somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands.
"somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond"
by e. e. cummings
Monday, October 24, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Happy Halloween
For Master Drake
From Psyche Summer
I am a woman with strong opinions about which behaviors are in fact becoming for a lady. It is unseemly for a woman to use profanity or to use crude terms like "titties." A lady sends thank you notes promptly and never rests her elbows on the table. And it is never becoming for a woman to dress like a slut on Halloween.
As such my costumes in the past have either been ultra-feminine (geisha-spider) or the product of Kelly's warped brain (a bruise). Now that my Master, Master Drake has asked me to don a costume, my mind is addled, and I am unsure which route to go. In the end I go with stupid because right now I am obsessed with feathers. I choose to be Big Bird with long pink and orange thigh high tights and a shiny yellow dress... and yellow feathers to adorn my hair. But no beak. No... a beak would just get in the way.
Now, I am a girl who is afraid of lots of things: rollercoasters and spiders and fire and failure, but one thing I am not that afraid of is monsters. I am more likely to be disturbed by like the Nothing in the Neverending Story than an actual, credible monster. Still even I have my moments...
So when Master Drake, whose motives I still can't always fathom, answers the door dressed as the ghost clown from Scooby Doo, I am... taken aback.
His dark eyed, leering costume brings me back to the childhood days when I used to cower in front of the tv, hands over my eyes, whispering "it isn't real; it isn't real; it's just TV..."
Still, I imagine we must make an odd sight, me on my knees, my sunny yellow feathers tickling His skin, His clown suit fallen to His ankles as He draws me close.
I inhale His smell, comforting, arousing, familiar, the scent of His body, of His erection, the sting of anticipation, the itch in my throat. I feel His hands on the back of my head, encouraging me, hastening me... Slowly my mouth opens, my lips part, my tongue sinks to the bottom of my mouth... I reach.. forward, reaching with my neck, my jaw, my saliva... pooling in my mouth, expectation hanging on my trembling chin.
But I am slapped back for my efforts, a stiff, smart smack across my cheek that sends me recoiling to the side, a yelp of surprise and confusion.
"As a teacher of young children, Pet, you should know
better than to begin an assignment
without first asking for directions."
I wince and color. I hate it when people use my job against me.
"What are my directions, Master?"
I mumble, then, mindful of my
place, I add "I hope only to please
You." It is the truth.
He explains that as I suck Him tonight He plans to pound me harder than He ever has before, that He plans to use my head for just what it is, His favorite fuck-toy and nothing more. He tells me that if I lift my lips from the skin of His hard cock before He is finished, the consequences would be dire, beyond my worst nightmares.
"Understand Pet?"
I acknowledge that I do.
At His insistence now, my full lips part, and He is between them, expanding against the walls of my mouth, testing my limits. I am rocking gently back on the balls of my feet absorbing Him inch by swollen inch.
Slowly feathers begin to fall, twisting lazily to the ground, like bright Autumn leaves as He begins to push me harder, His cock, groping the furrows of my throat, His head tickling my larnyx, as the sunny, yellow down drifts gently to the floor. My lips are squeezed around Him, my wet mouth, moist and hopeful. I have just begun to sweat, nut hair to dampen...
Then He is gripping me, the sides of my head. He is sliding my head back and forth on His shaft, His cock, three fingers wide, laced with saliva, slick and hard like fossilized stone, beating time against my tonsils. And I am slowly breaking down. There are spots of sweat on my tights from where my ass has been pushed onto my calves, and the fabric of my dress is sodden. My legs are weak; my spine begins to ache.
He has me hard between His hands now, His gripped me up like He promised He would. I can feel the smush of my cheeks against His sweating palms. He drives Himself, His cock like a sword, into me, my mouth, my throat. Faster and harder than I can fathom. As providence would have it, His cock fits my throat quite well, and He can prick it a thousand times and it will just barely withstand. Back and forth like a saber, an insistent saw, cutting into my consciousness, reeking havoc with my respiratory. My cheeks are hollowed, my eyes and nose are burning. He is pounding into me with a new found fury. I am nearly doubled up around Him, His fat cock, stretching my throat, unmooring my senses, my hold on reality is slipping. All I can feel around me is cock. His smell, filling my nostrils, His grunts filling my ears, His hands wrapped around my head like a vise, pushing me harder, harder, until I want to scream. Until there is blood pulsing in my veins and I am dizzy... dizzy... but my scream gets swallowed, smothered by cock and I am moving to a foreign rhythm, a frenetic pace that threatens to spill my innards, to capsize my breath and body, as I lurch forward and back, thrust again and again... and oh! again down on His fury, down til He is past my threshold, past my endurance and sweat and tears are staining my body, my nerves are weak with protest, my body is like a rag doll, heaved between His heavy hands.
Faster... and faster.
And my only lingering strength is the seal I keep around Him, the suck and drag of a moist mouth, fat lips on meat. The lure of my tongue which invites the agony, leading Him further down. my mouth, sliding up and down the protruding veins of cock. Warm and dangerous and fine.
Until in the end, His red clown hair askew, the make-up bleeding from His face, He cums, spilling His churning wad down my seizing throat, racking my body with His spasms of ecstasy. And I feel His hot seed pouring down my gullet, can taste Him on my tongue and in my nose... and He is everywhere, my head beat into His flesh, my senses are filled by Him, overwhelmed by Him. I am overpowered by His strength, by His girth and by His seed... that launches into me so hot and fast that I release... I let go. Too early. Too soon.
So that a long, thin stream of pearly white comes trickling down my chin and down the front of my plastic, yellow dress.
And I look down in shame.
Look down so I do not see how He strengthens in size, how His skin pales ten shades, how His eyes turn into dark hollows. Until it is too late. The ghost clown is upon me! I feel His cold hands sink into my flesh, feel His teeth against my neck, sucking out my soul. My legs go clammy and fall out from under me, my skin assumes a death-like pallor. He is on top of me, on top of me... His gluttonous hands are ripping at me. Tearing. His sinister clown laugh is the last thing I hear as my spirit is relinquished into the cool Canadian air and all that is left of me, the poor pet who failed her Master, is a pile of laughing yellow feathers.
The end
For Master Drake
From Psyche Summer
I am a woman with strong opinions about which behaviors are in fact becoming for a lady. It is unseemly for a woman to use profanity or to use crude terms like "titties." A lady sends thank you notes promptly and never rests her elbows on the table. And it is never becoming for a woman to dress like a slut on Halloween.
As such my costumes in the past have either been ultra-feminine (geisha-spider) or the product of Kelly's warped brain (a bruise). Now that my Master, Master Drake has asked me to don a costume, my mind is addled, and I am unsure which route to go. In the end I go with stupid because right now I am obsessed with feathers. I choose to be Big Bird with long pink and orange thigh high tights and a shiny yellow dress... and yellow feathers to adorn my hair. But no beak. No... a beak would just get in the way.
Now, I am a girl who is afraid of lots of things: rollercoasters and spiders and fire and failure, but one thing I am not that afraid of is monsters. I am more likely to be disturbed by like the Nothing in the Neverending Story than an actual, credible monster. Still even I have my moments...
So when Master Drake, whose motives I still can't always fathom, answers the door dressed as the ghost clown from Scooby Doo, I am... taken aback.
His dark eyed, leering costume brings me back to the childhood days when I used to cower in front of the tv, hands over my eyes, whispering "it isn't real; it isn't real; it's just TV..."
Still, I imagine we must make an odd sight, me on my knees, my sunny yellow feathers tickling His skin, His clown suit fallen to His ankles as He draws me close.
I inhale His smell, comforting, arousing, familiar, the scent of His body, of His erection, the sting of anticipation, the itch in my throat. I feel His hands on the back of my head, encouraging me, hastening me... Slowly my mouth opens, my lips part, my tongue sinks to the bottom of my mouth... I reach.. forward, reaching with my neck, my jaw, my saliva... pooling in my mouth, expectation hanging on my trembling chin.
But I am slapped back for my efforts, a stiff, smart smack across my cheek that sends me recoiling to the side, a yelp of surprise and confusion.
"As a teacher of young children, Pet, you should know
better than to begin an assignment
without first asking for directions."
I wince and color. I hate it when people use my job against me.
"What are my directions, Master?"
I mumble, then, mindful of my
place, I add "I hope only to please
You." It is the truth.
He explains that as I suck Him tonight He plans to pound me harder than He ever has before, that He plans to use my head for just what it is, His favorite fuck-toy and nothing more. He tells me that if I lift my lips from the skin of His hard cock before He is finished, the consequences would be dire, beyond my worst nightmares.
"Understand Pet?"
I acknowledge that I do.
At His insistence now, my full lips part, and He is between them, expanding against the walls of my mouth, testing my limits. I am rocking gently back on the balls of my feet absorbing Him inch by swollen inch.
Slowly feathers begin to fall, twisting lazily to the ground, like bright Autumn leaves as He begins to push me harder, His cock, groping the furrows of my throat, His head tickling my larnyx, as the sunny, yellow down drifts gently to the floor. My lips are squeezed around Him, my wet mouth, moist and hopeful. I have just begun to sweat, nut hair to dampen...
Then He is gripping me, the sides of my head. He is sliding my head back and forth on His shaft, His cock, three fingers wide, laced with saliva, slick and hard like fossilized stone, beating time against my tonsils. And I am slowly breaking down. There are spots of sweat on my tights from where my ass has been pushed onto my calves, and the fabric of my dress is sodden. My legs are weak; my spine begins to ache.
