An Introduction to the Fictions of Rajah Dodger

A long time ago, in a world much different from today, I started writing smut.  I thought I could do as well as what I was seeing on computer bulletin boards, and flattered myself that I was right.  Since then I’ve completed over 120 stories, short-shorts, and poems.  My writing style and competence have developed over time, so the quality of what you will see here varies greatly.

I’m slowly adding topic codes, and most recently starting to consider trigger warnings, but what I have is incomplete.  Take that for what it is, and consider the story summaries if you’re looking for possible triggers.

The times have changed significantly since many of these stories were written, so several of the stories in this collection will not be posted again to the internet except to websites where the management explicitly accepts them.

Remember, folks, this is FICTION.


License/Copyright Notice

     This work, as a whole and for each individual story, consists of stories written by Rajah Dodger and is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License (by-nc-sa).  In jurisdictions where the Creative Commons license is not recognized, United States copyright and Berne Convention provisions apply; all rights are reserved to Rajah Dodger except that electronic not-for-profit reproduction rights are explicitly granted with the stipulation that this authorship and permission note must remain attached.


Author Biography

     Rajah Dodger is a citizen of Texas, both by birth and by residence.  A man in his midlife (that's as close to demographics as he will authorize), he has been "in computers" for over a quarter of a century and makes his living in Houston, not far from one of the world's largest centers [targets] of petrochemical production.  He speaks English, reads some Spanish, and writes in a variety of computer languages.

     Once upon a time he cursed the darkness of badly written stories on adult computer bulletin boards.  Then a voice came to him saying "Go thou and show them how it is done, for in truth you cannot do much worse".  And thereby hangs a tale -- over a hundred of them to date, with no outraged villagers coming yet to burn his house down.  He writes about most anything that catches his fancy, whether it's darkly nasty stroke or socially redeeming fluff.

     None of his family suspect that he is a published author; his wife considers him merely strange, and his offspring just roll their eyes.  When not working or writing, he plays cards, reads science fiction, listens to classical and rock music, and watches television.

     Finally, his pen name has nothing to do with either the Indian subcontinent or any desire to escape law enforcement.  It actually comes from a combination of Charles Dickens and British pilot slang.  The rest of the etymology is left as an exercise for the astute student.


Alphabetical List of Stories

NOTE: The "/END/" link at the end of each story brings you back here.


Quick Reads and Short Shorts


Chronological List

Poems (5)

Quick Reads and Short Shorts (25)



Man Dance

Keys: [file:mand] [date:1989] [words:1917] [codes:MFFF]

Abstract: A man goes looking for women outside male dancer clubs and gets more than a handful

Man Dance

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1989, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     It had seemed like a great idea at the time. Why hit the bars, blowing money in each one until he found a girl who was in the mood, when there was one place sure to be stocked with horny women? If he had known what he would experience...

     He got to the male strippers club shortly before closing time, set his two-door in the lot not far from the front door, and got out to lean against the car and wait. He wore his best silk shirt and a pair of skin-tight leather slacks. A faintly menacing smile played across his lips as he waited.

     Sure enough, the doors opened and a stream of women came out, talking, laughing, and giggling, in twos and threes and larger groups. Some passed by him without a glance, others stopped briefly admiring his car, or tossed a lewd comment as they went by. "New in town, sailor?" "Is that sausage for display or for sale?" That last comment hit home -- most of the women coming out of the club were well-built, and the tightness of his crotch was starting to hurt.

     Just as he was about to give up the idea, three women stopped to talk. "Hey, guy," said a strawberry blonde in a blousy sweater, "waiting for somebody to get off work, or would you be interested in a private show?" This was what he had been waiting for! "Well, I might be interested... where would the show be?"

     The blonde went back to her friends, a tall redhead and a petite one. The tall one was wearing a mannish suit, while the smaller one was in a peasant blouse and skirt. He hoped they would decide quickly -- he had definite plans for all of them. Soon enough the blonde returned. "It's too complicated to give you directions, so we decided I should ride in the car with you and follow my friends. I'm Ginny. Shall we go?"

     He grinned, executed a formal bow, and opened the car door for her, then got in and started following her friends. "Have you been at the club long?" she asked. "Not very," he replied, thinking, "this is great -- they really think I'm an off-duty dancer!" He turned toward her to continue the conversation, and saw her squeezing her breasts through her sweater. "Don't lose control, friend, I'm just keeping the fires burning here. I hope you can ... follow the warm-up act!" The thought reminded him of his cock, swollen and constricted in his pants. He winked at her, suppressed a groan, and continued to follow the other car.

     They arrived at a nondescript suburban house. The shorter redhead got out of the lead car and opened the garage, where they parked both cars. He followed them in through the kitchen to the living room. The tall redhead, who introduced herself as Sandy, fixed drinks all around while her shorter counterpart, Meg, busied herself arranging the furniture. Ginny put some music on the stereo, and announced, "All right, ladies, the warm-up show will now begin. You know the rules!" -- and with that, grabbed him by the arm and started close dancing with him. She was a good dancer, too; they did a two-step followed by a salsa move that could have been on Bandstand -- or Dirty Dancing. Just as they started to move into a vertical bop, Sandy cut in. While not as good a dancer as Ginny, she could definitely swing her body, and with her jacket off he could tell there was a good body there to swing. Sandy was quickly replaced by Meg, and the height difference became a turn-on as her breasts rubbed across his belly, too close to his crotch for comfort and yet too far for satisfaction...

     The music came to an end, and Ginny said, "We have an outfit we'd like to see you in, if it's okay." At this point, he would have been glad to dance naked. "If you'd follow me back here, I'll show you what we have." She led him into a stark room with bare walls, a low bench, a bed and a closet. On the bed was a tux cutaway jacket, tux shirt, black slacks with a matching set of suspenders, and something that looked like bikini briefs, but with string ties on each side of the waist. She left while he stripped and put on the outfit. The "briefs" were just a thin piece of silky material in an hourglass shape, with barely enough elastic in the border to hold his cock without it spilling out. There was also a pair of thin black slippers, which he put on without socks. When he went back into the living room, the lights were down except for two ceiling spots aimed at the center of the room. He started "strutting his stuff", doing moves he remembered seeing at the ballet and some from TV -- the music was fast rock, and he spun and twisted as he got into the mood.

     With the lights trained on him, he couldn't really see the girls just outside his area, but they cheered him on as he removed, twirled and tossed the tux jacket. The music turned to Pink Floyd, Yes and King Crimson as he attempted to keep up the pace he had set. Those hours at the health club were paying off now, and he wanted to keep his audience happy. He undid one button of the shirt at a time, finally removing it completely to loud applause and whistles, and swinging it at arm's length, feeling it brush against each member of his audience until he let it go. A voice (Ginny's, he thought) said "All right, now, let's really get to it!"

     He did poses, ballet leaps, kicks and turns for a short while, but knew these women wanted more. He started doing the twist in one spot, pulled the zipper down, and shimmied as the pants snaked their way down his legs to the floor. The voices in the shadows liked that move! He stepped out of the slacks and flipped them away with one foot. He thought as he did so that he felt something scrape at his ankle, but still couldn't see clearly beyond his circle of light.

     Now down to briefs and slippers, he bumped and ground as the music slowed down -- the Beatles' "Revolution", Clapton's original version of "After Midnight", Rod Stewart's "Tonight's the Night". He did a spin kick and felt someone grab the slipper off his foot. A split, and as he got up a hand reached in and got the other slipper. Then an arm (it had to be Meg) reached in and pulled the ties, zipping his briefs away! He stopped dancing in surprise as the lights went out but the music continued. A voice suddenly whispered in his ear, "Don't stop now, big boy" and he felt the unmistakable pressure of a pair of breasts at his back and hips against his buttocks. He began to bump and grind again, the body behind him matching his every move and slowly moving him across the room. He could not tell where he was going, but had decided this was Sandy from the high spot her breasts were hitting him.

     The music changed to a rumba, as he collided cock first with another body in front of him. He automatically grabbed her by the hips, as the body behind him did the same to him, and the sandwich worked its way forward in the dark. His cock was trapped with the shaft between the ass cheeks of the girl in front, the head bumping her spine with every step. The breasts behind him were erect now; he felt the tips of the nipples burning into his back. Suddenly the body in front disappeared, the hands at his hips grabbed his wrists and he felt his arms tied behind his back.

     "Hey, what gi-mmmff!" He started to protest as something was pushed into his mouth. The person at his back quickly frog-marched him to a low bench, fastened both ankles to cuffs and untied his arms, then put them into cuffs behind his head. Now the lights came on, glaring into his eyes. He was in the same room he had dressed in, securely tied down on the bench, his cock still standing tall from the rumba sandwich. All three women were naked around him, as Ginny said, "You can talk the talk, big boy, but can you walk the walk?" With that she pulled the gag out of his mouth and replaced it with her pussy. "Keep me entertained, friend -- keep us all entertained!"

     As he started licking, he felt fingers toying with his penis, the nails lightly running up the shaft to the crown, a hand hefting his balls, then rimming his anus. Ginny's legs were over his ears, so he could only react to what he felt and Ginny's movements. One of his arms was untied, and his hand was placed on a breast. Sandy's he guessed, which meant that Meg was the one teasing him at the other end. He massaged the breast as he nibbled, kissed and licked Ginny's vagina. He ringed her clitoris, feeling her response even as his hand was moved to Sandy's other breast. His tongue made a beeline for her vagina, pushing its way in with the desperation he was feeling below, where Meg's fingers and tongue were keeping him on the edge of being able to come. He thrust his hips, but into unresisting air.

     Now Ginny pressed heavily on his mouth, nearly breaking his nose with the force of her pubic bone as she came on his tongue. He was dizzy from lack of air by the time she got up from his face, and his cock was throbbing painfully. "You should really thank Meg for keeping you busy, you know," Ginny said, and with that Meg straddled his head facing his feet. He had a choice of holes, and tested the rosebud nearest him.

     As Meg wriggled and settled onto his face, Sandy moved his hand from her breast to her bush, and he worked his fingers around there. He wondered what Ginny was doing, when the bench fell away from his hips -- there must have been a drop-flap there. A pair of hands began to massage his butt, occasionally reaching up to toy with his still-aching cock and balls. She rubbed some kind of lotion into his anal crack, and then worked one finger up his ass. He started jerking and jumping, as much as he could in his tied position, and his fingers and tongue redoubled their efforts for Sandy and Meg. Everything started happening at once then. First Sandy clenched his hand between her thighs, then Meg reached down and grabbed his ass as she pushed her ass onto his probing tongue, and Ginny's finger found his prostate and pushed him over the edge as he shot and jerked and twisted and screamed and shot...

     When he came to, he was curled up in the back seat of his car, in the parking lot at the dance club, and it was late morning. Had it all been a dream? He was wearing his leather pants; his silk shirt was fully buttoned. He looked up and saw, dangling from the rear-view mirror, an hourglass-shaped piece of silk with string ties...

/ END /

Endnote: Originally written under the pseudonym "Major Havoc". This was my first distributed story.



Keys: [file:upst] [date:1989] [words:2059] [codes:Fm bdsm semi-cons]

Abstract: A straying husband follows an inviting woman home but finds himself way over his head


by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1989, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     My wife was out of town for the week, which left me without much to do besides watch TV or catch the basketball games on the radio.  So when rush hour hit, I headed to a nearby bar and sat at the rail to check out the traffic, ordering a gin and tonic to pass the time.  It was an upscale crowd -- yuppies, businessmen like myself, you know the type.

     As I swiveled my barstool around, getting a quick 360 of the clientele, I realized there was a woman sitting next to me.  A good-looking brunette in a well-tailored business suit.  And unless I was very much mistaken, she had been giving me the eye.

