandon inhibitions for the night. In the middle of the room I see Simone and Halla. They are dancing across from each other, playfully tapping each other on the shoulders, on the breasts… laughing, caressing each other’s hips… kissing the air that floats between them. Simone, is a Neko style cat of some sort. As usual, she has not expended too much effort, letting the sleek lines of her svelte body speak for themselves. She is wearing a tight, leopard print, corset style dress. The dress hugs her small chest into little, cupcake sized orbs. Orbs lined in edges of fine black lace. She is wearing slender black kitten pumps and two furry cat ears part her wave of red hair. Across from her Halla is draped in… what appears to be just a long white, v-necked t-shirt… it’s a little sheer… and clings to the curves of her body. She is wearing white go-go boots and tiny feathery wings (I thought I saw her and Emma Bixby working on them in the craft shack just the other day) which are pinned to her back. Through her auburn hair, across her smiling face … and on her chest? She has dusted a fine gold powder. An angel.
I watch them for a minute or two, the rhythm of their bodies, tapping each other, bumping and rubbing under the rotating party lights is mesmerizing. Hypnotic. I make a mental note to myself before moving on, snaking my way along the edge of the gym, nodding to buff Trojans and pleather clad firefighters…
In the corner I see him. My master. Master Drake. He is wearing a samurai costume of black embroidered silk, two swords, the diasho, are clapped behind his back. I have my suspicions about what is really sheathed in those two bucklers, but I am sure my curiosity will soon be satisfied. Wrapped around my master’s neck, by wrists she has shackled together herself, is Kelly. Kelly, in a strategically shredded black and white striped tank top and black cut-offs, her hair braided into a whip.
Kelly
In the corner I see my chance. There are so many fucking hormones floating around this room right now… no one would notice a little funny stuff in the corner. Still, I’d have to act fast or I’d have to give the other girls the flick. Oh shit. Donna just walked in the room and I know Sho’ won’t be far behind. Pressing my crotch up to Master Drake’s silk-covered erection, I rub my breasts against his chest. Ask him if he would be so kind as to notice my tits. He bends his head down to watch them bounce around a little as I grind against his fat cock. My arms circle his neck; I rub my long fingers along his hairline. Open my mouth. He sees that it is not empty.
“A present, for me, pet?” he asks, leaning in.
“Yeth,” I grin, spreading shiny pink lips.
As I feel him dip in, part my lips with his hungry mouth, suck my tongue and extract my gift, I swell with pride. He reaches into his mouth, spits the hard, metal object into his hand. Lifting my handcuffed arms above his head…. And in his hand. A key.
Simone
When the music stops I drop my arms to my sides and walk off the dance floor. Halla follows. There are waaaayyyy too many people in here. I make a beeline for the door. I would like some air. As usual, when I pass through the throngs, people step aside, make room for me. I am used to that. I ask Halla if she will go get me something to drink… I tell her a chardonnay… (ha!) and wind my way over to the door. I am dying to leave.
On my way out the door I pass Shoshanna, who has, apparently, just arrived. She is costumed as Harley Quinn, the sociopathic psychiatrist from the Batman comics, but I bet she doesn’t know that. She just thinks she’s a clown, and in my estimation, she’s not too far off. The French, however, are comic book connoisseurs, and I am no exception.
“You must’ve got here early” she says to me, the tiny bells she has tied to her wrists and ankles tinkle with every remark.
I roll my eyes.
“I got here early so that I could leave early”
I move on.
Where is Halla with my drink? I vacate the gymnasium as quickly as possible, preferring to wait for my drink outside away from the mooobbss of people, but when I get outside I find that under the single street lamp illuminating the door, I am not alone.
Under the light, by the door, sipping a huge glass of water, is Drake, the head of the camp. My mouth waters.
“Pardon…” I try to squeeze by his frame, “excusez m….”
“Leaving so soon?” he is staring down at me, not exactly friendly, but not so bad, really, either. He has this magnetism…. that I had not noticed before. I squirm a little under his gaze, then shrug it off. He is dressed in a black silken costume with red and bronze dragons crisscrossing his chest and back. His eyes are blue.
“Are you going to dock my pay if I do?” I ask. I smile up at him. Let my splash of red hair fall away from my face…
“Oh, I am sure there are plenty of ways you could make up any lost wages…” He is laughing too. Laughing as he palms my ass with his hand.
“Stay” he insists. “Stay until the end.”
I sigh. Try to avert my eyes. I am really thirsty.
When I turn back to the door, I run into Halla. She is carrying two cups of a sickening red punch. I breeze past her. “We’re staying.”
Donna
The girls are all here, all here now that Simone has re-entered the gym. I know Avery, it’s not her time yet. I see her serving food in her pleated skirt and blue checked apron, her little red hoodie, her loose Boticelli curls framing her round blue eyes. “Little Red Riding Hood, how well will you ride HIM?” I wonder to myself. I know she will, we all will soon enough.