He has me hard between His hands now, His gripped me up like He promised He would. I can feel the smush of my cheeks against His sweating palms. He drives Himself, His cock like a sword, into me, my mouth, my throat. Faster and harder than I can fathom. As providence would have it, His cock fits my throat quite well, and He can prick it a thousand times and it will just barely withstand. Back and forth like a saber, an insistent saw, cutting into my consciousness, reeking havoc with my respiratory. My cheeks are hollowed, my eyes and nose are burning. He is pounding into me with a new found fury. I am nearly doubled up around Him, His fat cock, stretching my throat, unmooring my senses, my hold on reality is slipping. All I can feel around me is cock. His smell, filling my nostrils, His grunts filling my ears, His hands wrapped around my head like a vise, pushing me harder, harder, until I want to scream. Until there is blood pulsing in my veins and I am dizzy... dizzy... but my scream gets swallowed, smothered by cock and I am moving to a foreign rhythm, a frenetic pace that threatens to spill my innards, to capsize my breath and body, as I lurch forward and back, thrust again and again... and oh! again down on His fury, down til He is past my threshold, past my endurance and sweat and tears are staining my body, my nerves are weak with protest, my body is like a rag doll, heaved between His heavy hands.
Faster... and faster.
And my only lingering strength is the seal I keep around Him, the suck and drag of a moist mouth, fat lips on meat. The lure of my tongue which invites the agony, leading Him further down. my mouth, sliding up and down the protruding veins of cock. Warm and dangerous and fine.
Until in the end, His red clown hair askew, the make-up bleeding from His face, He cums, spilling His churning wad down my seizing throat, racking my body with His spasms of ecstasy. And I feel His hot seed pouring down my gullet, can taste Him on my tongue and in my nose... and He is everywhere, my head beat into His flesh, my senses are filled by Him, overwhelmed by Him. I am overpowered by His strength, by His girth and by His seed... that launches into me so hot and fast that I release... I let go. Too early. Too soon.
So that a long, thin stream of pearly white comes trickling down my chin and down the front of my plastic, yellow dress.
And I look down in shame.
Look down so I do not see how He strengthens in size, how His skin pales ten shades, how His eyes turn into dark hollows. Until it is too late. The ghost clown is upon me! I feel His cold hands sink into my flesh, feel His teeth against my neck, sucking out my soul. My legs go clammy and fall out from under me, my skin assumes a death-like pallor. He is on top of me, on top of me... His gluttonous hands are ripping at me. Tearing. His sinister clown laugh is the last thing I hear as my spirit is relinquished into the cool Canadian air and all that is left of me, the poor pet who failed her Master, is a pile of laughing yellow feathers.
The end
Friday, April 15, 2011
"Tomorrow Never Comes": Tuesday
A story I wrote for my Master... many months ago... Thank you Master for allowing me to publish one of my favorite stories.
It was past ten already when Master Drake finally pulled into the dimly lit parking lot of the Lucky 13 tattoo parlor. The establishment itself had closed several hours ago, and its doors, unlike the previous two nights, remained sealed. Beside him, on the passenger seat, a crumpled card bearing a simply “27,” and scrawled underneath it, in a careless hand – an equally simple message, an invitation: “Tomorrow.”
In the snowy silence of his idling automobile, Master Drake waits; it’s not something he does too frequently, but he figures it is worth his while. Yesterday he had been surprised… pleasantly surprised… but surprised nonetheless. Being surprised was another thing that didn’t happen to Master Drake too often. And so he was willing to wait… in the warmth of his car, and in the searing hot memory of Willow’s cunt, sleek and swollen, descending on his face, of Mara (her twin?) riding him hard, the twist of nipples, the smell of cinnamon, the twin howls of sheer orgasmic pleasure that had crescendoed as he came, threatening to break his eardrums… and so he waits.
He hears them before he sees them – the heavy thump of the bass line, the rip of tires on asphalt as a tiny black Cabrio peels into the parking lot, shrieking to a halt beside him. Rolling down the window, poking blonde head out the door, Willow is all smiles.
“Getting in Master?”
Seconds later, his senses assaulted by the melodic screech of Quiet Riot, the overpowering scent of vanilla air freshener, Master Drake climbs into the back seat of the vehicle. Seated next to him, her pale, lean legs extended, is Willow’s twin sister Mara. Mara is wearing a tight black miniskirt, and black heels. The skirt is pulled up against her thighs clumsily, exposing the naked spread of her crotch. On top she is wearing a silky, jade-green blouse, pulled taut between her melon-sized breasts. The top reveals the luminous white rounds of her slender shoulders and the smooth length of her graceful arms.
Master Drake doesn’t say anything. There’s a fair chance his words would be lost among the throbbing ache of Willow’s music anyway… Instead, he unzips his pants, extends the length of his pulsating dick, which Mara accepts, in her mouth, with pleasure.
“We’re gonna get rocked tonight”
“…cum on feel the noize”
“Rock it tonight”
“…girls rock your boys”
Over the chorus, repeated again and again, Mara drowns in the taste of her master’s cock, as Willow navigates the twisting alleyways and back streets of Toronto. Mara begins to gag, choking on her master’s shaft – with each “wild,” “wild,” “wild,” and with every hairpin turn, Mara feels the touch of his cock press harder against the stubborn wall of her throat. Her body is careening. Willow rounds a too-rapid corner, Mara’s body is sliding, sliding halfway off the seat, her long legs catching, her bound mouth holding, wet fingers grasping at the stiff bottom of his dick. Beads of sweat gather on her forehead… And she murmurs over and over again –
“Master, Master…”
Her long blond hair brushes his bare thighs.
“Master, Master…”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, AHHH” echoes the music.
“master,” Mara whispers.
chokes
gags
“cum on…”
“master…”
“cum on…” urges the music
“master,” Mara wheezes, gags, retches. Her eyes pop, her throat collapses, her body crumples as he does… as he cums, in great white streaks across her pale, sweaty forehead, spackling her damp silken hair. So when they arrive at their destination at last, and she is finally confronted with the prospect of polite company, Mara is forced to wipe his seed off of her forehead with the back of her own forearms, lick up the sticky remnants, sliding her lazy tongue across her honeysuckle skin, and borrowing a brush from her sister is forced to comb his semen through the wavy lengths of her halo-blonde hair.
When they get out of the car at last, Master Drake is pleased to see that Willow has discarded with her usual self-imposed uniform of black denim jeans and no-matter-the-weather tank top. Towering in platform stilettos, Willow is clad in black leather pants that stroke the heart of her high ass, a black sequined halter strapped across her breasts and held in place by two slender strings.
They are at a strip club.
Sandwiched between Willow and Mara, Master Drake breezes past the bouncers who don’t say a word. And at the counter, the girl taking the covers winces when she sees them.
“Are you looking for Summer?” she asks nervously.
“Who the fuck‘s Summer?” Mara asks, flicking a few bills in the woman’s general direction.
“Do you mean Rowan?” “Roe-wen? You dumbass cow.” Willow continues. “God you people are soooooo stupid…Why else would be we caught dead in this fucking silo? Do you think I walk around the house calling her ‘Summer?’ Of course we’re looking for Rowan. Where’s my sister?”
Pause.
“She’s doing a bachelor party upstairs,” the girl admits, suddenly sullen.
“Fine” snaps Willow. “We’ll wait.”
Master Drake, Willow, and Mara take their seats among the cauldron of black plush chairs that line the catwalk, watch the decadent cadre of blue and pink lights stroke the distended tits of dancer after dancer. Mara and Willow feed each other food, tugging at full forks with greedy mouths… Willow sits on Master Drake’s lap as shot girls douse his throat with liquor and gouge his eyes with bright hard nipples. A tall brunette offers Master a massage which Willow pays for by sliding the girl a mouthful of dollars… mouth to mouth, as Willow’s playful hands run up and down the girl’s sides, linger on the crest of her thighs… The girl, caressing Master’s neck… his shoulders… and below… while around him angular girls with puffy chests, slowly rotate round and round the silver pole, flashing smiles, crotches, greedy hands… swaying to the techno beat.
Still, after an hour, Rowan does not appear. Rising from the plush caverns of his chair, Master Drake stretches. He has grown weary of foreplay. Willow and Mara glance at each other, read each others’ minds in some sort of preternatural “twin-speak,” arrive at the same conclusion: it’s time to crash a party.
After two, not entirely unpleasant, false leads the trio finally finds the mysterious Rowan ensconced in the furthermost of the champagne lounges. When they find her she is pressed up upon the lap of a young man, presumably, judging by his level of intoxication, the groom. His pants are down, and she, she has enveloped the shaft of his cock in between the supple cheeks of her ass… Sitting, stretched across his body, her muscles contracting leisurely around his dick, her arms laced across his shoulders, her red lips wrapped around the cock of another… his brother…. And she is gorgeous. She is not a duplicate, a doppelganger, a clone of her sisters. She hardly resembles them at all but for her lucid skin, buttery white and soft, cool to the touch, pale and luminous like a clear mountain sky. Her hair though, is not the same golden hue shared by her Willow and her Mara… oh no, it is the color of embers, of oriole wings and autumn days, rippling across her ivory skin, brushing the diagonal lines of her brow… sometimes masking the dark, bright orbs of her chestnut brown eyes.
“Mmmm,” she says when she sees them, mouth still brimming with dick, “company…” and then extricating herself from lap and mouth, she is standing, telling the groom it’s time to go home.
“…but” stammers the best man/brother, his dick still gleaming silver with a thick coat of Rowan’ spit. “we paid for another hour already!”
“Too bad,” exclaims Rowan, unbuckling the strap of her shoe, extracting a wad of tightly folded dollars, peeling away several large bills which get thrown to the groom in a most unceremonious manner. “Consider yourselves refunded.”