     I turned around, and she was there all right, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite fathom.  "Rough day?" she asked, and I relaxed and moved into the "office work" routine with half my mind while the other half tried to figure what she was looking for.  She was friendly enough, and I tuned back into our discussion just in time to hear myself recommend a little Chinese place for dinner.

     We ate at Yank Soo's in one of the booths overlooking the river. Separate checks, of course.  She told me about life in the field of accounting and how hard it was for a woman to get ahead in a male-dominated area.  We talked about college and career, and found a mutual interest in old jazz.  Turns out she had some early Blue Note disks I had been looking for years, so I asked about taping them for my collection and she invited me to come over and give them a listen first.

     Her "little place" was a Victorian brownstone in one of the more expensive neighborhoods.  I pulled into the second bay of the two-car garage since it looked like rain.  She showed me into the music room as she went to fix something to drink.  I was impressed -- her jazz collection was something incredible, from rare Bird to just about every Monk album ever released.  I found the records we had discussed and put one on the turntable, then sat on the couch and listened. Cool, sweet, jazz -- I closed my eyes and drank in the sound.  At some point in the first track she put a drink in my hand, and I sipped as I listened.

     The first track ended, and I opened my eyes to see her beside me on the couch.  Somehow, taking her in my arms was the easiest thing to do, and when the second track began, we just naturally rose to start dancing.  Her hands drifted down to the base of my spine, and I became aware of the points of her breasts through the silk blouse she wore.  We turned so she was dancing with her back to me, moving her hips back into mine.  I cupped her breasts, and heard her sigh as she leaned into me.  She turned around, and as our dance went on she unbuttoned my shirt, then removed it and my jacket.  Next to go was her jacket and blouse, and we danced through the next solo with her hands inside the back of my pants.

     "Come upstairs," she breathed, running one hand between my legs, and I didn't have the will to resist her.  She unfastened my pants there in the music room, leaving me in shorts alone, took off her bra, and kissed me long and deep, my hands roaming over her back and down farther.  She led me up the stairs, one hand in my shorts, and opened the door to her bedroom.  There was a large bed there, a music system equal to the one downstairs, and a low metal Sixties-style bench with a fur seat by a curtained wall.  She asked me to sit on the bench, and as the music from downstairs continued, used her own fingers to bring her nipples into proud erection.  "Kiss me," she said, offering a ripe tit, and I cooperated, drawing it into my mouth with lips and tongue. "Harder," she moaned, and I used my teeth and tongue, feeling it become stiff and swollen.  She pulled away, then offered the other breast for the same treatment.  When she pulled away this time, her face -- indeed her whole upper body -- was flushed.  She beckoned with one finger, and I came to her to slip her skirt off, revealing a black pair of crotchless panties.  I slipped a finger between her thighs, finding that she was already warm and wet.

     She asked me to turn around, so I did so, facing the bench and wall as she dragged my shorts down, my penis spring free to smack audibly against my belly.  I felt her hands move down my legs, and then a clicking sound.  I looked down to realize that she had just fastened a set of fur-lined cuffs around my ankles and snapped them to the bottom legs of the bench.  She pushed me forward, and as I fell she grabbed one arm, then the other, fastening them similarly to the other end.  I began to appreciate the design of the bench in a different light now.  The seat of the bench ran from just below my neck to just above my waist, then the bench legs went out at an angle, leaving me open to the air from the belly button to mid-thigh.  I couldn't see what she was doing, but I could still smell her private aroma, and that maintained my flagging erection.

     She slid a footstool beneath my chin, lifting my head so I could see the slit in her panties and smell the juices that were already gathered there.  As she slid forward, I stretched my tongue out to meet her, finding her hot and wet inside.  She gripped my head as I kissed and licked, and ran trails with her nails around my ears, the back of my neck, my armpits, each nail leaving a trace I could feel as clearly as reading a map.  I felt something toying with the head of my penis -- she had stretched her legs and gripped me with her toes.  Now she pulled slightly away from my face, and I had to stretch my head and tongue to reach her, as she braced her hands on my shoulders and began working me with her feet.  I could not hold off, but as I began to shoot, I felt her begin her own spasms around my tongue.

     She bent her knee, bringing one foot onto the stool, her toes between my face and her pussy.  "Suck," she commanded, and despite some misgivings I did, mingling the acrid taste of my own fluid with the heavy smell of her juices.  She buried my face inside her pussy again, and I licked and nibbled until she was satisfied.  She arose, moving to my nether end, and I heard a buzzing sound, then felt a vibrator moving over my thighs, between my legs, between my cheeks. She parted my cheeks and I felt her finger work its way into the opening there, moving in and out until I relaxed.  Then her finger was replaced by something thicker that went in until my muscles clamped around a narrow portion.  She ran the vibrator over the end of the plug, and the sensation was so intense, that to my surprise I found myself becoming erect again.

     She unhooked the cuffs from the bench, and helped me to stand erect, taking me in a full body kiss, tongues fighting for space, then sliding slowly down my body to taste and tease my nipples as I cupped and squeezed her full breasts.  Each move I made caused the plug to wiggle, making my erection bob and jerk against her.  "Poor baby, we've been neglecting you," she said, and sank to her knees to engulf me in the moist cavern of her mouth.  I closed my eyes and stroked her fine hair as her tongue and lips worked their magic on me, all the while her fingers were pinching, caressing and stroking my thighs, cheeks, genitals.  My breath was coming ragged as she held me on the edge of erupting.

     She pulled away, holding me in her hand as she led me to a curtained wall, then drew the curtain aside to reveal a large metal frame with D-rings at the corners.  She backed me up and attached my feet to the corners, spreading my legs to do so, then kissed and licked her way up my body, finally lifting my arms and hooking their cuffs to the top corners of the frame.  By now she was riding on top of me, rubbing her labia around my aching member, her breasts hot against my chest.

     She moved her head down to kiss and worry my nipple, then made me gasp as she clipped something to it.  She repeated the treatment on my other nipple, then slid down and wrapped her breasts around my erection, bring it up harder (if possible).  Now she attached some sort of clamp to the skin just below the head, with a weight attached to the clamp.  The weight magnified every movement I make. As she stepped away from the frame, my attention wavered between the growing pain at my nipples, the constant reminder of the anal plug, and the self-jerking action of my cock.  Her face was radiant as she watched me quiver.

     She asked me, "What would you like first?" but I could not give her an answer.  Remove the clips?  Take me into her mouth? Unhook my arms?  She chuckled at my indecision, then went to the side of the frame, unhooked a bar, and swung the frame out, now perpendicular to the wall.  "You'll like this, I think," she said, scraping her nails up my ass cheeks, wiggling the plug to draw a low moan from me.  She took the weight and fastened it to the anal plug, so every motion I made was now reflected.

     I heard her step away, then I could not hear her at all.  My nipples felt on fire, and all the squirming I could manage in that frame would not budge them.  But all that movement did shake the weight and move the plug, making my aching erection harder.  Where did she go?   I began to worry how long she was going to leave me and finally yelled "Hello?  Where are you?"  I got my answer as my ass exploded in pain.  Whack! Whack!  She had re-entered the room quietly and now was strapping my ass.  I cried out from the shock, her only response more laughter.  Every jolt of the strap seemed to run from the base of my ass cheeks to the head of my erection.

     When she finally stopped the spanking, I thanked her in relief, asking what she wanted from me.  "Aren't you enjoying yourself?" she answered, "Oh, silly me, you have all these tight muscles that need to be loosened."  She began stroking my ass, her palms cool relief against my abused flesh.  She started moving the anal plug in and out, fucking my ass with it while the attached weight pulled my cock up and down in return.  The sensations finally overwhelmed me, and without her ever touching my cock directly I came, long and hard, in spasm after spasm, her fingers continuing to move until I was slumped boneless in the frame.  I barely whimpered at the pain when she removed the clips, then released me from the frame.

     Eventually I gathered the strength to get dressed -- she had done so already and had coffee brewing down in the kitchen.  We shared a cup together in silence.  As I got up to leave, she said, "We really must get together again."  The thought was tempting, but thinking of my wife, I declined.  "No, I really think we must" she said more firmly, and handed me a photograph.

     I hadn't noticed a camera at the time, but the photograph was clearly recognizable as me, naked in the frame, nipples clipped, face locked in a rictus of pleasure, strands of semen flying in the air.  "I have your number," she said as I left.

     I think she does.

/ END /

Endnote: Originally written under the pseudonym "Major Havoc". This was my second distributed story.


Bob's Massage

Keys: [file:bmsg] [date:1990] [words:1330] [codes:Fm anal]

Abstract: A businessman follows a friend's recommendation for total stress relief

Bob's Massage

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1990, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Bob was a financial analyst for a large downtown bank.  He had been having a lot of back and neck trouble lately, and one of his colleagues had recommended he get a rubdown to reduce the tension. His friend even gave Bob a card for a massage therapist he had used.

     Bob didn't think much of having someone pounding on his back, but his pain wasn't getting any better, so he finally called the therapist, whose name was Dorothy, and made an appointment to go to her office.  She had a small office in one of the towers.  Bob watched the street traffic through the window until the receptionist called his name.

     He was directed into a changing room, where he hung up his business clothes, stripped down to undershorts and put on the hospital-type smock that was lying over a chair.  He opened the door in the back of the changing area, and entered a surprisingly well-designed office.  There was a large working desk with a computer and phone and a comfortable leather high-back chair dominating one corner of the office, while the massage table stood off on the other side, a large padded and hinged affair with a metal cabinet beside it.

     Dorothy (he reminded himself of her name) rose from her desk as he walked in and crossed to shake his hand.  She was a smallish woman in a white starched blouse, with dark eyes and brown hair in a pageboy cut.  She came up only to Bob's forehead, but her muscular arms added to a commanding presence.  "You won't be using those shorts," she informed him, pointing at his groin, "they get in the way."  She pointedly turned his back and Bob uncomfortably pulled his shorts off from under the smock.  She had him lie down on the massage table, opened the back of the smock and flipped a towel over Bob's ass, relieving his embarrassment.  For the next few minutes she probed, squeezed and manipulated every muscle he knew of from the base of his spine to his neck, and several he hadn't known existed.  During the procedure, she poured some hot oil into her palms and used it in the massage.  Bob started to relax -- he was beginning to see why his friend had recommended the massage.

     Dorothy worked on his spine and gradually broadened her range to include his ass and the tops of his legs.  Bob relaxed as the warmth spread through his skin and body.  He opened his eyes in surprise when some of the hot oil dripped down between his ass cheeks, then gasped as something was quickly popped into his ass. "What the..." he began, but Dorothy silenced him with a curt "It's part of the treatment.  Don't argue."

     She rolled him over onto his back, and his cock rose unbidden, not just from the feeling of the butt plug in his ass.  While he had been facing down Dorothy had removed her blouse and bra.  She was nude from the waist up, showing firm large tanned tits with wide areolae and long nipples that begged to be sucked.  She used those tits now, drenching them in the hot oil and wrapping them around his foot, massaging his legs.  Her hair tickled his balls when she was near the top of each leg.  She moved around the table and leaned over his head from behind, swabbing his cheeks against her tits.  He stuck out his tongue to catch a taste of her, and she didn't tell him to stop.

     She moved back to his legs, tugging them apart and using her hands on the inner muscles.  She had him bend his legs, knees in the air as she probed and prodded his flesh.  His cock lay heavy and turgid on his stomach during all of this, jerking occasionally as she pressed on a particularly poignant spot.  It came back to full erection (and Bob nearly jumped off the bench) when she stuck her tongue out and made contact just below his balls.