Shoshanna has now taken over Simone’s spotlight, in the middle of the dance floor doing the limbo. Her black, white and red leotard stretches over the span of her breasts and her hair, done up in pigtails tied with coordinating ribbons, sweeps the floor as she arches backwards, her nipples, apparent against the sheen of spandex, just touching, not quite tipping the metal bar stretched over her. Everyone is watching. Everyone is laughing. I am waiting… waiting… waiting.
Finally, at like 12:30, when the adolescent libido begins to lag, the revelers begin to disperse. Kelly and Shoshanna have, of course, already volunteered for clean-up crew… knowing full well what that would entail. But I am shocked as hell when I see Simone kiss Halla on the cheek, wave her off and stay behind as well. It is dark, late when we begin the tedious work of stripping the tables and throwing away the piles of debris that litter the floor. Kelly is no help either as she says she has lost the key to her handcuffs. Instead she just sits on the bleachers, waiting. We are all still waiting.
Simone
Drake is sitting by himself at one of the chairs that skirt the dance floor. I feel his eyes surveying my body as I slip by him, feel his appraisal of my tiny breasts, my French curves, my fine ass. I bend down, reach under his seat, gather the fallen napkins that lay prostrate on the floor. As I lean back into a standing position, I feel his hand, firm on my arm. He is looking at me directly. He takes my right breast. Strokes it with his fingers.
“Tell me” he says “what do you do?”
All around me, the bustle has stopped, three girls await my response.
“I do everyzing” I murmur, my voice low. I brush strands of saffron colored hair out of my eyes.
“Now you tell me…” I continue, settling against his knee… “what iz it zat you do?”
“I zee all deese guuurls… they are soo enthralled by you… what iz it about you that makes all zee girls cum?”
He snaps his fingers with his spare hand, the one that hasn’t lit onto my right tit, burrowed under the stiff silk of my top and begun to pinch my nipple. Soundlessly, all three girls are at his side.
“Would you like to find out?” He is looking at me, earnestly, placing one of my small hands against the swelling in his crotch.
I stand up, turn around to face him. “I will admit…” I say, straddling his lap with my two lithe legs, the slip of my dress riding up my thighs, “I am curious…” my voice trails away… “curious to know…. will you make me cum?”
“You should rephrase that, pet” he says, rising from the table, letting me tumble from his lap. The other girls follow him to a long, oblong table, the one where Halla had retrieved my punch several hours before.
“How” he says, indicating that Donna should sit cross-legged at the head of the table.
“…how will I make you cum.”
Shoshanna
Master Drake has settled himself on the table. His head rests in Donna’s naked lap, his dark hair is bedded by her cunt. She is all naked now, except for her hat and boots. I too have peeled away my body suit, and at master’s command, have mounted the table next to him. Fingering my ass, gripping the fat flesh of my cheeks, leaving hard, red imprints, he lowers me onto the heart of his erection.
“Thank you Master Drake” I gasp, as I feel his head burrow into the recesses of my pussy.
“Touch yourself, cunt” he demands. I begin to fondle my clitoris, but he is impatient, grabbing my hands and moving them up and down up, on me.
“Match my rhythm” he demands “do it now.”
I ride him vigorously, trying to match the escalating violence in which he is groping my clit, pulverizing its tiny red swirl with his palm. My tumescent breasts are knocking against each other like two harnessed balloons. The tinker-bells strung to my ankles and in my hair jangle with every heave and thrust. My back is arched into a backwards “C” of contorted passion.
Donna is pulling me forward now, pulling me by my arms and by the rounds of my chest. She is lowering her head against my nipples, licking their airy plumpness, like rose colored gum drops that stiffen under the nips of her small, white teeth. Then she is kissing my mouth, licking my eyelids… returning again to sip on my bosom.
Master Drake is pulsating against the weight of my body. I am beginning to cum. Too soon, I moan. The transluscence of my wetness soaks, streaks my master’s legs…
“MASTER DRAKE… MAAASTTTEERRR DRAAAkkke….” My eyes are closed, my mouth is dry. My head is rattling with the force of each thrust.
Behind me, Kelly has wrapped her long, handcuffed arms around my neck. She is licking my ears, kissing my throat.
“You’re making that bitch cum already, master” she moans above the increasing volume of my shrieks.
“Puh-leeaaseee…” she continues, rubbing her head up against mine, touching his abdomen with her long fingers… “let me be next. Let me have your cum.”
Kelly
I know Shoshanna’s my friend and everything, but hey, “all’s fair in love and war” and this was one war I intended to win. Even with my wrists bound together, I am at least 4 inches taller than Shoshanna and much stronger. I push her, with all of my weight, cradling her in the circle of my arms until she has toppled off of the master, capsized onto his chest, her tits wrapped in his hands. I ignore her look of rage and fall upon his dick. First, hungry, I lick of Sho’s juices. I finger his ass hole, I kiss Shoshanna’s which pricks at my touch. I finesse my master’s hungry dick with my shackled hands.