“but…” pouts the brother, as the groom reluctantly rises to his feet, wobbling, unsteady on his feet, “this is outrageous!!!”
“Go ahead then” responds Rowan calmly, hustling the group of men to the door “tell my boss… it won’t make a difference,” she concludes with a wicked grin, “I’m irreplaceable.”
And at last, after the hubbub of angry men departs down the back stairs, after the door has been shut upon them, Rowan is able to turn her full attention toward Master Drake, turning to meet his gaze directly.
“And what can I do for you tonight?” she purrs.
“Just one thing…” he responds.
“You can call me Master.”
Willow and Mara hold their collective breath. It is a volatile moment. Rowan doesn’t say yes; she doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say no when Master Drake strokes the entrance to her vagina. She doesn’t say no when he runs his hands along the smooth curvature of her breasts, smells sandalwood in her hair, sees cathedrals in her eyes… tastes butterscotch on her breath… and she doesn’t say anything at all when he, skimming the architecture of her legs, finds a single satin ribbon, black, tied tightly to one ankle.
“What’s this?” he asks, one hand fingering the ribbon while the other fingers her, beginning slowly, three fingers, in and out of the arch of her cunt.
Burrowing her way into his lap, Rowan speaks. “It’s a symbol” she says simply. “A symbol of my desire.”
“Your desire for what, pet?” he asks, nibbling at the knot that holds it close.
“You really want to know?” asks Rowan leaning back as Master Drake seizes hold of her long, pale throat, cradling the pulse of her elegant neck in the palm of his hand.
“Yes Pet, tell me what you desire” his voice is soft, thick.
“The ribbon is a symbol of my desire…” she begins slowly, as her labia begins to dampen, dousing his fingers with the clear juices of her cunt, “my desire is to exchange this ribbon for one of iron. To give this band to …” her voice trailing off… “to the one who can master ME.” And then, lifting her head, looking at him squarely, deliberately, she asks him
“Are you that man?”
And then, like dual narrators, Willow and Mara are at his sides, whispering in his ear
“She’s never cum, master…”
“…in all this time….”
“She’s never had an orgasm….”
“or so she says….”
“It’s hard to believe….”
“but we thought if anyone….
“…if anyone would tame Rowan, satisfy her….”
“it could only be…”
“you…”
Master Drake feels the skin surrounding his dick quicken, tighten, feels his cock harden, stiff… running it up and down the length of her legs he asks her, “What if I am that man, my pet, what if… if I make you cum… squirt even? Then what?”
Her answer is straightforward and much to his liking.
And so then he is upon her, dick lashing her, her legs akimbo… Rowan lying pushed on her back, each sister holding a wrist, her arms pinioned, her legs extended, like an upper-case “L” an arrow pointing to the sky. At first she is resistant, when his mouth teases, grazes the tender flesh of her clit, his tongue caresses, presses, grinds its tiny swirl, his teeth rub in between its surrounding folds, nipping the tender flesh… she is cautious, inflexible… her body holds itself in check… his tongue, his face, smothered in the depths of her womanhood, pressed up against the hot edges of passion…. until his face is saturated with her musky odor and she can smell herself, her scent lingering on him as he bends to kiss her neck, her lips, anointed. Underneath him, her plum colored nipples expand… she is like a door and he has the key. His dick he grasps tight in one hand, steers it, guides it, as it peels away the layers of fatty skin that jealously guard the entrance to her cunt. He teases her with it, kissing the lips of her pussy… in and then out until soon she is moaning for more….
But she will have to wait.
He is hoisting her now, lifting her onto an ottoman, on her hands and knees, her face is flushed as he grabs her hair, pulling her face close to the sweet sweat of his crotch… holding her fast… to the point of his dick which is primed against her lips, and in her mouth, expanding to fill it, pushing her tongue down and her neck back. Her flame-licked hair drapes over her face, getting entangled on the wet shaft that pushes in and out, heaving against her enflamed throat. Her cherry red lipstick is smeared and leaves stains at the base of his abdomen with each of his powerful thrusts. He clutches her on either side of her head, rubs his dick in her hair and over her eyes, her head is nodding, rubbing like a cat, against its stiff warmth. Until then he is pushing her head down, down until her cheek is resting on the cool leather sheen of the ottoman, her arms and hands stretched along the floor, again pinned by each sister: Willow on the left and Mara on the right. And he is behind her now… parting her legs like the pages of a book, her knees sliding easily across the slick leather, whetted with the juices of his lust.
And then Rowan moans as she finally feels the walls of her pussy cave in around the strength of his dick riding her…. riding… riding. The ache at the bottom of her belly swells as he forces his way to the back of her cunt, plunging the heat of his dick into the heart of her core… repeatedly… over and over… until her insides are like an avalanche, falling… like the burning city of Troy…. Her sisters are pulling on her arms, all she can see… smell… breathe… is the scent of sex-stained leather… and from behind, the towering throb and ache of Master Drake, breaking her will with each push of his thick, inflated cock. She feels the first scream welling inside her stomach, rising up through her sternum, forcing itself out, her throat, a prisoner escaping.
“Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”
Her body begins to tremble.
His dick begins to stir.
“Ahhhh, Ahhhhhhhh, ah , ahhh, AaaHHHH, AHHHHHh!!!!!”
He grabs the front of her thighs, pulling her into him, shunting her body, slick with the sheen of sweat, to and fro, savoring the pleasure of her escalating screams that rack her body, making it writhe and convulse under his steady hand…..
Bending over her now, he hisses….
“Say it, pet…. Saaay itt……”
She is panting, her hair is shalacked to her face, her body is trembling.
“Say it.”
And then with a suck of breath as his penis stabs her… again and again…. Without any sign of stopping….. as his practiced fingers pulse against the round of her clitoris…
“M-m-m-aster…”
“again, pet.’
“master.’
“and again….?”
Until she is screaming…. “MASTER!!!!! MASTER!!!!”
She feels the low rumble in the pit of her stomach first, feels it rise with her voice, she senses the build- up, feels the quick, jerky pump, the white-hot release as she squirts a stream of clear, hot liquid which hits the taut leather surface of the ottoman with a smack before running in rivulets down her arms, staining the floor in great wet puddles and soaking the knees of her crouching sisters.
At the sight of Willow and Mara drenched in the slime of their sister’s cum. The sight of Rowan’s blossom of a body shaking under his…. The sounds of her screams as they slowly subside, transition to whimpers… and to great gulps of air…. It is finally enough… with three last, great heaves into the disintegrating depths of Rowan’s wet cunt, he feels the familiar prick, the spasm of energy like a thousand tiny pumps... until Rowan’s pussy is filled to overflowing, bubbling over merrily to trickle down her upturned ass and down the white sheen of her legs.
And then as her kitten-weak body sags into the comfort of her seat, he stoops and with careful fingers untwines the ribbon binding her ankle, letting the black ribbon fall to the ground, promising to bring her a replacement, tomorrow; tomorrow, when he plans to claim his prize, the privilege of her virgin ass, saved, her second virginity, for as long as a twenty-two year old can save anything… waiting for the man who could tame her and now ripe for the picking… waiting for him, tomorrow.
It was past ten already when Master Drake finally pulled into the dimly lit parking lot of the Lucky 13 tattoo parlor. The establishment itself had closed several hours ago, and its doors, unlike the previous two nights, remained sealed. Beside him, on the passenger seat, a crumpled card bearing a simply “27,” and scrawled underneath it, in a careless hand – an equally simple message, an invitation: “Tomorrow.”
In the snowy silence of his idling automobile, Master Drake waits; it’s not something he does too frequently, but he figures it is worth his while. Yesterday he had been surprised… pleasantly surprised… but surprised nonetheless. Being surprised was another thing that didn’t happen to Master Drake too often. And so he was willing to wait… in the warmth of his car, and in the searing hot memory of Willow’s cunt, sleek and swollen, descending on his face, of Mara (her twin?) riding him hard, the twist of nipples, the smell of cinnamon, the twin howls of sheer orgasmic pleasure that had crescendoed as he came, threatening to break his eardrums… and so he waits.
He hears them before he sees them – the heavy thump of the bass line, the rip of tires on asphalt as a tiny black Cabrio peels into the parking lot, shrieking to a halt beside him. Rolling down the window, poking blonde head out the door, Willow is all smiles.
“Getting in Master?”
Seconds later, his senses assaulted by the melodic screech of Quiet Riot, the overpowering scent of vanilla air freshener, Master Drake climbs into the back seat of the vehicle. Seated next to him, her pale, lean legs extended, is Willow’s twin sister Mara. Mara is wearing a tight black miniskirt, and black heels. The skirt is pulled up against her thighs clumsily, exposing the naked spread of her crotch. On top she is wearing a silky, jade-green blouse, pulled taut between her melon-sized breasts. The top reveals the luminous white rounds of her slender shoulders and the smooth length of her graceful arms.
Master Drake doesn’t say anything. There’s a fair chance his words would be lost among the throbbing ache of Willow’s music anyway… Instead, he unzips his pants, extends the length of his pulsating dick, which Mara accepts, in her mouth, with pleasure.
“We’re gonna get rocked tonight”
“…cum on feel the noize”
“Rock it tonight”
“…girls rock your boys”
Over the chorus, repeated again and again, Mara drowns in the taste of her master’s cock, as Willow navigates the twisting alleyways and back streets of Toronto. Mara begins to gag, choking on her master’s shaft – with each “wild,” “wild,” “wild,” and with every hairpin turn, Mara feels the touch of his cock press harder against the stubborn wall of her throat. Her body is careening. Willow rounds a too-rapid corner, Mara’s body is sliding, sliding halfway off the seat, her long legs catching, her bound mouth holding, wet fingers grasping at the stiff bottom of his dick. Beads of sweat gather on her forehead… And she murmurs over and over again –
“Master, Master…”
Her long blond hair brushes his bare thighs.