     Dorothy took what looked like a small rubber ring and rolled it down to the base of his cock, then blew on the head so it bobbed in the air like a carnival balloon.  Bob gritted his teeth at the (not unpleasant) sensation, which was followed by the strange feeling of Dorothy's tongue probing down between his thighs.  He held onto the edge of the massage table with his hands as her tongue moved lower still, and he gasped as she moved the ass plug slightly in and out.

     Dorothy moved back to his head, sitting spread-legged above him and lowering her moist hairy cleft onto his face.  He got the idea and started licking.  She moved from side to side as he worked his tongue from her clit to her pussy, and she stroked his cock until he could feel it throbbing where the ring at the base prevented anything from coming out.  She held her cleft right over his mouth for a minute, her thighs quivering, and as he sucked on her clit she worked the ring off his cock.  His deprived balls exploded with a series of spasms that almost wrenched his thigh muscles, hitting her face, her breasts, his chest, the table, the floor, and who knew what else.  Every time he thought he was through, the feeling of the plug in his ass or the smell of her pussy on his nose would trigger another cumshot. Finally he slowed down to a few random dribbles.

     Dorothy took a warm damp towel and cleaned off her tits, did the same for his body and rolled him onto his side.  She dribbled warm oil onto him and rubbed it in from his neck to his toes, paying particular attention to his balls and ass.  She wiggled the ass plug from side to side, then tugged on it and popped it out quickly.  Bob gasped at the sudden empty feeling, but Dorothy's fingers were there to fill the void, probing, touching, stretching.  She pressed something that felt bigger than the plug into his ass, and he rolled his hips to make room as she turned and twisted the dildo.  She moved it in and out as she stroked his cock with a slick, knowing hand. Finally the probe hit a sensitive spot and Bob came again, legs flopping wildly on the bench as Dorothy aimed his cum into a small jar.

     When his body quit jerking, she toweled the sweat off him and rolled him onto his back.  She rubbed his stomach muscles and legs, pointedly leaving his groin area alone, and moved down his legs to his feet.  She poured some of his cum from the small jar into her hands and used that as a lotion for Bob's feet, working it in until his feet were slimy, sticky and slippery from the combination of cum and sweat.  Dorothy lifted his feet and, holding one in each hand, used them to massage her proud breasts.

     She pressed her nipples between his toes and treated the balls of his feet as living vibrators, transferring their cum-lotion to her tits as she rubbed them.  Bob started getting aroused again as she rubbed her hard breasts with his feet, and when he was stiff enough Dorothy changed her position, riding him facing his feet.  She hunched up and down, her fingers finding erogenous zones in his toes and feet, until she was bouncing hard and started coming, her taut pussy squeezing his cock and milking a last spurt or two from his overworked balls.

     When she caught her breath, Dorothy brought out a warm damp cloth and gave Bob a cleansing rub all over, then gave him a towel to use before he got dressed.  As he was taking a couple of fifty-dollar bills out of his wallet, Bob decided that his job was so stressful he might need a massage on a regular basis!

/ END /


Door to Door Saleswoman

Keys: [file:door] [date:1991] [words:1697] [codes:FF bdsm nc]

Abstract: A woman finds you shouldn't open the door to strangers

Door to Door Saleswoman

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1991, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Kelli was doing her ironing and taking care of the usual garbage housework Monday morning, decked out in her sweatshirt and loose jeans with her hair still damp from the shower.  Maury Povich was on the TV talking about women married to serial rapists, and the house was just starting to warm up after the last night's freeze when the doorbell rang.

     Kelli looked through the peephole and saw a professionally dressed woman carrying a sample case.  She opened the door and asked what the woman was selling.  "My name's Martha Howard, and I'm with 'My Special Wardrobe'," the woman began.  "I'd like to show you this year's catalog of fine affordable hosiery and lingerie for the woman without time to shop for herself."  The woman reached into her inside jacket pocket to hand Kelli her business card, and flashed her a view of a color catalog.

     Kelli opened the door and ushered the saleswoman into her living room. "You'll have to excuse me, I've been working..." she started.  "Don't feel any need to apologize," Martha responded, "if you had time to keep a meticulous house you wouldn't need our services."  With that, Martha pulled out a catalog and laid it on the coffee table, then opened her sample case and pulled out a lined nightgown.  "You're about a nine, right?" she asked.  Kelli blushed and allowed as how she was closer to a ten.  The saleswoman grinned, saying, "Well, these cover a range of sizes. Let me show you this one."  And with that, to Kelli's surprise, the woman stood up to take off her jacket and blouse, revealing a black lacy bra and tap pants, and pulled the nightgown over her head.  "Feel the material," she continued with no break, "it's a new development that combines the feel of silk with the wearing properties of a nylon blend."  Kelli took the hem of the nightgown between her fingers and rubbed it, agreeing that it did feel nice.

     Martha started to take off the nightgown, her voice somewhat muffled through the material as she said "Go ahead and try this one on -- we do have them in a wide variety of colors to suit your preference."  Kelli was a little embarrassed, but since the saleswoman was so nonchalant about changing in front of her, she decided it must be part of her normal routine.  So Kelli tugged the bottom of her sweatshirt out of her pants and pulled it over her head to remove it.

     At that point, Martha palmed Kelli's breasts through her bra. Kelli shrieked as the woman's knowing fingers found her sensitive nipples, but the heavy sweatshirt muffled her voice. Before she could uncover her head, Martha had turned her around and bound her arms behind her back.  Then, as Kelli started cursing her out, she tugged the sweatshirt away from Kelli's face -- only long enough to put something rubbery into Kelli's mouth.

     The device was an inflatable plug, and Kelli could hear the woman squeezing the bulb as the infernal thing filled her mouth with the acrid taste of rubber, stretching her jaws wide to hold it in place.  That done, the woman released the sweatshirt, once again muffling the helpless housewife's curses. She removed Kelli's bra and wrapped a different one around her, one with cutouts where Kelli's nipples were.  Kelli felt the draft from the air conditioner playing over them, and the saleswoman nodded knowingly as they perked up like two ripe raspberries.  She ran a feather over them, and Kelli moaned around her gag as she felt her legs grow weak.

     Martha piped up as she watched Kelli squirm, "Let's see what we've got under those jeans!"  Kelli tried to kick, but the saleswoman was stronger and she soon had Kelli's faded denims sliding down her legs, revealing her drab panties.  As the woman tugged the jeans around Kelli's ankles, the squirming woman sent a vicious knee in the direction of her tormentor's face.  But she wasn't quite on target, and Martha's voice turned cold in response.  "You're not being a very good model, my dear -- perhaps you need a little... motivation."  With that, she took a spreader bar from her sample case and locked it between Kelli's knees, holding them open and vulnerable.

     Kelli felt the cold steel of a knife touch her thighs, and she willed herself into total stillness.  She heard more than felt her panties ripped open, and as the air washed over her bared pussy her wet thatch of hair testified to her arousal.  "I think you need to try our special accessories," Martha continued, and she probed Kelli's pussy with a long finger.  She removed her finger and replaced it with a thin dildo, warm and slick, pushing it deep inside Kelli as the girl squirmed on the couch, wanting to repel the invader but unable to keep it out.  Just as Kelli couldn't keep Martha's fingers off her nipples, or hide her response as the woman plucked at them and made them hard, deep red and sensitive.  Kelli moaned as the woman moved the dildo in and out until she came, breaking into a cold sweat and slumping back onto the sofa.

     While she was out of action, Martha removed the spreader bar long enough to slide a g-string up Kelli's legs.  She re-attached the bar and cinched the g-string tight over the base of the dildo, then untied Kelli's arms and pulled the sweatshirt completely off her.  She took out the mouth plug, but before Kelli could enjoy the relief from the strain it was replaced by a bridle and bit which the woman squeezed savagely between Kelli's jaws.  "Let's play horsie!" she said, tugging Kelli off the sofa and sitting on her back.  The housewife struggled to carry the saleswoman, who kept reaching down to alternately pinch her tits and slap her ass.  Because of the spreader bar, Kelli could only move in small jerky paces, while the dildo rubbed her maddeningly inside every time she moved.  By the time they got into the kitchen she was a mass of quivering flesh and rubber muscles.  When her tormentor got up to get a drink from the refrigerator, Kelli found enough strength to stumble to her feet and do a full body slam, knocking the woman's head against the refrigerator hard enough to knock her out.

     Kelli caught her breath shakily, then went to the closet and found some strapping tape.  She tied Martha's arms tightly together behind her back, and started to rip the woman's bra off but changed her mind.  She looked for the gag the woman had used on her, coated it with hot mustard from the refrigerator, and set it aside while she figured out how to get the spreader bar off her legs.  That done, she started to take out the dildo, but as she tugged the thick object out of her vagina, the sensations were so intense that she had to close her eyes and thrust it back in and out, rubbing her clit until she came again.

     When Kelli was able to catch her breath, she pulled the slimy object out of her with a quick shuddering gasp and set it aside. Martha was starting to come around, so Kelli pushed the mustard-coated gag into her mouth and sealed it with some of the strapping tape.  She smiled coldly as a thought occurred to her. "Don't go away now," she muttered to the dazed woman.  Kelli rummaged in the bathroom until she found what she was looking for -- an old tube of Ben-Gay.  She squeezed some of the heating ointment onto her fingers and then slipped her hands into the saleswoman's bra cups, squeezing the woman's tits to and fro as she worked the stuff in.  She stood back and watched as the ointment took effect.  Martha began writhing on the floor, muffled curses and moans coming from behind the gag.  Kelli watched the sweat pop out on the woman's forehead and reached out with one foot to rub Martha's tits, making her squirm more.  "Is this enough motivation for you?" Kelli snarled.

     Kelli tugged her G-string off, and squatted over Martha.  "Do something nice for me, and maybe I'll cool off those tits of yours," she said.  She reached down and peeled the strapping tape off of the saleswoman's mouth, the gag coming with it. "Guuhhgg..." was Martha's unintelligible reply.  "I'll take that as a yes," said Kelli, and settled down over the woman's nose and mouth. Quickly she felt a tongue probing around between her legs, searching her private places until it found its way to her vagina and clit.  "Gee, seems like you've done this before," the young woman commented as she closed her eyes to enjoy the sensation. She rocked back and forth as the probing tongue brought her around to a shivering orgasm, then got up and went back to the refrigerator.  She came back with a jar of honey, and took off the woman's bra.  Her breasts were large with bright red, raw-looking nipples.  Kelli rubbed the cold honey all over the breasts, pushing the nipples in with her thumbs as Martha shuddered and moaned beneath her.  Kelli slapped them experimentally, enjoying the way they looked when they quivered.

     "Your arms must be hurting, lying on them like that," she said. So she rolled Martha over onto her stomach, then after another thought found the spreader bar and fastened it between Martha's legs.  The saleswoman started to complain, but subsided quickly when Kelli waved the gag in front of her. Kelli helped Martha up, wobbling a little on her feet, and half-walked, half-pushed her toward the clothes closet in the living room.  She took some twine from the closet floor, and fastened Martha's arms to the closet bar, then stuffed the gag back into her mouth and shut the door.

     Kelli went over to the phone and started to dial her neighbor's number. "Peggy," she said when the call was answered, "do you have time to come over for a while?  I've got a saleswoman here who has the most *interesting* things to show..."

/ END /


Gynecologist Visit

Keys: [file:gynv] [date:1991] [words:1121] [codes:FF]

Abstract: Kandis goes to see her doctor and gets a special pre-exam preparation

Gynecologist Visit

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1991, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Kandis arrived at the doctor's office clad in a black leather mini-skirt, loose-fitting t-shirt with no bra, and black high-heeled shoes. Her breasts swung free beneath the cotton material, and the way it rubbed against her nipples made them poke out all the more. She was hot and in the mood. Kandis's new gynecologist was a major hunk, and she wanted to put up her best front just to see if she could spark something other than professional interest. She wasn't expecting to be greeted by his nurse, working late that day. Luckily, the nurse didn't seem put off by her appearance, and they chatted about this and that until Kandis was feeling comfortable.