“Tell her to turn around, master” I say, indicating Shoshanna who looks like she is ready to kill me.
“Do it yourself” he responds calmly, parting the lengths of his silken tunic so that I can better service him with my mouth.
“Turn around Shoshanna,” I say, “you’re gonna lick my fucking ass.”
Shoshanna ignores me.
Sitting by herself, on a folding chair a few feet from where we lay, Simone is watching us. Her face is blank; I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but she is watching. She is definitely watching.
“Yo, Sho-ee,” I urge, “I’m turning around, turn around, rim my ass…”
Shoshanna doesn’t budge.
“Do it.” I hear him tell her, his mouth close to her face. “Listen to her.”
I see Shoshanna’s chin jut out, she is mad as hell, but she does what she is told. Extending her tan legs, she pivots as I swivel around on the table and ask my master to take me, like he did my sister pet… only I will do him backwards.
I feel him, probe, push, insert himself into the narrow tunnels of my cunt. I feel him slant against the natural curve of my body, and then slam against the rough of my g-spot almost immediately. I hear him grunt with pleasure as Shoshanna grudgingly bends and licks the entrance to my ass, her turned up nose rubbing the thick of my crack.
“Aww gawd,” I pant as the addictive flush comes rushing upon me. My body crumples as I plunge over him, again and again… My hands are useless, balled up in front of me, grabbing the edge of the table. My long, gazelle-like legs are the only things that keep me up, they are squeezed around my master’s legs. In back of me Shoshanna is tonguing my ass. Licking me, suckling my skin. And he in turn is tonguing hers…. Probing the dimple of her ass with the stiff of his tongue. An appetizer, and sitting next to me, reclined in her chair, the straps of her dress falling down her arms, is the main course.
When I am done, when I can’t take any more, my energy spent when his is still hard, I grudgingly slither off the table. It’s awkward because my damn hands are still bound and my master has not decided that he is ready to release me. Shoshanna is also a fucking mess. Her one pigtail is all crooked. Her red lipstick is smeared across her face and down her neck so that she really does look like a fucking clown. She too dismounts.
Turning his head, master tells Simone “your turn.”
Donna
She stands up, slowly, languidly, shrugging off her dress, slithering out of her rose colored, lace panties. Master Drake bends over and hoists her onto his lap before reclining back onto his human pillow. Me.
Unlike the other girls, Simone takes her time. Doesn’t rush. She lifts her legs on either side of master, stretches them out, then tucks her still heeled feet underneath his knees, shifts her weight, plants her hands on his abdomen. She lifts her body, and slowly lowers it back down.
“Tu l’aime comme ca?” she whispers as his penis disappears into her flesh.
“Do you like it like this?”
Shoshanna
I am watching Simone waiting for her eruption of energy. Every hair on my body is primed, waiting to hear her scream….
Kelly
… but she doesn’t scream. She doesn’t yell. She hardly moves at all.
Donna
Her hands are planted firmly, squarely on master’s pelvis. I see the muscles of her stomach twitch and underneath her, suddenly, the unmistakable groans of my master.
“bitch” he calls her.
She still hasn’t moved.
“bitch….” he says it again, spits it. I can see the muscles around Simone’s ass, clench and unclench…. slowly, quickly… like a heartbeat.
She is speaking to him in her low, throaty voice, her red hair curtains her face.
“Qu’est ce je tu satisfait?”
Simone
“Do I satisfy you?” I whisper, bending over his prostrate form.
“Do I?” I have asked the question a million times, of a million different lovers, but never before had I cared about the response.
Inside of me, in the depths of myself, I feel his penis begin to twitch. My muscles surround him, wrap themselves around him, soft, warm, velvety muscles coil around his shaft. The corners of my labia unfold for him, the hot, moist walls of my vagina stretch and engulf him. Flank him like a thousand pink lips swallowing him whole.
I feel him inside me, his pulse and swell, his response to each palpitation, each clench and release. My muscles are strained with the effort, my orgasm stirring his own as my muscles convulse, collapse around him like the falling walls of Jericho.
“May I please…”
“have your cum…”
“s’il vous plait?”
To answer swiftly, he rises from his repose, knocking my ass to the tabletop, upending my legs. He is ripping himself from the tight grip, the confines of my sweetness, and soon he is ejaculating… in great, huge doses along the concourse of my stomach, spraying my small chest and along my arms.
As the two vampires draw near to suck his lather off of me, I lean close, my berry red lips to his ear.
“Face it Tiger, you just hit the jackpot.”
Shoshanna
That was the night I finally lost my virginity for the second time.