“Master, Master…”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, AHHH” echoes the music.
“master,” Mara whispers.
chokes
gags
“cum on…”
“master…”
“cum on…” urges the music
“master,” Mara wheezes, gags, retches. Her eyes pop, her throat collapses, her body crumples as he does… as he cums, in great white streaks across her pale, sweaty forehead, spackling her damp silken hair. So when they arrive at their destination at last, and she is finally confronted with the prospect of polite company, Mara is forced to wipe his seed off of her forehead with the back of her own forearms, lick up the sticky remnants, sliding her lazy tongue across her honeysuckle skin, and borrowing a brush from her sister is forced to comb his semen through the wavy lengths of her halo-blonde hair.
When they get out of the car at last, Master Drake is pleased to see that Willow has discarded with her usual self-imposed uniform of black denim jeans and no-matter-the-weather tank top. Towering in platform stilettos, Willow is clad in black leather pants that stroke the heart of her high ass, a black sequined halter strapped across her breasts and held in place by two slender strings.
They are at a strip club.
Sandwiched between Willow and Mara, Master Drake breezes past the bouncers who don’t say a word. And at the counter, the girl taking the covers winces when she sees them.
“Are you looking for Summer?” she asks nervously.
“Who the fuck‘s Summer?” Mara asks, flicking a few bills in the woman’s general direction.
“Do you mean Rowan?” “Roe-wen? You dumbass cow.” Willow continues. “God you people are soooooo stupid…Why else would be we caught dead in this fucking silo? Do you think I walk around the house calling her ‘Summer?’ Of course we’re looking for Rowan. Where’s my sister?”
Pause.
“She’s doing a bachelor party upstairs,” the girl admits, suddenly sullen.
“Fine” snaps Willow. “We’ll wait.”
Master Drake, Willow, and Mara take their seats among the cauldron of black plush chairs that line the catwalk, watch the decadent cadre of blue and pink lights stroke the distended tits of dancer after dancer. Mara and Willow feed each other food, tugging at full forks with greedy mouths… Willow sits on Master Drake’s lap as shot girls douse his throat with liquor and gouge his eyes with bright hard nipples. A tall brunette offers Master a massage which Willow pays for by sliding the girl a mouthful of dollars… mouth to mouth, as Willow’s playful hands run up and down the girl’s sides, linger on the crest of her thighs… The girl, caressing Master’s neck… his shoulders… and below… while around him angular girls with puffy chests, slowly rotate round and round the silver pole, flashing smiles, crotches, greedy hands… swaying to the techno beat.
Still, after an hour, Rowan does not appear. Rising from the plush caverns of his chair, Master Drake stretches. He has grown weary of foreplay. Willow and Mara glance at each other, read each others’ minds in some sort of preternatural “twin-speak,” arrive at the same conclusion: it’s time to crash a party.
After two, not entirely unpleasant, false leads the trio finally finds the mysterious Rowan ensconced in the furthermost of the champagne lounges. When they find her she is pressed up upon the lap of a young man, presumably, judging by his level of intoxication, the groom. His pants are down, and she, she has enveloped the shaft of his cock in between the supple cheeks of her ass… Sitting, stretched across his body, her muscles contracting leisurely around his dick, her arms laced across his shoulders, her red lips wrapped around the cock of another… his brother…. And she is gorgeous. She is not a duplicate, a doppelganger, a clone of her sisters. She hardly resembles them at all but for her lucid skin, buttery white and soft, cool to the touch, pale and luminous like a clear mountain sky. Her hair though, is not the same golden hue shared by her Willow and her Mara… oh no, it is the color of embers, of oriole wings and autumn days, rippling across her ivory skin, brushing the diagonal lines of her brow… sometimes masking the dark, bright orbs of her chestnut brown eyes.
“Mmmm,” she says when she sees them, mouth still brimming with dick, “company…” and then extricating herself from lap and mouth, she is standing, telling the groom it’s time to go home.
“…but” stammers the best man/brother, his dick still gleaming silver with a thick coat of Rowan’ spit. “we paid for another hour already!”
“Too bad,” exclaims Rowan, unbuckling the strap of her shoe, extracting a wad of tightly folded dollars, peeling away several large bills which get thrown to the groom in a most unceremonious manner. “Consider yourselves refunded.”
“but…” pouts the brother, as the groom reluctantly rises to his feet, wobbling, unsteady on his feet, “this is outrageous!!!”
“Go ahead then” responds Rowan calmly, hustling the group of men to the door “tell my boss… it won’t make a difference,” she concludes with a wicked grin, “I’m irreplaceable.”
And at last, after the hubbub of angry men departs down the back stairs, after the door has been shut upon them, Rowan is able to turn her full attention toward Master Drake, turning to meet his gaze directly.
“And what can I do for you tonight?” she purrs.
“Just one thing…” he responds.
“You can call me Master.”
Willow and Mara hold their collective breath. It is a volatile moment. Rowan doesn’t say yes; she doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say no when Master Drake strokes the entrance to her vagina. She doesn’t say no when he runs his hands along the smooth curvature of her breasts, smells sandalwood in her hair, sees cathedrals in her eyes… tastes butterscotch on her breath… and she doesn’t say anything at all when he, skimming the architecture of her legs, finds a single satin ribbon, black, tied tightly to one ankle.
“What’s this?” he asks, one hand fingering the ribbon while the other fingers her, beginning slowly, three fingers, in and out of the arch of her cunt.
Burrowing her way into his lap, Rowan speaks. “It’s a symbol” she says simply. “A symbol of my desire.”
“Your desire for what, pet?” he asks, nibbling at the knot that holds it close.
“You really want to know?” asks Rowan leaning back as Master Drake seizes hold of her long, pale throat, cradling the pulse of her elegant neck in the palm of his hand.
“Yes Pet, tell me what you desire” his voice is soft, thick.
“The ribbon is a symbol of my desire…” she begins slowly, as her labia begins to dampen, dousing his fingers with the clear juices of her cunt, “my desire is to exchange this ribbon for one of iron. To give this band to …” her voice trailing off… “to the one who can master ME.” And then, lifting her head, looking at him squarely, deliberately, she asks him
“Are you that man?”
And then, like dual narrators, Willow and Mara are at his sides, whispering in his ear
“She’s never cum, master…”
“…in all this time….”
“She’s never had an orgasm….”
“or so she says….”
“It’s hard to believe….”
“but we thought if anyone….
“…if anyone would tame Rowan, satisfy her….”
“it could only be…”
“you…”
Master Drake feels the skin surrounding his dick quicken, tighten, feels his cock harden, stiff… running it up and down the length of her legs he asks her, “What if I am that man, my pet, what if… if I make you cum… squirt even? Then what?”
Her answer is straightforward and much to his liking.
And so then he is upon her, dick lashing her, her legs akimbo… Rowan lying pushed on her back, each sister holding a wrist, her arms pinioned, her legs extended, like an upper-case “L” an arrow pointing to the sky. At first she is resistant, when his mouth teases, grazes the tender flesh of her clit, his tongue caresses, presses, grinds its tiny swirl, his teeth rub in between its surrounding folds, nipping the tender flesh… she is cautious, inflexible… her body holds itself in check… his tongue, his face, smothered in the depths of her womanhood, pressed up against the hot edges of passion…. until his face is saturated with her musky odor and she can smell herself, her scent lingering on him as he bends to kiss her neck, her lips, anointed. Underneath him, her plum colored nipples expand… she is like a door and he has the key. His dick he grasps tight in one hand, steers it, guides it, as it peels away the layers of fatty skin that jealously guard the entrance to her cunt. He teases her with it, kissing the lips of her pussy… in and then out until soon she is moaning for more….
But she will have to wait.
He is hoisting her now, lifting her onto an ottoman, on her hands and knees, her face is flushed as he grabs her hair, pulling her face close to the sweet sweat of his crotch… holding her fast… to the point of his dick which is primed against her lips, and in her mouth, expanding to fill it, pushing her tongue down and her neck back. Her flame-licked hair drapes over her face, getting entangled on the wet shaft that pushes in and out, heaving against her enflamed throat. Her cherry red lipstick is smeared and leaves stains at the base of his abdomen with each of his powerful thrusts. He clutches her on either side of her head, rubs his dick in her hair and over her eyes, her head is nodding, rubbing like a cat, against its stiff warmth. Until then he is pushing her head down, down until her cheek is resting on the cool leather sheen of the ottoman, her arms and hands stretched along the floor, again pinned by each sister: Willow on the left and Mara on the right. And he is behind her now… parting her legs like the pages of a book, her knees sliding easily across the slick leather, whetted with the juices of his lust.
And then Rowan moans as she finally feels the walls of her pussy cave in around the strength of his dick riding her…. riding… riding. The ache at the bottom of her belly swells as he forces his way to the back of her cunt, plunging the heat of his dick into the heart of her core… repeatedly… over and over… until her insides are like an avalanche, falling… like the burning city of Troy…. Her sisters are pulling on her arms, all she can see… smell… breathe… is the scent of sex-stained leather… and from behind, the towering throb and ache of Master Drake, breaking her will with each push of his thick, inflated cock. She feels the first scream welling inside her stomach, rising up through her sternum, forcing itself out, her throat, a prisoner escaping.
“Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!”
Her body begins to tremble.
His dick begins to stir.
“Ahhhh, Ahhhhhhhh, ah , ahhh, AaaHHHH, AHHHHHh!!!!!”
He grabs the front of her thighs, pulling her into him, shunting her body, slick with the sheen of sweat, to and fro, savoring the pleasure of her escalating screams that rack her body, making it writhe and convulse under his steady hand…..
Bending over her now, he hisses….
“Say it, pet…. Saaay itt……”
She is panting, her hair is shalacked to her face, her body is trembling.
“Say it.”
And then with a suck of breath as his penis stabs her… again and again…. Without any sign of stopping….. as his practiced fingers pulse against the round of her clitoris…
“M-m-m-aster…”
“again, pet.’
“master.’
“and again….?”
Until she is screaming…. “MASTER!!!!! MASTER!!!!”
She feels the low rumble in the pit of her stomach first, feels it rise with her voice, she senses the build- up, feels the quick, jerky pump, the white-hot release as she squirts a stream of clear, hot liquid which hits the taut leather surface of the ottoman with a smack before running in rivulets down her arms, staining the floor in great wet puddles and soaking the knees of her crouching sisters.
At the sight of Willow and Mara drenched in the slime of their sister’s cum. The sight of Rowan’s blossom of a body shaking under his…. The sounds of her screams as they slowly subside, transition to whimpers… and to great gulps of air…. It is finally enough… with three last, great heaves into the disintegrating depths of Rowan’s wet cunt, he feels the familiar prick, the spasm of energy like a thousand tiny pumps... until Rowan’s pussy is filled to overflowing, bubbling over merrily to trickle down her upturned ass and down the white sheen of her legs.
And then as her kitten-weak body sags into the comfort of her seat, he stoops and with careful fingers untwines the ribbon binding her ankle, letting the black ribbon fall to the ground, promising to bring her a replacement, tomorrow; tomorrow, when he plans to claim his prize, the privilege of her virgin ass, saved, her second virginity, for as long as a twenty-two year old can save anything… waiting for the man who could tame her and now ripe for the picking… waiting for him, tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
This is Master Drake. My pet Psyche has decided to concentrate on other things at this time in her life. Enjoy the stories she has written and received permission from me to post on this blog. Do not make any requests for new stories any longer. Women (genuine women who are at least 18 years in age) who are interested in learning what it takes to learn from me feel free to message me privately.
One of the rewards I gave my pet Psyche for being a good pet and writing the stories featured in this blog (as well as the stories she wrote that are for my eyes only) is making her squirt for the very first time in her life.
One of the rewards I gave my pet Psyche for being a good pet and writing the stories featured in this blog (as well as the stories she wrote that are for my eyes only) is making her squirt for the very first time in her life.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Sooner
Sooner
By Psyche Summer
Master Drake’s bar tab had reached an all-time high. But drinking down his wages was a fair price to pay if he hoped to catch the attention of the new waitress at Cooley’s. Besides, there were worse ways to spend a Friday night than in the company of good friends, good Guiness and very good women. Or in this case: woman. Mary. That was her name.
She was a tall girl, slim and pretty. Master Drake could see her easily as she snaked between the crowded tables of the neighborhood pub. She was hard to miss, actually. It wasn’t that she was a knock-out exactly, but there was something amazing about her none-the-less. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties, but she looked a little bit younger. Perhaps it was the way she wore her hair… like a cartoon character, high on her head, a long, spiraling ponytail of light brown hair, a fringe of wispy bangs that despite her best intentions, and her bobby pins’ best efforts, came fluttering across her face and into her eyes. Her eyes themselves were charming; they were the color of luck, and her smile… her smile well, the best thing I can say about it was that it was lovely and sincere. When she smiled, which was often, her smile would light up the room… make you feel special… like you had really made her happy or something.
So that is how it is… why Master Drake is so distracted, ignoring conversations that would normally interest him: the petty squabbles between his buddies, Nate, Nick and Mitch. Furious debates over whether Tron will suck; whether Sandra Bullock is indeed “hot” and the epic battle, a feud to almost end friendships: was Halle Berry miscast as Catwoman? Of course she was, that’s Master Drake’s opinion, but tonight he is not in the mood for the endless prattle of that inane Berry apologist Nick; hands down the role should’ve gone to Elizabeth Hurley… or Heather Graham at least, but the conversation is an old one, and Master Drake has more captivating things to dwell on.
Like Mary’s ass.
He watches it as she roves between the tables, bending now and then to better hear. His blue eyes linger on its supple curves which press as she leans to pick up some glasses, stretching the thin khaki twill of her teeny-tiny shorts. He admires the ride of her breasts, clad under the winking shamrocks strategically placed on her t-shirt. The tiny cinch of her waist… When suddenly it dawns on him: he knows her.
“C’mon Jack” says Nick, nudging Master Drake in the ribs, “tell this moron it wasn’t Halle’s fault the movie sucked.”
Master Drake sighs. “Nothing against Halle. It was the story of the movie itself that sucked. It was 'Catwoman' of DC Comics...but the character and storyline…”
“See!”
But Master Drake is not paying attention. In his mind he is trying to remember where he has seen Mary before.
“You know her bud?” His friend Mitch is leaning in while Nick and Nate argue.
“Yeah…” he begins…
“She one of your… you know….?”
“No.” he responds wistfully. “She is not one of my pets. Though sweet Jesus, she could be a prized pet of mine!”
“Well, don’t look now Jack-o, here she comes.”
Master Drake straightens himself a little as she approaches, willing his eyes not to wander down to her very pleasing chest.
“Another round boys?” she asks, clearing the glasses, her shoulder just brushing his. He can smell her sweet perfume even among the smell of cigarettes and sweat and nighttime.
“I know you.” He says, grabbing her wrist, conscious that this could be his lamest pick-up ever.
“Yes!” she says brightly, turning toward him, her eyes crinkled into half-moon smiles. “I was wondering if you’d remember” she says laughing at his befuddlement. She meets his gaze directly, pleasantly. Her smile excites him. “You’re Jack Drake, right?” She’s teasing him now because he still has no idea….
Finally she relents, her spectacular smile spreading wider across her face. “I met you last summer... at your cousin CJ’s graduation party. You were there with a Hispanic girl.”
He remembers now. Sort of. He had been with Celeste. He remembers that. Had taken her upstairs to his aunt and uncle’s bedroom, had had her in his famous standing 69, ‘til her face had turned purple, ‘til he had cum all over it, a caul of cum dripping down, sticking to the strands of her caramel colored hair.
“You know CJ?” Nate asks, suddenly interested.
“Jailbait.” Nick mutters under his breath.
“Shut up dickhead” Nate hisses. “She’s like 19.”
“Yeah, but she wasn’t three years ago…”
“Fuck you, asshole” Nate says under his breath, casting a wary look in Master Drake’s general direction before adding, “I’m allowed to LOOK.”
“Yep!” Mary chirps over their banter. “CJ and I went to the same high school. I was a year ahead of her, but we played on the same volleyball team.”
“And you were there at her party, and I didn’t notice you?” Master Drake muses…
“Well,” she says blushing, looking at him under lowered lashes. “I noticed you…”
“Hmmmm…” he responds, dropping his head a little to meet her gaze directly, his blue eyes meeting her green ones. “I must’ve noticed you a little too, right? After all, I remembered you.”
“I guess you did…” she replies quietly, turning away, the tray of glasses balanced on her shoulder. “Well, I’ll be back in a minute with your drinks.”
She is only gone a few seconds though when Master Drake rises from his seat abruptly, excuses himself and follows after her.
“Hmm” says Mitch as he watches their retreating figures. “Boys,” he says, “sit back, I don’t think we’ll be getting our drinks anytime soon.”
*****
Master Drake follows Mary past the bar where she rests her tray of drinks, and into the dark corridor beyond. He watches her swish through the door marked “employees only” and only pauses a moment before following. She is standing in front of the sink in the employees’ washroom. Her hand is down her pants. She doesn’t turn her head as he approaches as he stands behind her, pushing the blossoming expanse of his heaving erection against the back of her thighs. He can hear her little gasps, bubbling out of her rib cage as her hand moves up and down… He runs his face over her scalp, catches the smell of her… runs his lips across the nape of her neck until all of her downy blonde hairs are in edge.
“Jack…” she whispers his name… her eyes are darting back and forth “Jack, we shouldn’t…” Her voice trails off; his greedy mouth has travelled down to her waist, where under her it is pressed warm to her skin. She is panting harder now, forming little puffs of smeary condensation on the mirror in front of her.
“Jack…” she moans. She is turning, writhing against his plying lips. “Stop; you’re like old… I mean…” she hesitates, blushing. He is unzipping her shorts. Her eyes grow wide as his mouth descends. “I… uh… it’s… I mean aren’t you like thirty or something?”
“I’m thirty seven pet, but don’t worry. It’s not like I’m going to marry you or something. You do want me to fuck you tonight, don’t you Mary?”
He is sucking on her clitoris; her shorts are on the floor, and he can feel the little shivers as they race through her convulsing body. He lifts her, somewhat so that her succulent, supine body is reclined into the well of the sink, the small of her back arched above the tap.
She is kissing the top of his head feverishly, running her hands through his thick, dark hair.
“Yes… yesss….” He has turned on the faucet, a tiny stream of cold water which he scoops into his hand before gripping her right breast, watching her nipple, under the thin white cotton of her t-shirt, expand to his touch. He bites it through the material, watching her mouth form a crooked “O” in a paroxysm of shock and ecstasy, as his fingers simultaneously glide into her sopping wet cunt.