     Nurse Juli ushered her into the examining room, and they continued talking until Juli had to remind Kandis to get undressed for the exam. Kandis looked surprised that she wasn't being left alone, but the nurse explained that she had to take her vital signs. The woman watched as Kandis disrobed, pulling the t-shirt over her head and off her arms in one smooth motion. Juli's eyes flared as she saw the fullness of Kandis's globes and the way her swollen nipples revealed her state of arousal. Kandis turned her back on her companion and lifted her left foot, placing it on a chair so she could remove her shoes. With the shortness of the miniskirt, she was aware that the nurse was getting an eyeful, but after all, this was a professional.

     "What's your name," Kandis asked as she started to wriggle her skirt down her legs. "Juli," was the reply.  "Have you been with Doctor Marcus long?"  Nurse Juli was distracted by the way Kandis's thin panties were pulled all the way up between the globes of her ass, defining and separating the cheeks.  Her mouth watered as she replied offhandedly, "Oh, about five months now. I moved here from Minneapolis." She watched entranced as Kandis finished getting undressed, jerking the panties down and making her asscheeks jiggle delightfully, then tugging first one side then the other down her legs, giving the nurse quick glimpses of the light brown fuzz between her thighs.  Finally Kandis turned around and faced the nurse.  Juli let her eyes travel quickly over Kandis's luscious features as she held out the paper robe. Kandis put her arms in the sleeves, then turned around to let the nurse tie it in back.

     Juli was taller than Kandis, and had gorgeous red hair and smoky green eyes. Kandis wondered what was hiding under the starched uniform when the nurse interrupted her thoughts, saying "Why don't you climb up here on the table and I'll get you all ready for the Doctor." Kandis took the nurse's hand and soon was sitting on the table, her knees drawn up, the cool air of the office sending chills across her skin where it slipped through the open robe. Juli came around to her side and slid a thermometer into her mouth, then took her arm and placed her fingers on Kandis's wrist as she looked at a watch. After a bit, she released Kandis's wrist and wrapped a pressure cuff higher on her arm, pumping it up until Kandis's arm tingled, then bleeding the pressure off slowly.  "The doctor will be just a few minutes," the nurse said, "so why don't I help you get ready for the exam."

     The exam table was cold, the single sheet covering it threadbare, and Kandis wiggled her ass from side to side trying to find a spot that wasn't uncomfortable.  The nurse slid a pillow under her head, and gave her a pair of socks for her feet. "Slide down the table and put your feet in the stirrups," she said, and took Kandis's right leg in her hands to help.  The nurse's hands felt hot against Kandis's skin, and she could feel herself getting damp as thoughts of what the nurse's hands could do ran through her head.  She split her attention between cooperating with the way the nurse was putting her feet into the stirrups and trying to figure out what kind of figure was straining against the white uniform.  "Now, I'm going to spread your legs to the right and to the left. Are you sure you are comfortable?" Juli asked in a sultry tone.  Kandis responded in a whisper, "Yes, very," thinking she could feel the heat of the nurse's eyes between her splayed thighs.

     Kandis wasn't wrong about the nurse; Juli was licking her lips at having this delectable body spread out in front of her. "I am going to try to relax your muscles before the Doctor comes into to visit you, okay?" she asked.  Kandis nodded, and the nurse turned on the lamp by the table and aimed it between her patient's legs.  She reached out with her hand and pressed it against Kandis's belly, moving it around in wide strokes.  As she rubbed, her circles became larger and larger, until she was brushing the undersides of Kandis's breasts at the highest point, and pressing the heel of her hand over Kandis's mons at the lowest. Her patient's eyes were closed but she was humming, or maybe purring.  Juli looked between the woman's legs -- her pussy was a deep red and flared open, the labia widening each time Juli pressed the heel of her hand down.

     "Well, you certainly seem relaxed, but that speculum is rather large.  Let me make sure you can dilate properly," the nurse murmured, and slid two long fingers down the wet crease between Kandis's labia and into the snug hole waiting there. Kandis drew a long, shuddering breath; the nurse's fingers felt alive inside her, and the nurse was using her other hand to pluck at Kandis's sensitive nipples, first one then the other.  Kandis closed her eyes and moaned, "Ohhh, please... please..."  Nurse Juli knew what her patient was asking for, and she leaned down to rasp her tongue against Kandis's clit.  She stroked it slowly, deliberately, while her fingers continued to move in and out of the girl's cunt.

     Kandis couldn't take the stimulation any more.  Everything seemed hot.  Her body was hot, the lights in the office were radiating heat at her, Juli's fingers teased and burned and her tongue, oh her tongue on her clit... She started crying softly, "oh!  oh!  ohhhh!" and hunched up against the invading fingers, trying to drive them deeper as her body started tingling all over.  Juli stroked her breasts as her body jerked from side to side, and continued stroking more softly when Kandis went limp in a sensual fog.

     "I think you're ready for the doctor now," the nurse said as she stood up.

/ END /

Endnote: For Kate.


His On-Line Mistress

Keys: [file:onln] [date:1992] [words:1992] [codes:Fm]

Abstract: A man explores his curiosity about BDSM in modem encounters

His On-Line Mistress

(Subtitle: Two On-Line Encounters Between Slave Rajah and Mistress Sheena)

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1992, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

Part 1. Their first meeting

     <<MISTRESS:>> well why don't you tell me what it is exactly that you're looking for.

     "Well, if it were a physical situation I would be doing personal service and pleasuring my Mistress, while wearing some suitable minimum of appropriate clothing, taking whatever teasing or punishment Mistress deemed necessary. In the electronic format I would guess this would take the form of an alternating story -- retelling -- scene description, but that's just a guess."

     <<MISTRESS:>> Sounds about right to me... don't see any other way of doing this over a computer!

     "I can hardly be bound and/or spanked over a modem... Not to mention the difficulty of performing cunnilingus properly!"

     <<MISTRESS:>> Well I do have this paddle here that's been out of use for a while...

     "Ohhhh... I haven't had to deal with one of those since fraternity days."

     <<MISTRESS:>> Hmmmm and these leather restraints...

     I cogitate, holding my hands behind my back experimentally.

     <<MISTRESS:>> (evil grin) tying your wrist in the cuffs... making sure they are snug.

     I pull my arms apart, abrading my wrists slightly against the cuffs that do not give.

     "What would you consider appropriate attire? At present I'm simply outfitted in white tennis shorts and a plain t-shirt."

     <<MISTRESS:>> well I do prefer my slaves NAKED!!!

     Ah, well I must correct this situation. Luckily the tennis shorts have an elastic waistband, as my hands cannot reach the front snap from behind my back. If I wiggle just so... and push the waistband down so... then slide them down and off my feet.

     <<MISTRESS:>> ripping the t-shirt from your body... and pulling the shorts off!

     Leaving me standing at attention, sides still feeling the whip of the material ripped from me, a nervous firmness forming in front.

     <<MISTRESS:>> Down on your knees SLAVE! Crawl to me NOW!

     I fall to my knees, touching my forehead briefly to the floor, then move forward, first one knee then the next, my cheeks parting with every motion, my head bobbing from side to side as I approach my Mistress's feet.

     <<MISTRESS:>> You're mine now SLAVE do you understand that!

     "Yes Mistress, I am yours."

     <<MISTRESS:>> taking my foot and touching that hard cock

     At the touch of my Mistress' toe, my cock comes to a full erection. I blush, but my body betrays me.

     <<MISTRESS:>> (I stand before you in my black corset of silk and satin... a black g-string to match... and black seamed stockings.) Take my g-string off with your teeth... and be careful not to bite me!

     I move my head carefully to my Mistress' waist, gently taking the edge of the g-string between my lips and working it in until I can grip it with my teeth; then, slowly and carefully, I pull it down, tugging until the sides begin a slow raspy path over Mistress' stockings. I continue in this fashion, savoring the heady scent of my Mistress as I move my head lower to touch the ground, the g-string around Mistress' ankles.

     <<MISTRESS:>> Very good slave... now lick your way back up my leg!

     I touch the tip of my tongue to Mistress' right leg, feeling the texture of the stocking rough against its surface, then swab my tongue against her ankle, moving thoroughly as I move upward to her calf, then covering both her kneecap and moving to the hollow behind her knee. From there I trace a damp path up the inside of Mistress' thigh, stopping as I encounter her glossy musky curls.

     <<MISTRESS:>> (patting my slaves head...) Now my dear Slave what is that you think your Mistress may want?

     "Would my Mistress desire me to give equal treatment to her other leg? Or should I use my tongue in that fragrant area that even now beckons to me, teasing my nose with its scent?"

     <<MISTRESS:>> Yes that would be one of your Mistresses desires!

     Equal treatment it is, then, and I move my head back down to Mistress' left ankle, wrapping my tongue around the joint, sucking on broad expanses of calf through the stocking as I taste the mingled experience of skin and nylon. This time I work in the hollow of the knee first, covering every inch before moving around to the front, prodding my tongue against the bumps of the kneecap. Finally, a clear path is opened, and I move my lips and tongue up, higher and higher, until I reach that point where the flexing of Mistress' leg draws its own line in the skin, my eyes on a level with Mistress' waist. I pause, closing my eyes as I breathe deeply...

     <<MISTRESS:>> (Turning around and showing you my tight buns... touching its soft skin) Lick here also SLAVE!

     I open my mouth and place the flat of my tongue where my Mistress points, leaving a damp trail on the revealed skin.

     <<MISTRESS:>> Hmmmmm so nice to have a slave who does that so well!

     Hearing no request to stop, I continue painting the designated area until it glistens completely with a sheen of saliva.

     <<MISTRESS:>> (looking at my naked slave and seeing that his cock is now rock hard and wet)

     I kneel expectantly at my Mistress' feet.

     <<MISTRESS:>> (sitting on the edge of the bed now... my legs spread wide open... revealing my very wet very hot pussy)

     Licking my lips nervously I await my Mistress' next command.

     <<MISTRESS:>> Come here slave... and lick my pussy till I tell you to stop.

     I "walk" on my knees to the bed where my Mistress awaits, then bow my head so my nose lands in the top of her already damp channel. I inhale her scent, then extend my tongue between her puffy labia. The taste of her inner liquor is heady, and I close my eyes as I stroke those lips, up and down, up to the nubbin that makes her thighs tremble around my ears, and down to her vagina, making muffled slurping noises as I lick and swallow the juices flowing from that spot. Again I move up, my nose leading the way for my tongue as they go jointly up to Mistress' pleasure spot, where I circle that nub with my tongue, pushing it up and down, then...

     ***** session interrupted by line noise *****

Part 2. Their first meeting finally concludes

     <<MISTRESS:>> So has my slave missed his Mistress????

     "Your slave has deeply missed his Mistress, many is the night he dangled by the computer in frustration at missing Her."

     <<MISTRESS:>> well we're here now... hopefully uninterrupted!!

     "It cannot please you any more than me..."

     <<MISTRESS:>> I know what ya mean... now get over here and continue from where we left off last time

     Hobbling on knees with bended head, I approach my Mistress where she sits with legs akimbo, her fingers holding her pleasure center open as a target. My tongue gently, then firmly, helps separate those lips that beckon, as my Mistress' juice slowly trickles down into my mouth.

     <<MISTRESS:>> "Right there Slave" she points to her very wet warm opening

     I bend my head forward to kiss the proffered area, darting tongue-tip down to the opening at the base which squeezes my tongue as I press it forward. I suck the tart liquor out, swallowing as I urge even more to flow out. My Mistress' scent is all around me as I breathe deeply through my nose, letting my lips trail wet kisses on and around her labia.