It wasn’t a very dignified picture. After Master Drake came all over Simone, after she made a big production of wiping it in Kelly and my hair, of rubbing our faces in it, literally until my nose stung with the salty burn, after Master was satisfied that not a single drop was wasted, he beckoned Kelly to undo his swords. Sheathed in them, instead of metal, were two dildos, a long, rigid one and a shorter thick one. Pulling a folding chair a few feet in front of him, he bids her sit. Beckoning Donna closer to him, he unfastens a chain from around her neck, upon which, I now notice, is strung a key. Bending down in front of Kelly’s expectant frame, Master unlocks each side of the cuffs; I hear the click as they fall away. Placing a dildo in each of her hands, he motions her to pleasure herself… one to her mouth and one in her cunt. As she begins the rhythm, the solitary salsa, he bends down and refastens the cuffs, one around her ankle and one around the center bar of the chair.
For me, another chair. I begin to sit.
“Not for you pet.” He says. He motions for me to crouch under it, my face obscured by the seat, my virgin ass pointed upward. On top of the chair perches Simone, she spreads her legs, revealing the downy fluff of fair hairs lining her entrance way. Her knees point upward, her feet wrap around the edge of the seat…
“Like zees, mastair?” she asks, smiling up at him
And so, like a clock being wound, our gears begin to shift, and our intricate quintet begins.
Master Drake, kneeling on the floor, his body erect, is massaging the pucker of my ass, it’s brown button is winking up at him. Underneath my chair, I shut my eyes and wait. Beside him, Kelly sits, chained to her seat, with a dick poking her throat and another pricking her belly. Every now and then, master reaches up to stroke her legs, sample the sour juices that she excretes with each pull. Behind him, his pet, his favorite, Donna, rims his ass with the confidence of having done it dozens of times before. With her hands, she pleasures herself, injecting her pussy with a flat fingered rush and then alternately inserrtng her fore-finger, like a corkscrew, into the ass of her lover. Simone, on her chair, has opened her legs like a book and Master Drake has buried his face in the warm comforts of her lap.
As for me, I am down on my knees and I am aflame. As I feel the weight of his dick, puncture the surface of my ass hole I almost collapse from shock and shame. Stubbornly, it refuses entry. I feel the slap, the smack of his hand, the sting of his reproach on the top of my ass.
“Don’t you want this, cunt?” he asks, lifting his face from Simone’s loins. He is teasing me, wiping his dick on the back of my thighs, bracing his legs for another go. “Maybe I should make you beg.”
“Please Master Drake…” I whimper; the humiliation, the attention, the desire all intermingled
“please… my ass is yours.”
He is probing my hole with his finger, his thumb, digging his nail into its tender skin, bracing me, testing me.
“How do you want it pet?” he demands I answer.
Through tears I respond “hard Master, please fuck my ass hard.”
And so, because I asked, that is what he does. Pulling the sides of my bottom apart with his hands, he plunges into my nether regions without a thought to my pain. I feel the sides of my anus tearing away as his cock parts them… rips them aside. I feel the nauseating burn as his dick slithers further and further. I am wriggling uncontrollably. I moan unintelligibly from under the chair. Simone’s foot is pushing down on my backbone; I finally hear her yell… almost, for her cries are drowned out by my own.
“You love it you little cunt, admit it, you love it” I hear him urge, he is covered in perspiration.
“Tell me…” he moans as he shudders…
“I love it. Master Drake” calls my muffled voice. “Please, please may I take your cum in my ass.”
Yet once I again, I am denied. As the moment of climax nears, Master Drake pulls away and proffers his filth covered dick to Simone who licks it daintily with round, raspberry lips, murmuring how good he has been to her, thanking him profusely while driblets of moisture run down her chin.
Donna
As Master Drake’s body lounges against my torso, his head on my shoulder, watching Simone lap up his mess, I run my hands along his temples, smooth out the crumples in his dark hair. Shoshanna has uncurled from her fetal position on the floor and Kelly has been released. Master Drake absent-mindedly runs his finger along the swirly pattern of the 16 engraved on my crotch. But before the post-coital glow can completely fade, I lean in, bend down and whisper four words in my master’s ear:
“Halla: laundry room: tomorrow.”
For the incomparable Master Drake
Donna
The next day is Saturday. Together with Halla, Avery and Simone I am decorating the gym for tonight’s grand finale, the homecoming dance. This year’s theme? A costume party. As we hang streamers and inflate balloons, I watch each of the three girls that remain from my master’s selection. I survey each one’s body, temperament, preferences and habits, making mental notes. Instead of painting banners I
study the way Simone paints her lips a deep crimson to contrast her light red hair. Instead of testing the sound system I quiz Halla on the sexual conquests she experienced as an exchange student earlier this year. And instead of covering the 15 round tables scattered across the gym with 15 little gold tablecloths, I observe how Avery covers her body with the loose folds of her flowery sun-dresses, hiding the graceful figure that lurks beneath.