“Ohhh. Omigod” her voice is hoarse, breathless as he slides them in and out. First two then three… the cold water lapping against her. Four. “Jack…” she is moaning, curled around him like a giant letter “G.” “Fuck” she whispers. “Fuck.”
He pulls back from her, unfastening her pants, and in that split second she gathers her thoughts.
“Jack…” she says, pulling away from him. “What about CJ?”
“What about her pet?” he asks drawing her close.
“She’s your cousin.”
“I know she is, pet.” He says with finality as he lifts her complicit body, driving it down onto his cock with such force that her legs curl around him reflexively.
“Ooohhhh Oohh…” her voice is escalating.
His mouth is wrapped around hers, his tongue pushing her head into the mirror, her shoulder blades beating the wall.
Her ass rests precariously on the rim of the sink, his hands grip her hips as he drives into her. Feels her warmth wrap around him, her body rise and fall to his rhythm. Stroking her over and over with his fat, hard dick, her thighs, cold and wet, stung with the sizzle of his sex… while at his feet, puddles of water begin to form. Her long ponytail is dripping as well, splattering him with water with each of his unabated thrusts, his intensity is mirrored in the swirling pools of her Irish eyes. Her legs are splayed, flailing, curving, stung with his touch. He is greedy for her. For all of her. And so that is why, in short order, Mary feels the flow of water slow against her back. Feels strong arms lift her from her roost onto the floor, her knees, grating against the wet linoleum. Master Drake is standing in front of her, his legs spread apart, proffering her his dick still wet with her juice.
She looks up at him, her eyes round with expectation as she slowly lowers her head, enveloping him in the clutch of her mouth. He feels the warmth of her tongue wash over him, feels her cheeks puff out in her efforts to contain him. It feels so good. He has seized her by her temples and is thrusting himself into the hole of her mouth, as the first saline trickle streaks down her cheek onto the flash of his disappearing dick. Her knees are grinding into the hard floor, her hands are shaking. Her quivering fingers wrapped around the beast of his lust. Choking. Unrelenting. He looks down at her, brushing her bangs out of her face so that he can see, unobscured, the roundness of her emerald eyes, raised to him beseechingly, brimmed over with salty, trickling tears. Like a Christmas angel bent in prayer, a supplicant, she hovers over the hot spear of his cock, taking it in her perspiring mouth, again and again, over and over, as he fills her mouth with the breadth of his excitement.
“Faster bitch!” He mutters gripping her head. “Faster!”
She is swaying, her throat contracting against the pressure. “Aaaa caaaaaa” she mumbles, her lips stretched wide with saliva stained cock.
“That’s it, you little slut,” he urges “that’s it. You’re going to make me cum soon. You’d like that wouldn’t you, you little cum slut?”
“Yeeettth” comes her pliant, gagging response. Her lovely eyes are bulging as she speaks.
“Say my name, whore…” he hisses between grated teeth.
“Aaackk.”
“No!” He has once again gripped her, pushing her reeling head down onto the fat head of his dick, arching his back as he feels himself slide deeper down into the wet recesses of her tunneling throat. “No little whore, my little fuck pet. You will call me by my proper name pet, which is ‘Master Drake.’ Do you understand pet?” He can feel his excitement mounting… “Now go ahead and gagspeak my name while I cum all over your pretty face.”
Her heart-shaped face is moist with tears and water and slobber and sweat. She is looking up at him with eyes strained by ardor. Her matted hair frames her loveliness.
“Come on…” he whispers urgently, “say it!!!”
And so with one great heave of energy, one huge spasm of lust, she manages to choke out his proper name: “affuh” [cough, cough, retch] “affuuuhh aaa”
He closes his eyes, feels the rush, her plaintive voice echoing in his ears as he feels himself empty into her, feels her gurgling throat collapsing around him, until he pulls out releasing a torrent of white translucence caking her face with his salty brine.
But he is not finished.
Mary cannot believe it at first. Having risen from the floor, the crisscrossed pattern of the floor tile embedded into her knee-caps, she is amazed to see his erection has hardly diminished. In fact as he reaches for her, rubbing it across her sweaty flanks, she swears it is harder than ever. She closes her eyes as he turns her away from him, placing her hands on the edge of the counter, cupping her ass in his hands. Then he is pressing up against her, running his hands up her back underneath her shirt, pressing his flesh into the crack of her pale, quivering ass. Running his hands down the front of her, reaching for her rounded, naked clit, her open, panting cunt. But when she feels the first insistent probe of his cock against her asshole, she turns to him with fear.
“No please…” she says, her voice a hush. “Not that. Please. I’m not ready.”
“You are a virgin?” he asks, caressing the rise of her ass in his hands.
“Yes” she whispers after a minute.
“Know pet, that it would give your master great pleasure to take your virgin ass.”
Again, a pause, like she is waging an internal battle. “I know, I know…” she pleads at last, squinching her eyes closed, “but please Master, please…. I’m scared.”
He looks down at her shivering, disheveled body, hunched over the washroom sink, the brown blossom of her ass peering up at him, his loins twitching with desire.
“Very well pet” he says at last, positioning his hands across her hips, plunging his cock, to the sound of her stifled gasp, into the depths of her pleading pussy.
And then with reckless abandon, mingled with pent up longing, Master Drake pounds her cunt with great heaving blows, blows that threaten to tear down the washroom, rip down the sky; blows that eventually bring the manager to bang on the door, shouting obscenities… lurching thrusts that loosen Mary’s lungs and cause her legs to wobble, that hasten Master Drake’s orgasm until he is exploding inside her, filling her cunt, then lifting himself to spill his seed out onto the glistening surface of her tight virgin ass. The ass that will soon be his, sooner than its mistress could possibly imagine. Soon.
For Master Drake
By Psyche Summer
Master Drake’s bar tab had reached an all-time high. But drinking down his wages was a fair price to pay if he hoped to catch the attention of the new waitress at Cooley’s. Besides, there were worse ways to spend a Friday night than in the company of good friends, good Guiness and very good women. Or in this case: woman. Mary. That was her name.
She was a tall girl, slim and pretty. Master Drake could see her easily as she snaked between the crowded tables of the neighborhood pub. She was hard to miss, actually. It wasn’t that she was a knock-out exactly, but there was something amazing about her none-the-less. She was young, perhaps in her early twenties, but she looked a little bit younger. Perhaps it was the way she wore her hair… like a cartoon character, high on her head, a long, spiraling ponytail of light brown hair, a fringe of wispy bangs that despite her best intentions, and her bobby pins’ best efforts, came fluttering across her face and into her eyes. Her eyes themselves were charming; they were the color of luck, and her smile… her smile well, the best thing I can say about it was that it was lovely and sincere. When she smiled, which was often, her smile would light up the room… make you feel special… like you had really made her happy or something.
So that is how it is… why Master Drake is so distracted, ignoring conversations that would normally interest him: the petty squabbles between his buddies, Nate, Nick and Mitch. Furious debates over whether Tron will suck; whether Sandra Bullock is indeed “hot” and the epic battle, a feud to almost end friendships: was Halle Berry miscast as Catwoman? Of course she was, that’s Master Drake’s opinion, but tonight he is not in the mood for the endless prattle of that inane Berry apologist Nick; hands down the role should’ve gone to Elizabeth Hurley… or Heather Graham at least, but the conversation is an old one, and Master Drake has more captivating things to dwell on.
Like Mary’s ass.
He watches it as she roves between the tables, bending now and then to better hear. His blue eyes linger on its supple curves which press as she leans to pick up some glasses, stretching the thin khaki twill of her teeny-tiny shorts. He admires the ride of her breasts, clad under the winking shamrocks strategically placed on her t-shirt. The tiny cinch of her waist… When suddenly it dawns on him: he knows her.
“C’mon Jack” says Nick, nudging Master Drake in the ribs, “tell this moron it wasn’t Halle’s fault the movie sucked.”
Master Drake sighs. “Nothing against Halle. It was the story of the movie itself that sucked. It was 'Catwoman' of DC Comics...but the character and storyline…”
“See!”
But Master Drake is not paying attention. In his mind he is trying to remember where he has seen Mary before.
“You know her bud?” His friend Mitch is leaning in while Nick and Nate argue.
“Yeah…” he begins…
“She one of your… you know….?”
“No.” he responds wistfully. “She is not one of my pets. Though sweet Jesus, she could be a prized pet of mine!”
“Well, don’t look now Jack-o, here she comes.”
Master Drake straightens himself a little as she approaches, willing his eyes not to wander down to her very pleasing chest.
“Another round boys?” she asks, clearing the glasses, her shoulder just brushing his. He can smell her sweet perfume even among the smell of cigarettes and sweat and nighttime.
“I know you.” He says, grabbing her wrist, conscious that this could be his lamest pick-up ever.
“Yes!” she says brightly, turning toward him, her eyes crinkled into half-moon smiles. “I was wondering if you’d remember” she says laughing at his befuddlement. She meets his gaze directly, pleasantly. Her smile excites him. “You’re Jack Drake, right?” She’s teasing him now because he still has no idea….
Finally she relents, her spectacular smile spreading wider across her face. “I met you last summer... at your cousin CJ’s graduation party. You were there with a Hispanic girl.”
He remembers now. Sort of. He had been with Celeste. He remembers that. Had taken her upstairs to his aunt and uncle’s bedroom, had had her in his famous standing 69, ‘til her face had turned purple, ‘til he had cum all over it, a caul of cum dripping down, sticking to the strands of her caramel colored hair.
“You know CJ?” Nate asks, suddenly interested.