     <<MISTRESS:>> Hmmmmm Oooooooooo yessssssssss... oh you are goooood at this!

     Further, and a little faster, I push my tongue, pressing against that ring which opens and closes in little spasms against this wet invader. The back of my throat tries to rebel briefly against the little hairs which are coming along with her juices, but I suppress the reflex and continue, nudging the bridge of my nose against her Mons. I can feel the tension in Mistress' thighs against my head, and that feeling in itself is an aphrodisiac.

     <<MISTRESS:>> With crop in my hand I lightly slap my Slaves little ass... urging him on more and more.

     The crop she uses against my ass stings slightly, and reminds me whose pleasure is at stake here. I open my mouth wide, the better to push and pull my tongue, to kiss, suck and nibble, occasionally zipping up between her swollen labia to kiss the hooded clitoris before moving back down.

     <<MISTRESS:>> My breaths are getting heavier and heavier... moans escape from my lips... the room is spinning slightly.

     When Mistress' legs start to quiver ever so slightly, I know I must now redouble my efforts. I push my head in so my eyes are buried in her bush, the top of my nose now wiggling against the pearl buried beneath, my lips and tongue now quickly alternating between nibbles, long licks and deep probes.

     <<MISTRESS:>> I grab a handful of my slave's hair and press my wet wanting hole against his lips... moaning loudly and moving my hips.

     I move my tongue out and in, out into Mistress' grasping cavern, in to take her juices as my reward.

     <<MISTRESS:>> ... slapping his ass a little harder with my crop.

     Her thighs tight around my head chafe my ears, but the pain is only my due, as is that from the strokes of her crop. My breathing is ragged, as my breathing space is confined to the close musky area between Mistress' legs. My universe has tightened and centered on that one area of worship, where with lips but without voice I show my Mistress how much she means to me.

     <<MISTRESS:>> I feel a tremendous orgasm building deep within my loins...

     I briefly lick the area between her two holes, tasting the sensitive skin there before placing my tongue back where it will do the most good and whipping the tip from side to side...

     My face is suddenly covered with the juices of my Mistress, the major part flowing down my tongue to my throat where I swallow the sweet-sour liquor greedily, the balance covering my cheeks and dripping to my neck with her sticky spendings.

     <<MISTRESS:>> Oooooo hmmmmmmm that was quite good Slave... now I want you to sit in front of me and play with yourself... for my pleasure!

     Ahhh... I seat myself on the floor in front of my Mistress, legs crossed beneath me, cock hard and slightly curved in front of me. I grasp my scrotal sac, dragging the nails of my right hand up across my balls (the sac flushed red), then up the swollen vein to the purplish head. I flick it with my thumb, demonstrating to you how hard I am for you. Now I grasp the shaft with my right hand, beginning a slow up and down movement, at first only rubbing the shaft, then quickening the jerky movement against the corona. As I do this, I reach between my thighs, separating my ass cheeks to find the nether entrance there.

     <<MISTRESS:>> I take my stockinged foot and slowly run it up and down the shaft feeling the hardness.

     The touch of my Mistress' foot against my shaft excites me, but I grit my teeth the better to extend my showing. With my thumb and forefinger of the right hand, I circle the top of the shaft, squeezing and releasing as I continue the up-and-down movement. Meantime, my left index finger has probed and rests at my nether entrance. I push it in slightly, my hips and cock jerking in response. My right hand is now moving quickly, then slowly, as my breathing has quickened. I lean back now, the better to display myself to you as well as give myself access.

     <<MISTRESS:>> Seeing how much my Slave enjoys anal pleasures I reach in to my bag and retrieve a butt plug for him to use as my reward to him for having pleasured his Mistress so much.

     Thanking my Mistress, I take the butt plug, placing it in my mouth and licking it carefully all over, then slowly working it into my anus. The plug hits the nerve there, and my right hand starts flying, up and down hard, as my hips begin an uncontrolled jerking motion. Without any control, I continue to move my hand up and down as my cock spurts long thin streams of whitish fluid up onto my chest, a few stray droplets hitting my chin, the bulk landing on my lower belly and pubic hair. As I lay gasping, my hand continues to move, pumping the last fluids out as my cock -- once high and proud -- becomes soft, deep red, and shrinking. I lay on the floor in front of my Mistress, soaked in the aroma of sex.

     <<MISTRESS:>> Hmmm that was quite wonderful to watch slave... you know how to please your Mistress well

     "I thank my Mistress, it was after all at your permission and urging."

     <<MISTRESS:>> Hmmmmm Oooooooooo yessssssssss... oh

/ END /


Male Secretary

Keys: [file:msec] [date:1993] [words:1779] [codes:FFm femdom]

Abstract: A man has to put up with a lot to keep his job

Male Secretary

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1993, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Jeff had not done a bang-up job on the Crenshaw report.  In fact, old Mr. Crenshaw had raked Jeff's boss, Charla, over the coals for the report, and she was ready to bite nails when she called Jeff into her office.  Charla told him in no uncertain terms to shape up or get the hell out.  He nodded in agreement, but it was obvious he wasn't particularly concerned. The next day she called him back into her office.  "Sign this, Jeff, it's an amendment to your employment contract," she told him. Jeff looked it over quickly, noting some wording about "employer satisfaction" and "specific instructions", and scrawled his signature at the bottom.  Charla took the original, tossed him his copy, then laid down the law.  Jeff's jaw dropped further and further down as he listened.

     "Okay, you putrid little self-centered worm, here's the rules of the road from now on.  First, no more long lunches for you.  If you want to leave for lunch, you'll get my approval first."  With this she opened a desk drawer, pulled out a small pair of panties and a pastel green skirt, and tossed them into Jeff's lap.  "That is, unless you really want the guys at Ken's Hot Dog Heaven to get a good look at your legs.  That's right, Jeff.  Put these on, as of now that's the dress code for your position according to Clause 12C of the contract you signed."

     Jeff looked frantically through the paper until he found the clause -- to his horror he realized that the wording gave her the right to specify every single piece of clothing that he wore at the office.  He looked toward her office door, then back at the skirt, then back at his boss.  She gave him a cold smile and he realized she meant for him to change right in front of her. "Here?  Now?" he squeaked.  "Right now," she growled, "and I don't like delays!"  Jeff sat down and took off his shoes, then unzipped his pants and let them fall to the floor.  He folded them and put them on the chair, then took another hesitant look at Charla before picking up the panties.

     Jeff turned his back to his boss as he lifted one leg to put the panties on, his body burning with embarrassment.  That feeling increased when Charla reached over and fondled his ass.  He stopped moving in shock, acutely aware of her hand on his ass, her nails grazing his asshole.  She squeezed his hind cheek once, hard, then patted him and told him "Nice ass -- move it a little faster, though."  Jeff quickly pulled the panties on, shoving his slowly growing cock down to fit in the front of the thin material.  Now came the skirt, and he tugged the unfamiliar garment around his waist as he gulped and turned around to face his boss.  He was more nervous than he could ever remember.

     Charla looked long and hard at him, making a pointed face at the lump in the front of his skirt.  "Not great," she commented, "but then again you aren't strutting your stuff at the Kozy Kitten Klub -- at least not yet."  She laid the law down firmly.  "All right, sweet cheeks, if you like getting a paycheck here's how you'll do it from now on.  Every morning you come into my office and find your outfit for the day.  You put that on and leave your other clothes in here.  I've got a private door connecting our offices so you don't have to go through the outer office -- that is, unless you really *like* the way you look.  Understood so far?" Jeff nodded glumly.

     "Pay attention, prick, there's more," she commanded.  "You're free to come and go as you like, but your 'guy' clothes stay in my office until I tell you to put them back on.  If I need something done in here you jump, and that means you work for anyone else I have in here.  Got that?"  Jeff shook his head in agreement, and Charla's mouth curled in something that could almost have been a smile.  "All right, get out of here, I can smell you a mile away -- tomorrow you better wash yourself better or you'll have to start buying the panties!"

     Jeff went back to his desk, the skirt constantly brushing the backs of his legs as a reminder of his position.  Once he sat down, he was able to put the weirdness of his position out of his mind and concentrate on his work.  While he was rewriting the report, adding some of the details that old man Crenshaw had gotten mad about, one of Charla's secretaries came into his office.  He nodded at her as she put some papers on his desk, and watched her from the corner of his eye as she bent over to get some materials from a file cabinet on the wall.  She had a nice-looking ass, and Jeff's erection came back as she rummaged in the files. He looked away quickly when she straightened up and came toward his desk.

     "Ms. Carmichael says you've got some matters that need extra attention," the woman told him as she came around the desk to look over his shoulder.  Jeff thought it was nice of his boss to send him some help, but his pleasure turned to surprise when she knelt by his chair and reached around to rub his cock under the skirt.  Jeff started to stammer an objection, but the secretary told him "Now, now, we wouldn't want to go against the boss's orders, would we?"  He swallowed hard at that, and she continued, "Why don't you go ahead with what you were doing while I take care of this for you."  Jeff leaned forward and attempted to focus on his report, but it was terribly difficult as the woman reached into his panties and started playing with his cock with one hand while rubbing his balls with the other.  He found himself breathing hard, but as he started rising toward an explosion she squeezed the base of his cock and held it until the feeling went away.

     Jeff's productivity went from marginal to zero as she continued to toy with him, bringing him to the verge of cumming three more times before his intercom rang.  It was his boss, and she wanted to see him now.  "And bring Marlyn with you," she added. Jeff tried vainly to get his erection to go down when he stood up, but his overstimulated cock was so sensitive he was afraid touching it himself might cause a mess, and he felt sure Charla would not approve.  When he and Marlyn went into Charla's office, she took one look at him and a stern grimace came over her face.  "Just look at you, Jeff.  What kind of image is that for a professional?"  She glared at his offending hard-on.  "It looks to me like you need some lessons in how serious I am about work here," she continued.  "Drop your skirt and lean your hands against the wall."  Jeff looked vainly at Marlyn, who just gazed at him coolly.  With no help from that quarter, he pulled his skirt down, stepped out of it, and placed his hands against the wall.

     When her palm hit his ass, Jeff yelped loudly.  He couldn't help it.  Charla swatted him again, hard slaps alternating from side to side, the flimsy panties no protection against the pain. Unfortunately, his erection didn't seem to care -- the more his ass burned, the harder his cock became, until it was poking obviously out of the top of the panties.  "Well, Jeff," Charla said when she saw his state, "I guess that wasn't the right lesson for you.  Get down on your back -- and take off those panties before you mess them up!"  Jeff hurried to obey, squirming at the feel of the rough carpet on his abused ass.

     His boss stood over him, revealing to his anxious eyes that she wore no panties under her skirt.  "The first thing we need to do is get rid of that distraction," she told him, "and while I take care of that, you can take care of Marlyn here.  Jeff quit staring up Charla's legs long enough to realize that the secretary had hiked up her skirt and pulled off her panties, and before he could protest she knelt over him and pressed her damp cunt over his mouth and nose.  He jerked his head from side to side until she let up the pressure enough for him to breathe. "Do me good, prick!" she snarled at him, and started rubbing herself over his nose.  Jeff stuck out his tongue and started licking, as he felt a hand grab his cock and toy roughly with his balls.  He heard his boss say "Now we'll see if this is worth what we're paying you," and gasped as she shoved his prick inside her.

     He started to enjoy the feeling -- so tight, so slick, until Marlyn grabbed him by the ears to remind him of his other duty. He probed her pussy as she quit sliding around on his face, tasting her tart juices and reaching around with a free hand to find her prominent clit.  She started wiggling as he rubbed it, her juices running down his cheeks.  Charla scraped her nails around his balls as he felt her hot cunt squeezing around his shaft.  She was moving torturously slowly, but Marlyn's demands on his attention kept him from being able to thrust his hips the way he needed to.