As night descends the cabins are a-bustle with campers and counselors readying themselves for the evening’s festivities. In the girl cabins, which I head, carefree adolescents, independent of their fathers’ watchful reproaches are bedecking themselves as scantily clad geniis, French waitresses, and other assorted stereotypes. I would like to say that the counselors took a more mature approach, but that would be a sad little lie. I myself, knowing what is on my master’s agenda for the evening, have selected a cowgirl costume. In my tight blue plaid shirt knotted at the waist, short dark tan shorts, cowboy boots and ten gallon hat, I am hardly the picture of modesty. My hair is braided into two little braids, much as it was on that very first day: the day I became pet number 16; the buttons of my blouse can barely contain the cups of my overflowing bra. The other girls are no better.
When I enter the crowded gym, I feel like I have been displaced inside a thirteen year old’s wet dream. Everywhere I look, I see skin. Pale skin, tanned skin, dark skin, green skin, floating about me in an orgasm of tulle and satin, spandex and paper mache. Costumes, a flimsy mask… a poor excuse for a chance to abandon inhibitions for the night. In the middle of the room I see Simone and Halla. They are dancing across from each other, playfully tapping each other on the shoulders, on the breasts… laughing, caressing each other’s hips… kissing the air that floats between them. Simone, is a Neko style cat of some sort. As usual, she has not expended too much effort, letting the sleek lines of her svelte body speak for themselves. She is wearing a tight, leopard print, corset style dress. The dress hugs her small chest into little, cupcake sized orbs. Orbs lined in edges of fine black lace. She is wearing slender black kitten pumps and two furry cat ears part her wave of red hair. Across from her Halla is draped in… what appears to be just a long white, v-necked t-shirt… it’s a little sheer… and clings to the curves of her body. She is wearing white go-go boots and tiny feathery wings (I thought I saw her and Emma Bixby working on them in the craft shack just the other day) which are pinned to her back. Through her auburn hair, across her smiling face … and on her chest? She has dusted a fine gold powder. An angel.
I watch them for a minute or two, the rhythm of their bodies, tapping each other, bumping and rubbing under the rotating party lights is mesmerizing. Hypnotic. I make a mental note to myself before moving on, snaking my way along the edge of the gym, nodding to buff Trojans and pleather clad firefighters…
In the corner I see him. My master. Master Drake. He is wearing a samurai costume of black embroidered silk, two swords, the diasho, are clapped behind his back. I have my suspicions about what is really sheathed in those two bucklers, but I am sure my curiosity will soon be satisfied. Wrapped around my master’s neck, by wrists she has shackled together herself, is Kelly. Kelly, in a strategically shredded black and white striped tank top and black cut-offs, her hair braided into a whip.
Kelly
In the corner I see my chance. There are so many fucking hormones floating around this room right now… no one would notice a little funny stuff in the corner. Still, I’d have to act fast or I’d have to give the other girls the flick. Oh shit. Donna just walked in the room and I know Sho’ won’t be far behind. Pressing my crotch up to Master Drake’s silk-covered erection, I rub my breasts against his chest. Ask him if he would be so kind as to notice my tits. He bends his head down to watch them bounce around a little as I grind against his fat cock. My arms circle his neck; I rub my long fingers along his hairline. Open my mouth. He sees that it is not empty.
“A present, for me, pet?” he asks, leaning in.
“Yeth,” I grin, spreading shiny pink lips.
As I feel him dip in, part my lips with his hungry mouth, suck my tongue and extract my gift, I swell with pride. He reaches into his mouth, spits the hard, metal object into his hand. Lifting my handcuffed arms above his head…. And in his hand. A key.
Simone
When the music stops I drop my arms to my sides and walk off the dance floor. Halla follows. There are waaaayyyy too many people in here. I make a beeline for the door. I would like some air. As usual, when I pass through the throngs, people step aside, make room for me. I am used to that. I ask Halla if she will go get me something to drink… I tell her a chardonnay… (ha!) and wind my way over to the door. I am dying to leave.
On my way out the door I pass Shoshanna, who has, apparently, just arrived. She is costumed as Harley Quinn, the sociopathic psychiatrist from the Batman comics, but I bet she doesn’t know that. She just thinks she’s a clown, and in my estimation, she’s not too far off. The French, however, are comic book connoisseurs, and I am no exception.
“You must’ve got here early” she says to me, the tiny bells she has tied to her wrists and ankles tinkle with every remark.
I roll my eyes.
“I got here early so that I could leave early”
I move on.
Where is Halla with my drink? I vacate the gymnasium as quickly as possible, preferring to wait for my drink outside away from the mooobbss of people, but when I get outside I find that under the single street lamp illuminating the door, I am not alone.
Under the light, by the door, sipping a huge glass of water, is Drake, the head of the camp. My mouth waters.
“Pardon…” I try to squeeze by his frame, “excusez m….”
“Leaving so soon?” he is staring down at me, not exactly friendly, but not so bad, really, either. He has this magnetism…. that I had not noticed before. I squirm a little under his gaze, then shrug it off. He is dressed in a black silken costume with red and bronze dragons crisscrossing his chest and back. His eyes are blue.