“Jailbait.” Nick mutters under his breath.
“Shut up dickhead” Nate hisses. “She’s like 19.”
“Yeah, but she wasn’t three years ago…”
“Fuck you, asshole” Nate says under his breath, casting a wary look in Master Drake’s general direction before adding, “I’m allowed to LOOK.”
“Yep!” Mary chirps over their banter. “CJ and I went to the same high school. I was a year ahead of her, but we played on the same volleyball team.”
“And you were there at her party, and I didn’t notice you?” Master Drake muses…
“Well,” she says blushing, looking at him under lowered lashes. “I noticed you…”
“Hmmmm…” he responds, dropping his head a little to meet her gaze directly, his blue eyes meeting her green ones. “I must’ve noticed you a little too, right? After all, I remembered you.”
“I guess you did…” she replies quietly, turning away, the tray of glasses balanced on her shoulder. “Well, I’ll be back in a minute with your drinks.”
She is only gone a few seconds though when Master Drake rises from his seat abruptly, excuses himself and follows after her.
“Hmm” says Mitch as he watches their retreating figures. “Boys,” he says, “sit back, I don’t think we’ll be getting our drinks anytime soon.”
*****
Master Drake follows Mary past the bar where she rests her tray of drinks, and into the dark corridor beyond. He watches her swish through the door marked “employees only” and only pauses a moment before following. She is standing in front of the sink in the employees’ washroom. Her hand is down her pants. She doesn’t turn her head as he approaches as he stands behind her, pushing the blossoming expanse of his heaving erection against the back of her thighs. He can hear her little gasps, bubbling out of her rib cage as her hand moves up and down… He runs his face over her scalp, catches the smell of her… runs his lips across the nape of her neck until all of her downy blonde hairs are in edge.
“Jack…” she whispers his name… her eyes are darting back and forth “Jack, we shouldn’t…” Her voice trails off; his greedy mouth has travelled down to her waist, where under her it is pressed warm to her skin. She is panting harder now, forming little puffs of smeary condensation on the mirror in front of her.
“Jack…” she moans. She is turning, writhing against his plying lips. “Stop; you’re like old… I mean…” she hesitates, blushing. He is unzipping her shorts. Her eyes grow wide as his mouth descends. “I… uh… it’s… I mean aren’t you like thirty or something?”
“I’m thirty seven pet, but don’t worry. It’s not like I’m going to marry you or something. You do want me to fuck you tonight, don’t you Mary?”
He is sucking on her clitoris; her shorts are on the floor, and he can feel the little shivers as they race through her convulsing body. He lifts her, somewhat so that her succulent, supine body is reclined into the well of the sink, the small of her back arched above the tap.
She is kissing the top of his head feverishly, running her hands through his thick, dark hair.
“Yes… yesss….” He has turned on the faucet, a tiny stream of cold water which he scoops into his hand before gripping her right breast, watching her nipple, under the thin white cotton of her t-shirt, expand to his touch. He bites it through the material, watching her mouth form a crooked “O” in a paroxysm of shock and ecstasy, as his fingers simultaneously glide into her sopping wet cunt.
“Ohhh. Omigod” her voice is hoarse, breathless as he slides them in and out. First two then three… the cold water lapping against her. Four. “Jack…” she is moaning, curled around him like a giant letter “G.” “Fuck” she whispers. “Fuck.”
He pulls back from her, unfastening her pants, and in that split second she gathers her thoughts.
“Jack…” she says, pulling away from him. “What about CJ?”
“What about her pet?” he asks drawing her close.
“She’s your cousin.”
“I know she is, pet.” He says with finality as he lifts her complicit body, driving it down onto his cock with such force that her legs curl around him reflexively.
“Ooohhhh Oohh…” her voice is escalating.
His mouth is wrapped around hers, his tongue pushing her head into the mirror, her shoulder blades beating the wall.
Her ass rests precariously on the rim of the sink, his hands grip her hips as he drives into her. Feels her warmth wrap around him, her body rise and fall to his rhythm. Stroking her over and over with his fat, hard dick, her thighs, cold and wet, stung with the sizzle of his sex… while at his feet, puddles of water begin to form. Her long ponytail is dripping as well, splattering him with water with each of his unabated thrusts, his intensity is mirrored in the swirling pools of her Irish eyes. Her legs are splayed, flailing, curving, stung with his touch. He is greedy for her. For all of her. And so that is why, in short order, Mary feels the flow of water slow against her back. Feels strong arms lift her from her roost onto the floor, her knees, grating against the wet linoleum. Master Drake is standing in front of her, his legs spread apart, proffering her his dick still wet with her juice.
She looks up at him, her eyes round with expectation as she slowly lowers her head, enveloping him in the clutch of her mouth. He feels the warmth of her tongue wash over him, feels her cheeks puff out in her efforts to contain him. It feels so good. He has seized her by her temples and is thrusting himself into the hole of her mouth, as the first saline trickle streaks down her cheek onto the flash of his disappearing dick. Her knees are grinding into the hard floor, her hands are shaking. Her quivering fingers wrapped around the beast of his lust. Choking. Unrelenting. He looks down at her, brushing her bangs out of her face so that he can see, unobscured, the roundness of her emerald eyes, raised to him beseechingly, brimmed over with salty, trickling tears. Like a Christmas angel bent in prayer, a supplicant, she hovers over the hot spear of his cock, taking it in her perspiring mouth, again and again, over and over, as he fills her mouth with the breadth of his excitement.
“Faster bitch!” He mutters gripping her head. “Faster!”
She is swaying, her throat contracting against the pressure. “Aaaa caaaaaa” she mumbles, her lips stretched wide with saliva stained cock.
“That’s it, you little slut,” he urges “that’s it. You’re going to make me cum soon. You’d like that wouldn’t you, you little cum slut?”
“Yeeettth” comes her pliant, gagging response. Her lovely eyes are bulging as she speaks.
“Say my name, whore…” he hisses between grated teeth.
“Aaackk.”
“No!” He has once again gripped her, pushing her reeling head down onto the fat head of his dick, arching his back as he feels himself slide deeper down into the wet recesses of her tunneling throat. “No little whore, my little fuck pet. You will call me by my proper name pet, which is ‘Master Drake.’ Do you understand pet?” He can feel his excitement mounting… “Now go ahead and gagspeak my name while I cum all over your pretty face.”
Her heart-shaped face is moist with tears and water and slobber and sweat. She is looking up at him with eyes strained by ardor. Her matted hair frames her loveliness.
“Come on…” he whispers urgently, “say it!!!”
And so with one great heave of energy, one huge spasm of lust, she manages to choke out his proper name: “affuh” [cough, cough, retch] “affuuuhh aaa”
He closes his eyes, feels the rush, her plaintive voice echoing in his ears as he feels himself empty into her, feels her gurgling throat collapsing around him, until he pulls out releasing a torrent of white translucence caking her face with his salty brine.
But he is not finished.
Mary cannot believe it at first. Having risen from the floor, the crisscrossed pattern of the floor tile embedded into her knee-caps, she is amazed to see his erection has hardly diminished. In fact as he reaches for her, rubbing it across her sweaty flanks, she swears it is harder than ever. She closes her eyes as he turns her away from him, placing her hands on the edge of the counter, cupping her ass in his hands. Then he is pressing up against her, running his hands up her back underneath her shirt, pressing his flesh into the crack of her pale, quivering ass. Running his hands down the front of her, reaching for her rounded, naked clit, her open, panting cunt. But when she feels the first insistent probe of his cock against her asshole, she turns to him with fear.
“No please…” she says, her voice a hush. “Not that. Please. I’m not ready.”
“You are a virgin?” he asks, caressing the rise of her ass in his hands.
“Yes” she whispers after a minute.
“Know pet, that it would give your master great pleasure to take your virgin ass.”
Again, a pause, like she is waging an internal battle. “I know, I know…” she pleads at last, squinching her eyes closed, “but please Master, please…. I’m scared.”
He looks down at her shivering, disheveled body, hunched over the washroom sink, the brown blossom of her ass peering up at him, his loins twitching with desire.
“Very well pet” he says at last, positioning his hands across her hips, plunging his cock, to the sound of her stifled gasp, into the depths of her pleading pussy.
And then with reckless abandon, mingled with pent up longing, Master Drake pounds her cunt with great heaving blows, blows that threaten to tear down the washroom, rip down the sky; blows that eventually bring the manager to bang on the door, shouting obscenities… lurching thrusts that loosen Mary’s lungs and cause her legs to wobble, that hasten Master Drake’s orgasm until he is exploding inside her, filling her cunt, then lifting himself to spill his seed out onto the glistening surface of her tight virgin ass. The ass that will soon be his, sooner than its mistress could possibly imagine. Soon.
For Master Drake
Sunday, October 31, 2010
The Good Night
The Good Night
By: Psyche Summer
The dull hum and drone of the photo-copier was giving Thomas a hard-on. Winding through his body like some sort of virus, causing his cock to expand in his lap, hardening as he watched her… the current of electricity that passed through his body, distracting him from his work, as he closes his eyes… trying to force out the thoughts of Natalie… his secretary, who stands before him, young and lithe, bent over the paper-feed, causing Thomas to clutch his desk, imagine ugly things… try… try to avoid temptation.