     He worked his tongue harder than he ever had worked with his few girlfriends, but Marlyn only shook harder as she squeezed his head between her thighs.  Meanwhile, his boss had taken him to the edge of orgasm three or four times, stopping suddenly and squeezing the base of his cock, before she finally had her orgasm.  She came in spasms so strong that they actually hurt his cock inside her, and just at that moment Marlyn finally came, giving his tongue some relief.  He started to thrust his hips up, but found himself pumping against air as his boss quickly got off his cock, leaving it wet and sticking up in the air.  As Marlyn joined her, she told Jeff sternly to put his clothes back on and go finish his work.  Somehow, he managed to tuck his hard, sensitive prick back into the panties and walk stiff-legged back into his office.  He heard the muted sounds of laughter from the door behind him.

/ END /


Office Sales Call

Keys: [file:offc] [date:1993-09-23] [words:1980] [codes:FM]

Abstract: A traveling saleswoman gives a businessman a very convincing presentation

Office Sales Call

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1993, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Bob Mathews was the quality manager for Farthing Software's new products division, and had been successful enough to rate a corner office on the fifteenth floor.  He was reviewing the notes from his last conference when he was surprised by the appearance of a striking thirtyish woman in a jet-black business suit carrying a large sample case.  "Excuse me...?" he began.

     "Hi, I'm Carol Parker from G-Case Products," the woman began. "We had an appointment this morning to go over our product line." Bob belatedly checked his appointment calendar, and found that he indeed had marked the company down for that morning.  Carol continued, "We've got a new approach to code repositories that will give your team higher reliability and increased productivity.  I've got several demo packages here, if you'll just let me put them on your computer."

     Bob rolled his chair to one side as the woman came around the side of his desk, put a disk in the drive and began the installation procedure.  His attention was distracted by a vague, almost musky scent he couldn't quite identify, and he was lost in thought so that Carol had to call his name twice when she was ready for him.

     "I've got the main package in your DEMO directory," she said as she moved around behind him.  Bob was just aware of the pressure of the front of her business suit against his shoulders but tried to focus on the software in front of him.  The demonstration was, indeed, very impressive, and when she finished Bob could tell her honestly that he was interested and ask her to get some more information from her sample case.  He took the opportunity when she walked away to adjust his pants, which were becoming uncomfortably tight.  Carol's position leaning over her sample case did nothing to help, as her skirt clung greedily to her hips.  She stood up, and Bob averted his gaze quickly before she could see him staring at her.

     Carol came around his desk again with two more disks to install. "I wonder what perfume that is," Bob mused.  As she worked, he took the opportunity to surreptitiously look over her profile from the auburn pageboy to her angular nose to the definite swell of her breasts behind her jacket.  This time he was looking at the computer screen when she finished, and she suggested he run this demonstration himself while she stepped back to watch.

     The new package was a standard "slide-show" program, giving summaries of her company's software features and benefits.  Carol stood close beside him, giving details as each frame appeared. Suddenly, a slide appeared that was definitely not part of the company software!  It was a color picture of a woman, dressed in a black bra and red panties, with her hand pushing the panties down and her fingers tangled in her pussy hair, obviously masturbating. Her eyes were closed, there was a flush on the visible part of her breasts, and her fingers were damp and glistening.

     Bob's breath caught in his throat, and his erection came back with a vengeance.  "What..." he began, then looked up at Carol, back at the picture, and back to Carol again.  There was no mistaking the face...

     "Yes, it's me," said Carol, as she reached into her pocket, "and since you seemed so ... interested earlier, I thought you'd like that photo.  These come with it." With that she pulled a pair of red panties out of her pocket, brought them down past Bob's node and placed them in his hands.  Once again he smelled that odd musky scent, but now he knew where it came from.

     "I *do* assume your door has a lock?  Don't get up," she continued, "I don't think you'd want one of the office secretaries to know about your ... little problem."  She sauntered over to the door, closed it and turned the lock. "Now," she said, "since you've seen so much of me, I'd like to see what you've been trying to hide down there."

     Carol came to where Bob was sitting and put her hand lightly over his crotch.  "Are you going to do this, or shall I?" she smiled. Bob stood up, loosened his belt, unzipped his pants and let them drop to the floor. Then he pulled down his undershorts, his cock slapping heavily against his stomach as it came free of the waistband.  Carol stroked his fleshpole with her panties, breathing a count faster as she watched it pulse in the air. "Nice," she said, "why don't you put these on and see what it does for you?" Bob flushed, but couldn't deny the thrill the words gave him.

     He sat down and removed his shoes and socks, stepped out of his pants and slipped the red panties up over his legs.  They were ridiculously inadequate in size, holding his balls but only about an inch of his cock.  Carol came to him and cradled his silk-covered balls in her hand, hefting them experimentally.  She flicked her thumbnail against the purplish head, then wrapped her arms around him and kissed him savagely.  Her tongue and his dueled as she ground her skirt against him, shifting from side to side and feeling his excitement. She pushed Bob back down into his chair and pulled his legs apart, leaned down and blew on him, hot moist air on pulsing flesh, inhaling his own scent as she breathed.  "Let Carol show you how to maximize your potential" she murmured, and wrapped her ruby lips around the head.

     Bob writhed as she bobbed slowly up and down, trapping his cock between the nubbly roof of her mouth and her rasping tongue.  He gripped the sides of his chair tighter as Carol began to move her head faster, varying her rhythm and occasionally letting his cock come out of her mouth with an audible "pop!" before devouring him again.  Soon, too soon, he felt the telltale tightness in his balls, and when she stroked them through the silk it was the final trigger to push him over the edge.

     "Aargghh!" "Urrrggg!" "Ummffff!"  Bob moaned through gritted teeth as he thrust his hips again and again, while Carol's mouth and throat drained him. His heart was pounding, and the air gave him a sudden chill while Carol was licking him clean and doing something with his cock and balls.  She lifted her head and smiled devilishly at him, poking her tongue out.

     "Now let's see how your vendor relations are," Carol smiled, and moved away from Bob's chair.  He watched he slowly remove her jacket and blouse as he shook his head and sat up.  She was wearing a front-fastened bra, and as he watched she unsnapped it and pulled it off, freeing a pair of freckled globes with reddish-brown crinkled areolae.  Bob noticed that what Carol had done with his cock was put some sort of Velcro strap around it, but his attention was focused on her slow striptease.  "You like?" she asked, cupping her breasts and rubbing her thumbs over the nipples.  She moved her hands to her skirt and slid it off, delighting in Bob's smile of delight when he saw she had nothing underneath but a garter belt and her own damp thatch. "See what you did to me?" she continued, "I think you should do something about it -- like lie down on that carpet!"

     Bob hustled off of the chair and lay down on his back on the floor.  Carol stood over him, letting his gaze wander all the way up from her red high heels to her glistening pussy hair.  She bent her knees and slowly settled down on his outstretched tongue. "Oh yeah, baby, that feels NICE!" she said as Bob started lapping at the proffered flesh.  He used his thumbs to part her labia and swabbed her up and down, savoring her arousal and rubbing the bridge of his nose against her budding clit.

     She sighed and pressed down harder so he had to work to keep enough air to breathe.  He prodded the tip of his tongue at the entrance to her pussy, which flared just enough for him to wiggle the tip inside. Carol was kneeling now, squeezing her left breast rhythmically as she rubbed herself on Bob's face.  She stood up, briefly breaking contact, then turned around and kneeled over him again.  Now Bob had direct aim for his tongue, lapping her labia before insinuating it into her pussy again.  He rubbed her clit with one finger as Carol started moaning and toying with his nipples.

     He was already hard, but the cock strap made sure nothing would happen too soon for her.  Soon she started shaking, pushing back against his tongue and urging him on by stroking his balls.  Bob worked harder, licking and sucking her juices out until she cried out and came hard on his face, panting and flushed as her muscles squeezed the life out of his tongue. Finally, she relaxed and he drew his sore member back into his mouth.

     "Stay there," she said, and turned around to face him.  She rubbed her nipples so Bob could see them become dark and hard, then licked her finger and started slowly stroking her clit, humming to herself as her eyes closed in passion.  When she opened her eyes, she bent her knees and settled down on his erect cock, taking him into her slowly so he felt every inch of her hot wet flesh around him.  She reached back and stroked his balls, and Bob jerked his hips, his cock pulsing in want even through the strap.

     Carol smiled, and started moving up and down, diddling her clit with one hand as she used him as a living dildo, bringing herself back up to a peak until she was once again flushed deep red and panting heavily.  As she started moaning, she jerked the strap loose and Bob thrust his now-free cock with all his pent-up energy deep into her, pushing her into another orgasmic plateau as his cock, responding to the overstimulation, sent stream after stream of cum pulsing out of him.  His eyes glazed over as Carol slowly began to come down from her passion, still moving slowly on his cock as their combined lust dripped slowly down between his legs to the carpet.

     Carol bent forward and lay on top of him as they relaxed languidly, stroking each other's bodies.  He played with her nipples, enjoying her quiet gasps of pleasure at his light pinches.  She rubbed her foot up and down his leg, massaging him with her toes until the heard the sound of his wristwatch alarm. "I have a lunch appointment," he said, "much as I hate to move right now."  She laughed at that, and sat up to move but he held her there, just sitting in his lap, as Bob stroked her breasts and slid his finger around her clit and pussy until she came, quietly shivering.  Then he released her and she rose shakily to her feet.

     Carol looked down at the wet spot on the floor and grinned.  "I hope your cleaning staff can handle that," she said as she dressed.  "So tell me, Mr. Mathews, what do you think of our... services?" Bob took a tissue to himself, looked at the red silk panties, and thought "what the hell...".  He tucked himself into them before pulling on his pants, looked Carol over again, and smiled back.  "I think we can definitely do some business here," he said, "as long as you promise me that *you* will be the one who comes when it's time for training!"

     Carol moved to him and kissed him, then pinched his ass as they separated.  "Oh, I will *definitely* be coming," she smiled, "I wouldn't want to miss out on your... training!"

/ END /


Unorthodox Therapy

Keys: [file:ther] [date:1993-12-27] [words:3491] [codes:mc nc Mf Ff]

Abstract: Marci's new therapist is very effective, but not what Marci expected

Unorthodox Therapy

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1993, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Marci had been seeing a therapist for a few months, but it didn't seem to be working out so she asked the woman for a referral.

     The doctor gave her the name of a therapist on the outskirts of town, commenting, "He might be better suited to delve into your proclivities".

     When she arrived at the new therapist's office, she was put at ease by the comfortable decor -- even the couch was done in earth tones instead of the horrid blue leather her first doctor had used.  The doctor introduced himself as Dr. Calvert, and they talked briefly about the problems she was having with assertiveness and the direction her therapy had been taking with her previous therapist.  With her permission, Dr. Calvert suggested that she work under a light hypnotic trance to sidestep the blocks she was obviously having discussing her feelings.

     While under hypnosis, the doctor's skilled questioning brought out that Marci had been having detailed fantasies about being subservient to both women and men.  The doctor made a few telephone calls, then gave Marci some suggestions while she was in her trance.  When he was finished, he brought her out of her trance.  She felt very relaxed, and although the doctor would not tell her what she had said under hypnosis he did talk with her extensively about some of the problems she had been having at work and how she might resolve them.