“Are you going to dock my pay if I do?” I ask. I smile up at him. Let my splash of red hair fall away from my face…
“Oh, I am sure there are plenty of ways you could make up any lost wages…” He is laughing too. Laughing as he palms my ass with his hand.
“Stay” he insists. “Stay until the end.”
I sigh. Try to avert my eyes. I am really thirsty.
When I turn back to the door, I run into Halla. She is carrying two cups of a sickening red punch. I breeze past her. “We’re staying.”
Donna
The girls are all here, all here now that Simone has re-entered the gym. I know Avery, it’s not her time yet. I see her serving food in her pleated skirt and blue checked apron, her little red hoodie, her loose Boticelli curls framing her round blue eyes. “Little Red Riding Hood, how well will you ride HIM?” I wonder to myself. I know she will, we all will soon enough.
Shoshanna has now taken over Simone’s spotlight, in the middle of the dance floor doing the limbo. Her black, white and red leotard stretches over the span of her breasts and her hair, done up in pigtails tied with coordinating ribbons, sweeps the floor as she arches backwards, her nipples, apparent against the sheen of spandex, just touching, not quite tipping the metal bar stretched over her. Everyone is watching. Everyone is laughing. I am waiting… waiting… waiting.
Finally, at like 12:30, when the adolescent libido begins to lag, the revelers begin to disperse. Kelly and Shoshanna have, of course, already volunteered for clean-up crew… knowing full well what that would entail. But I am shocked as hell when I see Simone kiss Halla on the cheek, wave her off and stay behind as well. It is dark, late when we begin the tedious work of stripping the tables and throwing away the piles of debris that litter the floor. Kelly is no help either as she says she has lost the key to her handcuffs. Instead she just sits on the bleachers, waiting. We are all still waiting.
Simone
Drake is sitting by himself at one of the chairs that skirt the dance floor. I feel his eyes surveying my body as I slip by him, feel his appraisal of my tiny breasts, my French curves, my fine ass. I bend down, reach under his seat, gather the fallen napkins that lay prostrate on the floor. As I lean back into a standing position, I feel his hand, firm on my arm. He is looking at me directly. He takes my right breast. Strokes it with his fingers.
“Tell me” he says “what do you do?”
All around me, the bustle has stopped, three girls await my response.
“I do everyzing” I murmur, my voice low. I brush strands of saffron colored hair out of my eyes.
“Now you tell me…” I continue, settling against his knee… “what iz it zat you do?”
“I zee all deese guuurls… they are soo enthralled by you… what iz it about you that makes all zee girls cum?”
He snaps his fingers with his spare hand, the one that hasn’t lit onto my right tit, burrowed under the stiff silk of my top and begun to pinch my nipple. Soundlessly, all three girls are at his side.
“Would you like to find out?” He is looking at me, earnestly, placing one of my small hands against the swelling in his crotch.
I stand up, turn around to face him. “I will admit…” I say, straddling his lap with my two lithe legs, the slip of my dress riding up my thighs, “I am curious…” my voice trails away… “curious to know…. will you make me cum?”
“You should rephrase that, pet” he says, rising from the table, letting me tumble from his lap. The other girls follow him to a long, oblong table, the one where Halla had retrieved my punch several hours before.
“How” he says, indicating that Donna should sit cross-legged at the head of the table.
“…how will I make you cum.”
Shoshanna
Master Drake has settled himself on the table. His head rests in Donna’s naked lap, his dark hair is bedded by her cunt. She is all naked now, except for her hat and boots. I too have peeled away my body suit, and at master’s command, have mounted the table next to him. Fingering my ass, gripping the fat flesh of my cheeks, leaving hard, red imprints, he lowers me onto the heart of his erection.
“Thank you Master Drake” I gasp, as I feel his head burrow into the recesses of my pussy.
“Touch yourself, cunt” he demands. I begin to fondle my clitoris, but he is impatient, grabbing my hands and moving them up and down up, on me.
“Match my rhythm” he demands “do it now.”
I ride him vigorously, trying to match the escalating violence in which he is groping my clit, pulverizing its tiny red swirl with his palm. My tumescent breasts are knocking against each other like two harnessed balloons. The tinker-bells strung to my ankles and in my hair jangle with every heave and thrust. My back is arched into a backwards “C” of contorted passion.
Donna is pulling me forward now, pulling me by my arms and by the rounds of my chest. She is lowering her head against my nipples, licking their airy plumpness, like rose colored gum drops that stiffen under the nips of her small, white teeth. Then she is kissing my mouth, licking my eyelids… returning again to sip on my bosom.
Master Drake is pulsating against the weight of my body. I am beginning to cum. Too soon, I moan. The transluscence of my wetness soaks, streaks my master’s legs…
“MASTER DRAKE… MAAASTTTEERRR DRAAAkkke….” My eyes are closed, my mouth is dry. My head is rattling with the force of each thrust.