Thomas knew better. He really did. He was married. Happily enough. And she was getting married too. She had told him so, a month ago, confiding in him one morning over coffee, secrets shared between doughnuts and dossiers. He remembered how his anatomy had first responded to her that morning, flaring as her nimble fingers reached over him, to pluck a sugar packet from the box, her long, charcoal hair just brushing his arm… sending shivers up his spine. How she had taken him into her confidence that day… wrapped her longing around him like a sheath…. shying away at first… until she gradually let her guard down, letting him peel away the skin of her secrets, like an unfurling flower, gradually deeply. Until she is telling him of all of her fears, her hopes and her humiliations… her desire… for anal sex… she blushes as she says it… how she is so afraid that her boyfriend, her affianced will think she is dirty… a whore… so she keeps her desires hidden, blanketed under a vanilla veneer.
And now, as twilight turns to real darkness, as muffled footsteps fade into night, Thomas watches Natalie step away from the copier, watches her approach his desk, her girlish figure… so tantalizing… her warm olive skin…. her beautiful, full breasts…. So lovely. It makes him ache; she is so close… she smells clean… sweet… like daisies, as she casually begins to sort her papers, leaning against his desk, casually unaware that the sight of spandex stretched across her high, taut ass is sending her boss into seizures, raptures of desire. She is like Eve in the garden, her ass outstretched, like an apple in her trembling hand… just one bite of its sweet succulence… is all he wants: just one lingering taste.
So it is that he can hardly help himself in the end; he is an automaton, forgetting hearth and home, so seized is he by the siren’s song of her hovering, lingering ass, suspended in the air before him. So that without hardly knowing how or why, without premeditation (unless you count the hours and hours of self-induced pleasure, cumming into his hands between the sheets of his marriage bed, imagining her, down on her knees, her pleasant, yielding lips wrapped around his cock), he finds his hand, reaching out, touching down on the soft exterior, stroking the fine twin ellipses of her buttocks… feeling her muscles tense just once before they relax into the confines of his hand.
Is she surprised at his forwardness? Perhaps, but if so: not much. For instead of protesting, she bends down further, stretches her face towards his computer screen. Gently placing her hands on the desk before her.
“Don’t move.” He whispers.
Thomas is getting up, his heart is racing, but he calmly pads to the door, locking it against intruders before he returns…. And without preface, without introduction or ceremony, without any words at all, he is pulling the stretch of her pants down to her knees, running his hands over the fine, beehive of her ass, her skin, soooo smooth. He gropes the two halves of her ass, parting them like a carved melon, running his finger between the crack, letting it linger and probe along the meniscus of her hole, staring at its dark, brown kiss… savoring its unblemished innocence. With one hand he is unzipping his pants, letting his drawers fall to the floor, while his other hand feels its probing, winding fingers through the threshold, the entranceway to her ass… enjoying the shiver of her nervous excitement as the brunt of his manhood draws near. A little gasp as he grabs a fistful of her hair before pressing the tip of his dick against the flailing rim. Rubbing slick hands, wet with sweaty anticipation, against the stiff walls of his erection before testing it against the weight of her stubborn, virgin ass. Feelings erupt inside him, the death grip, tightness of her first refusal, the vice-like walls of her warm, throbbing hole as he pushes again… so that just the tip, the very tip… is slowly swallowed…. eliciting the first grit of her teeth, her first sensual, trembling moan. A moan that inspires a fever-fall of lust in Thomas such as he never knew, urging him on as he pushes further into her stain… like a hypodermic needle piercing the skin… pushing further, deeper into the well of her wiggling body. Finally, plunging beyond the collapse of resistant, heaving muscles, into the Elysium of the inner chassis of her ass, feeling the shudder of skin twitch around him, the thick warm velvet of her contracting muscles tensing with each and every wrenching thrust. Until Natalie’s scalp stings with the pain of his pull, her ass weeps as he descends upon her again and again, relentless, like a wakened beast, burying his fingers in the depths of her sopping, soaking cunt. His dick, engorged and bloated, reaching into the pinch of her loins, stretching the flesh around it, bending her bones…
She is capsized on the desk, a hailstorm of pain and joy… as moan after howling moan comes falling from her fevered lips. Thomas can feel his own dick between the walls of her cunt and her ass, sliding to-and-fro within her, his groping fingers pushing against her, increasing the pressure, the pleasure of her breaking in. His dick is fully inside her, plummeting with every heavy thud. His body. Slamming against her tender ass… over and over, until pulling out he cums… frothing all over the ridge of her pummeled, heaving bottom, smearing it over her body, the soapy, white strength of his seed. Before he releases her hair, pulls up her pants, petting her cum-stained ass one last lingering time for good measure… before kissing her once, on the crown of her head…. before, as night falls, he sends her on her way.
For my friend, Thomas
By: Psyche Summer
The dull hum and drone of the photo-copier was giving Thomas a hard-on. Winding through his body like some sort of virus, causing his cock to expand in his lap, hardening as he watched her… the current of electricity that passed through his body, distracting him from his work, as he closes his eyes… trying to force out the thoughts of Natalie… his secretary, who stands before him, young and lithe, bent over the paper-feed, causing Thomas to clutch his desk, imagine ugly things… try… try to avoid temptation.
Thomas knew better. He really did. He was married. Happily enough. And she was getting married too. She had told him so, a month ago, confiding in him one morning over coffee, secrets shared between doughnuts and dossiers. He remembered how his anatomy had first responded to her that morning, flaring as her nimble fingers reached over him, to pluck a sugar packet from the box, her long, charcoal hair just brushing his arm… sending shivers up his spine. How she had taken him into her confidence that day… wrapped her longing around him like a sheath…. shying away at first… until she gradually let her guard down, letting him peel away the skin of her secrets, like an unfurling flower, gradually deeply. Until she is telling him of all of her fears, her hopes and her humiliations… her desire… for anal sex… she blushes as she says it… how she is so afraid that her boyfriend, her affianced will think she is dirty… a whore… so she keeps her desires hidden, blanketed under a vanilla veneer.
And now, as twilight turns to real darkness, as muffled footsteps fade into night, Thomas watches Natalie step away from the copier, watches her approach his desk, her girlish figure… so tantalizing… her warm olive skin…. her beautiful, full breasts…. So lovely. It makes him ache; she is so close… she smells clean… sweet… like daisies, as she casually begins to sort her papers, leaning against his desk, casually unaware that the sight of spandex stretched across her high, taut ass is sending her boss into seizures, raptures of desire. She is like Eve in the garden, her ass outstretched, like an apple in her trembling hand… just one bite of its sweet succulence… is all he wants: just one lingering taste.
So it is that he can hardly help himself in the end; he is an automaton, forgetting hearth and home, so seized is he by the siren’s song of her hovering, lingering ass, suspended in the air before him. So that without hardly knowing how or why, without premeditation (unless you count the hours and hours of self-induced pleasure, cumming into his hands between the sheets of his marriage bed, imagining her, down on her knees, her pleasant, yielding lips wrapped around his cock), he finds his hand, reaching out, touching down on the soft exterior, stroking the fine twin ellipses of her buttocks… feeling her muscles tense just once before they relax into the confines of his hand.
Is she surprised at his forwardness? Perhaps, but if so: not much. For instead of protesting, she bends down further, stretches her face towards his computer screen. Gently placing her hands on the desk before her.
“Don’t move.” He whispers.
Thomas is getting up, his heart is racing, but he calmly pads to the door, locking it against intruders before he returns…. And without preface, without introduction or ceremony, without any words at all, he is pulling the stretch of her pants down to her knees, running his hands over the fine, beehive of her ass, her skin, soooo smooth. He gropes the two halves of her ass, parting them like a carved melon, running his finger between the crack, letting it linger and probe along the meniscus of her hole, staring at its dark, brown kiss… savoring its unblemished innocence. With one hand he is unzipping his pants, letting his drawers fall to the floor, while his other hand feels its probing, winding fingers through the threshold, the entranceway to her ass… enjoying the shiver of her nervous excitement as the brunt of his manhood draws near. A little gasp as he grabs a fistful of her hair before pressing the tip of his dick against the flailing rim. Rubbing slick hands, wet with sweaty anticipation, against the stiff walls of his erection before testing it against the weight of her stubborn, virgin ass. Feelings erupt inside him, the death grip, tightness of her first refusal, the vice-like walls of her warm, throbbing hole as he pushes again… so that just the tip, the very tip… is slowly swallowed…. eliciting the first grit of her teeth, her first sensual, trembling moan. A moan that inspires a fever-fall of lust in Thomas such as he never knew, urging him on as he pushes further into her stain… like a hypodermic needle piercing the skin… pushing further, deeper into the well of her wiggling body. Finally, plunging beyond the collapse of resistant, heaving muscles, into the Elysium of the inner chassis of her ass, feeling the shudder of skin twitch around him, the thick warm velvet of her contracting muscles tensing with each and every wrenching thrust. Until Natalie’s scalp stings with the pain of his pull, her ass weeps as he descends upon her again and again, relentless, like a wakened beast, burying his fingers in the depths of her sopping, soaking cunt. His dick, engorged and bloated, reaching into the pinch of her loins, stretching the flesh around it, bending her bones…
She is capsized on the desk, a hailstorm of pain and joy… as moan after howling moan comes falling from her fevered lips. Thomas can feel his own dick between the walls of her cunt and her ass, sliding to-and-fro within her, his groping fingers pushing against her, increasing the pressure, the pleasure of her breaking in. His dick is fully inside her, plummeting with every heavy thud. His body. Slamming against her tender ass… over and over, until pulling out he cums… frothing all over the ridge of her pummeled, heaving bottom, smearing it over her body, the soapy, white strength of his seed. Before he releases her hair, pulls up her pants, petting her cum-stained ass one last lingering time for good measure… before kissing her once, on the crown of her head…. before, as night falls, he sends her on her way.
For my friend, Thomas
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