     That night, while Marci was eating dinner in her apartment, she suddenly felt hot flashes all over her body.  She got up as if dazed, rubbing her arms, legs, buttocks, wherever the sudden flashes were popping up.  She went into her bedroom and took off all of her clothes except her pantyhose, then found her instant camera and set it on her dressing table.  Setting it up for remote trigger, she sat on her bed and pinched her nipples until they stood out, feeling the pressure of her nails run down her belly to make the insides of her thighs tingle.  She bent her knees, pushing them outward, and started stroking herself through the hose as the camera clicked, rubbing faster and directly on her clit as her crotch got wetter from her arousal.  After she came, gasping and shuddering, she went over to her dressing table and tossed all of the pictures into an envelope, took off her pantyhose, put the hose in the envelope as well then sealed the envelope.  Then she put on her nightgown and went to bed.

     For the next few days, Marci went through her normal schedule -- get up, eat breakfast, go to work, get hassled by the boss, go home, eat dinner and go to bed.  When her next session with Dr. Calvert came around, he quizzed her about her dreams and asked if anything out of the ordinary had happened in her life.  Marci didn't have anything interesting that she knew of to tell him. Finally, he told her "Doctor's orders, Marci."  At the sound of those words, her eyes suddenly glazed over.  "You have been carrying an envelope without being aware of it," the therapist informed her.   "Take it out now."  Marci fumbled with her purse and found the sealed envelope.  "You are to give this envelope to anyone who asks you for 'special information', he continued. "Furthermore, you will feel a warm aroused feeling throughout your body whenever you obey the orders of someone in authority to you -- such as your doctor or your boss."

     While he still had Marci under hypnosis, Dr. Calvert tested the instructions. "Marci, I think you should show me your breasts, and massage my foot with them."  At this command, Marci leaned forward and started removing her blouse and bra.  When her breasts hung free, the doctor extended his foot toward her.  She took it and unlaced his shoe, squirming in her seat as she did so. After rolling his sock down and off, she leaned forward and kissed the sole of his foot, then placed it between her breasts.

     The doctor watched, his own breathing becoming ragged, as Marci closed her eyes and rubbed her breasts against his foot.  He could see her areolae darken and get puffy, evidence that she was becoming aroused.  Although his cock was demanding the same treatment his foot was getting, the doctor ordered Marci to release his foot and get dressed.  She did so, unconsciously rubbing her breasts as she put her bra back on.  He released her from her trance with a final comment that she would feel very relaxed, and she went back to her office.

     Later, at the office, Marci's boss called her into her office. Ms. Hawthorne was unhappy with the work Marci had done on a report and wanted Marci to rewrite it.  Marci started to argue, but something in her kept the words from coming out.  Instead, she found herself saying, "Of course I'll do the report over, if that's what you want."  Marci's eyes lidded for a second as another hot flash went through her, centering in her lower belly. Her boss looked at Marci quizzically.  After a few moments, Marci said "was there anything else you needed?"  The woman behind the desk bit her lip, and told Marci "I believe you have some 'special information' for me."

     Marci's body stiffened, then she relaxed and reached into her purse to pull out the sealed envelope.  She gave it to her boss without saying anything.  Ms. Hawthorne opened the envelope, looked at the contents, then crossed the room to lock the door before taking a seat in a chair by her desk.  "These are very pretty pictures, Marci," she said.  "I have a pretty pussy that I like to play with also -- I'd like you to take a good look at it." Marci bent her head, and responded, "Well, if you want me to do that..." then cocked her head quizzically.  Her boss rucked her skirt up to her waist, showing a red garter belt holding up her hose and nothing else on.  With that prompting, Marci got down on her knees and moved between the woman's legs, close enough to smell the musky scent of her cunt.  When Ms. Hawthorne said "Kiss it, Marci -- treat it like you'd play with your own" Marci extended her tongue and teased the labia apart, sucking each puffy flap into her mouth, then wriggling two fingers into the woman's cunt while she sucked on her fat clit.  At length, her boss stifled a low moan and came, rubbing herself all over Marci's face.

     "Thank you, Marci," Ms. Hawthorne said as she regained her composure.  "That will be all for now.  Remember that I need that report on my desk by Monday morning."  Marci wiped her face absent-mindedly, took the report folder, and went back to her desk.

     The next time she saw Dr. Calvert, Marci was feeling much better about her job and the way things were going in life.  She was a little concerned, though, that she felt a little tired in the morning and couldn't remember her dreams.  The doctor put her into trance, and told her to unwrap the package he was giving her.  Marci reached out her hand and the doctor placed a small wrapped box in it.  She unwrapped it to find a moderate size flesh-colored vibrator.  At Dr. Calvert's direction, Marci turned the device on and started rubbing it over her breasts through her dress.  "See how good that feels, Marci?" he told her, "it makes you feel all warm all over, doesn't it?  You really do feel too warm with all those clothes on, and the vibrator would feel *so* much better without the cloth getting in the way.  With his gentle suggestion, Marci readily removed her dress, ran the vibrator over her bra-clad breasts until her nipples were prominent, and then took off her bra to continue massaging her sensitized breasts.  Her eyes were closed as she gave out a low moan.

     "Come, Marci," said the doctor, "your mouth feels empty, and you want to thank me properly for helping you make your breasts feel good."  Obediently, the hypnotized girl opened her mouth, and her therapist unzipped his pants to feed her his rapidly growing cock.  Marci licked the head, then began a reflexive sucking action.  Dr. Calvert reached down and began rolling one of her nipples in his fingers, making her moan louder around his rod. "Your breasts are *so* sensitive," he suggested, "you could come just from playing with them if you only had something hot and wet in your mouth."  Marci stepped up her suction on his cock, and reached out with her free hand to cradle his balls, feeling them throb at her touch.

     The doctor started flipping his thumb rapidly against her stiff nipple, saying "Now, Marci, Now!"  As he started cumming in her sucking mouth, she began shaking all over, dropping the vibrator as she reacted to her own orgasm. Several drops of the doctor's cum dribbled out of her mouth and down onto her breasts, where she rubbed it in to extend her orgasmic high.  When the doctor finished cumming, he suggested she lick his cock clean, and after she did so Marci quietly got dressed again.  The doctor brought her out of the trance, but left her with the reminder that her breasts were particularly sensitive.

     That night after dinner, Marci got into her car and drove to an adult novelty store.  In a voice she barely recognized as her own, she haggled with the clerk over a pair of crotchless panties and also purchased a lesbian video.  When she got home, she tossed the video on top of a stack of magazines, took off her skirt and panties, and put on the new pair.  Then she called out for a pizza. While she waited for the pizza to arrive, she pulled the vibrator out of her purse and turned it on, rubbing her breasts and moaning quietly at the sensation, then hesitantly placing the device between her thighs.  The buzzing got her juices flowing, and she leaned back heavily in her chair as she moved the device slowly down to the opening of her pussy.  She was wet enough not to need any lubricant as she pushed it in bit by bit, opening her legs to make the progress easier.  Just as she pushed the last inch into her and started rocking in the chair around the pleasurable intruder, the doorbell rang.  Dazed by the sensations rolling through her, Marci got up unsteadily and walked bowlegged to the door.  She opened the door on a very surprised pizza delivery boy, who gaped at her open-mouthed while she fumbled in her purse for some money.

     The pizza boy brought the pizza in and laid it on the coffee table, then moved deliberately over to where Marci was swaying by her purse.  He took her hands off the purse and placed them deliberately over the end of the vibrator, then flipped through her purse until he found the cash for the pizza.  He stuffed that into his pocket, made sure the door was closed and locked, then approached Marci, saying "This is going to be the best delivery tip I've ever had -- you are really hot!"

     Marci stood in the middle of the room, holding the buzzing vibrator, as the pizza boy came up to her and felt her breasts through her loose t-shirt.  Her eyes lidded over when he did that as she felt waves of pleasure shoot from his hands through her nipples and down to her pussy.  The boy took off his pants, revealing an above-average sized cock, and took one of Marci's hands off the vibrator to wrap it around him.  She started moving her hand reflexively in a slow jacking motion, and the boy licked his lips as he pulled her t-shirt up to suck on her nipples.  The woman's legs staggered, and the boy helped her sit on the floor, leaning against a chair.  He sat next to her, sucking on one breast while she moved her hand over his cock.  When he reached over and prodded her protruding clit with a fingernail, it was like shooting her with pure lightning!  She sat bolt upright, screamed once, and passed out flat on the floor.

     "Hey lady?"  asked the delivery boy.  "Lady?  You all right?" It was soon obvious that Marci was out of action, lying on the floor with a blissful look on her face while the vibrator buzzed away in her pussy.  The boy pulled the vibrator out and shut it off, then poked an inquisitive finger into her swampy pussy, moving it around and pulling it out with a "sluck!" sound. "Well, I guess she's in no mood to say no," he thought.  With that settled, he bent her knees and aimed his cock at her well-used pussy, replacing the vibrator with something more substantial.

     He sucked in air noisily when he found out how tight she was, and settled on top of her, playing with her nipples as he moved in and out.  He liked the way her nipples got long and hard when he tugged on them.  After a few minutes, as he was slowly coming to a boiling point, Marci's eyes and mouth both opened and she focused on him briefly.  "OOhhhhh," she moaned, and the surprise of it combined with Marci's sudden attempt to close her legs made him cum hard and fast in her as Marci's eyes rolled back up and she started quivering under him.  When he was finished, he took the dildo and put it back into her sloppy pussy to keep his cum from staining the carpet under her.  "Call me anytime," he said -- but he didn't really think she was listening.

     Late that night Marci came to, her muscles sore and her mind foggy with a half-remembered dream.  She reached down to pull out the motionless vibrator and wondered at how slushy she was, but her fogged brain discarded that line of thought as she went in to shower and get to bed.

     At the office Monday morning, Marci finished up the report her boss needed despite having to go to the coffee bar every half hour or so.  She didn't understand why she was so tired, since she'd gotten a good six hours of sleep.  Just before lunch Ms. Hawthorne asked her to bring the report back to her office.  When Marci got there Ms. Hawthorne was standing with another woman Marci didn't recognize.  "This is Jan Carlton, Marci," her boss told her.  "Jan is from our Western division and is very interested in the report you've brought."  As Marci handed the report over, her boss added "And she's also very interested in what you carry in your purse, Marci.  It would make me *very happy* if you would show your *special items* to Jan."

     Marci looked at her boss oddly, then her vision seemed to blur slightly.  She felt hot all over, and when she opened her purse to look inside she found that she had brought her vibrator to work!  She stood stunned, trying to remember when or why she had done that, when Ms. Hawthorne continued, "I really want you to show us how you use that, Marci!"  Marci closed her eyes, feeling the heat run through her body centered on her breasts and her cunt, then drew the vibrator out of her purse.  She licked the end of it tentatively as Jan gasped and her boss smiled.

     Marci turned the device on and drew it across her bosom, feeling the buzzing through her blouse.  Her boss came up behind her and turned her to face the newcomer, saying "Here, let me help you Marci, you know you will feel better without this extra cloth." Ms. Hawthorne's fingers flew down the buttons on the back of Marci's blouse and unsnapped her brassiere as well, so when Marci leaned forward the clothes came off as one and she stood again naked from the waist up.  Ms. Hawthorne reached around her to take her hand and place the vibrator between Marci's breasts, rubbing it against first one and then the other.  Marci gasped and moaned as she felt her breasts swell and swing in the office air, the massage felt so good that she lost track of where she was and what she was doing.