Behind me, Kelly has wrapped her long, handcuffed arms around my neck. She is licking my ears, kissing my throat.
“You’re making that bitch cum already, master” she moans above the increasing volume of my shrieks.
“Puh-leeaaseee…” she continues, rubbing her head up against mine, touching his abdomen with her long fingers… “let me be next. Let me have your cum.”
Kelly
I know Shoshanna’s my friend and everything, but hey, “all’s fair in love and war” and this was one war I intended to win. Even with my wrists bound together, I am at least 4 inches taller than Shoshanna and much stronger. I push her, with all of my weight, cradling her in the circle of my arms until she has toppled off of the master, capsized onto his chest, her tits wrapped in his hands. I ignore her look of rage and fall upon his dick. First, hungry, I lick of Sho’s juices. I finger his ass hole, I kiss Shoshanna’s which pricks at my touch. I finesse my master’s hungry dick with my shackled hands.
“Tell her to turn around, master” I say, indicating Shoshanna who looks like she is ready to kill me.
“Do it yourself” he responds calmly, parting the lengths of his silken tunic so that I can better service him with my mouth.
“Turn around Shoshanna,” I say, “you’re gonna lick my fucking ass.”
Shoshanna ignores me.
Sitting by herself, on a folding chair a few feet from where we lay, Simone is watching us. Her face is blank; I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but she is watching. She is definitely watching.
“Yo, Sho-ee,” I urge, “I’m turning around, turn around, rim my ass…”
Shoshanna doesn’t budge.
“Do it.” I hear him tell her, his mouth close to her face. “Listen to her.”
I see Shoshanna’s chin jut out, she is mad as hell, but she does what she is told. Extending her tan legs, she pivots as I swivel around on the table and ask my master to take me, like he did my sister pet… only I will do him backwards.
I feel him, probe, push, insert himself into the narrow tunnels of my cunt. I feel him slant against the natural curve of my body, and then slam against the rough of my g-spot almost immediately. I hear him grunt with pleasure as Shoshanna grudgingly bends and licks the entrance to my ass, her turned up nose rubbing the thick of my crack.
“Aww gawd,” I pant as the addictive flush comes rushing upon me. My body crumples as I plunge over him, again and again… My hands are useless, balled up in front of me, grabbing the edge of the table. My long, gazelle-like legs are the only things that keep me up, they are squeezed around my master’s legs. In back of me Shoshanna is tonguing my ass. Licking me, suckling my skin. And he in turn is tonguing hers…. Probing the dimple of her ass with the stiff of his tongue. An appetizer, and sitting next to me, reclined in her chair, the straps of her dress falling down her arms, is the main course.
When I am done, when I can’t take any more, my energy spent when his is still hard, I grudgingly slither off the table. It’s awkward because my damn hands are still bound and my master has not decided that he is ready to release me. Shoshanna is also a fucking mess. Her one pigtail is all crooked. Her red lipstick is smeared across her face and down her neck so that she really does look like a fucking clown. She too dismounts.
Turning his head, master tells Simone “your turn.”
Donna
She stands up, slowly, languidly, shrugging off her dress, slithering out of her rose colored, lace panties. Master Drake bends over and hoists her onto his lap before reclining back onto his human pillow. Me.
Unlike the other girls, Simone takes her time. Doesn’t rush. She lifts her legs on either side of master, stretches them out, then tucks her still heeled feet underneath his knees, shifts her weight, plants her hands on his abdomen. She lifts her body, and slowly lowers it back down.
“Tu l’aime comme ca?” she whispers as his penis disappears into her flesh.
“Do you like it like this?”
Shoshanna
I am watching Simone waiting for her eruption of energy. Every hair on my body is primed, waiting to hear her scream….
Kelly
… but she doesn’t scream. She doesn’t yell. She hardly moves at all.
Donna
Her hands are planted firmly, squarely on master’s pelvis. I see the muscles of her stomach twitch and underneath her, suddenly, the unmistakable groans of my master.
“bitch” he calls her.
She still hasn’t moved.
“bitch….” he says it again, spits it. I can see the muscles around Simone’s ass, clench and unclench…. slowly, quickly… like a heartbeat.
She is speaking to him in her low, throaty voice, her red hair curtains her face.
“Qu’est ce je tu satisfait?”
Simone
“Do I satisfy you?” I whisper, bending over his prostrate form.
“Do I?” I have asked the question a million times, of a million different lovers, but never before had I cared about the response.
Inside of me, in the depths of myself, I feel his penis begin to twitch. My muscles surround him, wrap themselves around him, soft, warm, velvety muscles coil around his shaft. The corners of my labia unfold for him, the hot, moist walls of my vagina stretch and engulf him. Flank him like a thousand pink lips swallowing him whole.
I feel him inside me, his pulse and swell, his response to each palpitation, each clench and release. My muscles are strained with the effort, my orgasm stirring his own as my muscles convulse, collapse around him like the falling walls of Jericho.
“May I please…”
“have your cum…”
“s’il vous plait?”
To answer swiftly, he rises from his repose, knocking my ass to the tabletop, upending my legs. He is ripping himself from the tight grip, the confines of my sweetness, and soon he is ejaculating… in great, huge doses along the concourse of my stomach, spraying my small chest and along my arms.
As the two vampires draw near to suck his lather off of me, I lean close, my berry red lips to his ear.
“Face it Tiger, you just hit the jackpot.”
Shoshanna
That was the night I finally lost my virginity for the second time.
It wasn’t a very dignified picture. After Master Drake came all over Simone, after she made a big production of wiping it in Kelly and my hair, of rubbing our faces in it, literally until my nose stung with the salty burn, after Master was satisfied that not a single drop was wasted, he beckoned Kelly to undo his swords. Sheathed in them, instead of metal, were two dildos, a long, rigid one and a shorter thick one. Pulling a folding chair a few feet in front of him, he bids her sit. Beckoning Donna closer to him, he unfastens a chain from around her neck, upon which, I now notice, is strung a key. Bending down in front of Kelly’s expectant frame, Master unlocks each side of the cuffs; I hear the click as they fall away. Placing a dildo in each of her hands, he motions her to pleasure herself… one to her mouth and one in her cunt. As she begins the rhythm, the solitary salsa, he bends down and refastens the cuffs, one around her ankle and one around the center bar of the chair.
For me, another chair. I begin to sit.
“Not for you pet.” He says. He motions for me to crouch under it, my face obscured by the seat, my virgin ass pointed upward. On top of the chair perches Simone, she spreads her legs, revealing the downy fluff of fair hairs lining her entrance way. Her knees point upward, her feet wrap around the edge of the seat…
“Like zees, mastair?” she asks, smiling up at him
And so, like a clock being wound, our gears begin to shift, and our intricate quintet begins.
Master Drake, kneeling on the floor, his body erect, is massaging the pucker of my ass, it’s brown button is winking up at him. Underneath my chair, I shut my eyes and wait. Beside him, Kelly sits, chained to her seat, with a dick poking her throat and another pricking her belly. Every now and then, master reaches up to stroke her legs, sample the sour juices that she excretes with each pull. Behind him, his pet, his favorite, Donna, rims his ass with the confidence of having done it dozens of times before. With her hands, she pleasures herself, injecting her pussy with a flat fingered rush and then alternately inserrtng her fore-finger, like a corkscrew, into the ass of her lover. Simone, on her chair, has opened her legs like a book and Master Drake has buried his face in the warm comforts of her lap.
As for me, I am down on my knees and I am aflame. As I feel the weight of his dick, puncture the surface of my ass hole I almost collapse from shock and shame. Stubbornly, it refuses entry. I feel the slap, the smack of his hand, the sting of his reproach on the top of my ass.
“Don’t you want this, cunt?” he asks, lifting his face from Simone’s loins. He is teasing me, wiping his dick on the back of my thighs, bracing his legs for another go. “Maybe I should make you beg.”
“Please Master Drake…” I whimper; the humiliation, the attention, the desire all intermingled
“please… my ass is yours.”
He is probing my hole with his finger, his thumb, digging his nail into its tender skin, bracing me, testing me.
“How do you want it pet?” he demands I answer.
Through tears I respond “hard Master, please fuck my ass hard.”
And so, because I asked, that is what he does. Pulling the sides of my bottom apart with his hands, he plunges into my nether regions without a thought to my pain. I feel the sides of my anus tearing away as his cock parts them… rips them aside. I feel the nauseating burn as his dick slithers further and further. I am wriggling uncontrollably. I moan unintelligibly from under the chair. Simone’s foot is pushing down on my backbone; I finally hear her yell… almost, for her cries are drowned out by my own.
“You love it you little cunt, admit it, you love it” I hear him urge, he is covered in perspiration.
“Tell me…” he moans as he shudders…
“I love it. Master Drake” calls my muffled voice. “Please, please may I take your cum in my ass.”
Yet once I again, I am denied. As the moment of climax nears, Master Drake pulls away and proffers his filth covered dick to Simone who licks it daintily with round, raspberry lips, murmuring how good he has been to her, thanking him profusely while driblets of moisture run down her chin.
Donna
As Master Drake’s body lounges against my torso, his head on my shoulder, watching Simone lap up his mess, I run my hands along his temples, smooth out the crumples in his dark hair. Shoshanna has uncurled from her fetal position on the floor and Kelly has been released. Master Drake absent-mindedly runs his finger along the swirly pattern of the 16 engraved on my crotch. But before the post-coital glow can completely fade, I lean in, bend down and whisper four words in my master’s ear:
“Halla: laundry room: tomorrow.”
For the incomparable Master Drake
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