     Jan came up to her and ran her hand up between Marci's legs, finding her panties already damp.  The newcomer wriggled her finger underneath the leg band as she urged Marci's legs apart, and began slowly stroking her finger in and out of the dazed girl's pussy.  Marci's breathing was slow and heavy as the other two women removed her shoes, knee-highs and panties, and laid her out on the floor.  Jan took off her shoes, pants and panties, and stood frigging herself as Ms. Hawthorne moved the vibrator at random between Marci's nipples, the soles of her feet (her breasts really shook when they did that) and her rapidly moistening pussy.  As Ms. Hawthorne suggested "Marci, your tongue feels very thick, don't you need to suck on something?", Jan kneeled down over Marci's mouth.  Marci opened her mouth and tasted her boss's friend, shuddering as the vibrator reached another sensitive spot.

     Ms. Hawthorne left the vibrator buried deep in Marci's pussy, then walked around to sit next to her friend.  The two women kissed as Jan hunched over Marci's probing tongue and Ms. Hawthorne fingered her friend's clit until she came.  As her friend writhed over Marci's face, Ms. Hawthorne reached around to pinch Marci's nipples, and the girl started cumming herself, jumping only slightly more when her boss yanked the vibrator suddenly out of her.  After Jan and Marci had both been cleaned up a bit, Ms. Hawthorne mentioned that she would need Marci's assistance on a special business trip over the weekend. Marci said that she would be available, and returned to her desk, forgetting all about the vibrator.

     For the next few nights, Marci slept restlessly but was unable to remember her dreams in the morning.  She knew, however, from the sticky condition of her pussy that she had been fingering herself in her sleep.  When Friday finally arrived, her boss called her to ask that she meet her after work at an address on the north side of town.  The day went slowly, and Marci found herself rubbing her legs together frequently to relieve a feeling she couldn't quite place.  When the workday ended, she got in her car and drove to the address her boss had given her.  It was a modest townhome with several cars parked out front.  She walked nervously up to the front door and rang the bell.  She was relieved to see a familiar face as her boss opened the door and escorted her in.

     Her boss turned her around to face a group of people, closing the door behind her and running her hand familiarly over Marci's ass. "This is the one," she said to the group, and reached around Marci to undo the buttons of her blouse, whispering in Marci's ear "I really want you to show everyone how pretty you are!" Marci's faint attempt to protest at this cavalier treatment died with those words, and she felt herself getting flushed as her boss's nimble fingers plucked at the buttons and took the blouse off.  Her boss held her breasts up, rubbing them through the bra, then unclasped the back and removed that garment as well. Marci's nipples were prominent and her areolae were a dark brown, showing everyone in the room how turned on she was becoming.

     Her boss pulled the front of her skirt up to show off the crotchless panties, and as several of the people in the room began talking, Marci's boss began probing her already-wet pussy. She slid her fingers up and down Marci's engorged labia, and when her hand moved up to Marci's clit she came -- hard and loud, leaning back with lidded eyes as her boss supported her.  Some of the people in the room came over then, touching her breasts, feeling her ass, helping her boss pick her up and move her over to lie on the sofa.  Marci heard voices, but they were all fuzzy in the haze of her arousal -- her breasts, her pussy, her whole body seemed to be hot.  She heard without noting the phrases "sweet cunt", "Tokyo clubs", "good price", but before she could focus on what was happening around her someone's tongue delved into her pussy and she was off on a cloud of lust again.

     Her boss picked up a phone and dialed a number.  When the other end was answered, she said "Thank you, Doctor Calvert. Your therapy has been a great success."

/ END /


Sticky Afternoon

Keys: [file:aftn] [date:1994-09-02] [words:2503] [codes:MF, cons, foot]

Abstract: A man and woman meet on a bus and proceed to while away a lovely afternoon

Sticky Afternoon

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1994, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     It was a sticky afternoon, and Karl was tired of waiting for the bus, tired of looking for work, just plain tired.  He tapped his fingers impatiently against his briefcase as he slouched against the building in the July heat.  He grumbled to himself from time to time about the short-sightedness of personnel managers who seemed to want fresh young (read: cheap) applicants instead of someone who knew the business and could be productive in only a few hours.

     The bus pulled up to the stop with a collection of squeaks and the raw odor of exhaust.  Karl wrinkled his nose as he swung himself up the metal steps, tossed a few coins in the box and plopped down in the first available seat.  As he did so, his hip collided with a somewhat attractive-looking matron who was sitting by the window.  Karl apologized, and she accepted his apology with a brief but winning smile.  That smile helped Karl overcome both his natural reticence and the attitude he had been building, and they chatted as the bus rattled and bumped its way out of the downtown traffic.

     Her name was Lara, and she lived in one of the older neighborhoods, one that had been fashionable a decade ago.  She was coming back from grocery shopping and had also been looking for work, her husband having left for greener pastures "with a younger filly," she explained.  They turned out to have several things in common other than their generation -- enjoying miniature golf, going to the theatre, a love of Tony Bennett, and a hearty dislike for so-called "New Age" music.  "It's just Muzak without the bad reputation," Lara declared.  Several times while they talked, the bus would hit another pothole or swerve to avoid traffic, throwing them against each other.  Each time Karl apologized, and each time Lara smiled and accepted the apology.

     They chatted on as the bus rolled onto the smoother streets outside the business district, her hip comfortably against his where she had left it from the last road bump.  As the bus drew near her neighborhood, she invited Karl in for coffee "and maybe something to eat -- you look famished!"  When he asked about the bus schedule in her neighborhood, she explained that she had her own car and could give him a ride home; it was just that she didn't like having to park in the city.

     The bus pulled up to the stop, and Karl followed Lara out. Somehow in the process he wound up carrying her grocery bags for her.  They walked down the sidewalk until they came to a small Georgian house with crape myrtle and wisteria scenting the air. "Nice landscaping," Karl commented.  "It was one of the things that I did while we were married" was her response.  She unlocked the door and they went inside.  Karl stopped and closed his eyes to savor the cool air, such a contrast to the heat outside.  He followed her into the kitchen and handed her packages as she put them away efficiently, her cool hands occasionally brushing against his.

     Lara invited him to look around the house while she fixed something in the kitchen.  He wandered around the living room and parlor as she puttered around.  The house had a slightly musty odor, not unpleasant, and it reminded him vaguely of the way his grandparents' house had smelled years ago.  While he was looking over her bookshelves, Lara wandered into the parlor carrying a tray with a couple of plates and glasses, which she put down efficiently on an end table.  They were cucumber sandwiches, with a hint of dill in the cream cheese, and very good.  He washed his down with a cold iced tea.

     Lara slipped out of her heels as they ate, and noted the way his eyes dipped to her feet and back.  She got a warm feeling, one she hadn't had in quite some time, and rubbed her feet together as they talked about city life, taxes, and traffic.  She could tell he was interested in her, but he seemed to keep holding himself back from doing or saying anything.   Finally, she decided she was going to have to make the first move.  She crossed her legs, swinging her right foot near him on the sofa. "The only problem with doing so much walking," she said, changing the subject, "is that my feet do ache at the end of the day." She waited to see what his response would be.

     Karl looked at her foot, and his eyes drew a line up her calf to the point where her leg disappeared under her skirt.  He swallowed another bite of his sandwich quickly, and reached out tentatively, hoping this woman would not take offense.  He was pleased to see her close her eyes and sigh when he took her foot in his hand and start massaging it, rubbing deeply into the arch with his thumb.  After several minutes he took both hands and drew her foot up on top of his leg.  Lara leaned back a little to accommodate him, bringing her other foot onto the sofa and lifting her leg the slightest bit.  A flush came over Karl's face as he caught a glimpse of her upper thighs.  She was wearing knee-highs, and while the foot in his hand was sheathed in nylon the area beneath her skirt was bare skin.  He used his knuckles on her sole, and separated each toe in turn as he rubbed her foot.  She sighed again, and stretched her leg out so that her foot was comfortably nestled in his lap.  Too comfortably, perhaps, as Karl felt the stirrings of a desire he hadn't felt in some time.  He extended his reach to rub her calf as well, reveling in the feel of her musculature under his hands.

     Lara sipped her tea as she enjoyed the feel of Karl's hands on her.  She wanted more, and hoped he would continue with her legs.  She suppressed a moue of disappointment when he put her foot back on the sofa, but it was only to take her other foot and begin the same delightful massage.  She rubbed her free foot against the side of his leg as he worked.  When he moved his attention to her calf, she rolled her free foot in his lap, feeling her effect on him directly. "Lara," he said, and looked in her eyes.  "I know," she replied simply, and opened her arms. Karl leaned toward her and she met him halfway, smooth cotton shirt crushed against muslin blouse, skirt rucked up carelessly past her knees.  Their lips met and clung, needily, greedily, for the moment like two sixteen-year-olds.  Her hips pressed comfortably against his, and after a bit, she began to stroke his back with her fingers.

     Her nipples were on fire.  She was on fire.  She wanted to feel him against her, around her, within her.  She moved against him, trying to get nearer.  He reached down and rubbed her breast in a circular motion through her clothes, but it wasn't enough. She pressed against him gently, and as their lips parted she leaned back to start undoing buttons, quickly but without haste. He smiled as he saw her freckled chest appear, then her plain brassiere, her belly.  She sat up and turned around to let Karl pull the blouse off and unhook her bra.  Karl slid his hands around her chest and under the bra cups, fondling her small globes, jiggling them in his hands, then letting her breasts slither against his palms as he moved his hands away from her body taking the bra with them.  Her nipples were crinkled in the cool air. "You're beautiful," he said to her bare back.

     Lara turned back to face this stranger, now less stranger and more something else, and found him removing his own shirt. She moved forward and was suddenly pressed against him, her naked breasts hard against the coarse hair of his chest. He rubbed against her, making low, choked sounds deep in his throat.  The feel of his curly hairs against her breasts was exciting, and she shivered as he kissed her bare shoulders.

     His head lowered and his mouth opened wide and then closed on her right breast as if he were starving for it. He sucked, bit, licked, all the while making low throaty sounds. Lara gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair. She couldn't think. His mouth still clung to her breast even as he lay back and pulled her down atop him. He hugged her tight with one arm while the other palmed her ass through her skirt, his palms running feverishly up and down her flesh, feeling the textures of her. He tugged at her skirt and she lifted her hips to ease its removal. That gone, she lay on top of him, feeling his maleness pressing against her mound, separated by the thickness of his trousers and the thin barrier of her panties.

     Karl suckled on one breast, then the other, learning the geography of this strange wonderful new body with his fingers, stiffly aware of the warmth of her mons lying on top of his crotch.  Surely, he thought, there must be some more genteel, less clumsy way for two people to remove the barriers between them.  She pulled at his shoulders and he responded to the nonverbal cue, sitting up with a look of disappointment as Lara pulled away from him.  She smiled, though, and pointed at his trousers, especially the swollen crotch, then leaned back to watch as it became obviously his turn to show off.

     Karl, mildly embarrassed at being caught with his interest showing, focused on getting his pants off without incident and thus missed the sight of Lara sliding her panties over the hump of her buttocks and down her legs.  He looked surprised when he lifted his head and saw her bare as Venus. Lara lay back in the sofa, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She held her left breast in one hand; the other hand covered her mound, her fingers barely visible in the moist hair.  Karl leaned down to kiss her upper legs, and Lara settled back against the sofa, spreading her knees and delving both of her hands into the thick fur of her vulva. She watched Karl's reactions, licking her lips unconsciously as he proved with his body language that her age had nothing to do with her desirability. Karl sat up and stared, openly panting now, as she slowly and carefully slid a finger down to part her pubic hair. For a moment she held it back, exposing the soft, sweet treasures inside. Then she dipped one finger down to her entrance and slid back up to massage her clitoris.

     When Karl made no move, frozen with his mouth open like a deer caught by headlights, Lara got up and leaned forward to press her naked body against his and kiss him again.  He was finding it somewhat hard to breathe, torn between wanting to touch her everywhere and wanting to do something about his own excitement. He took her hands and pushed them back down to the sofa by her hips.  He leaned forward and down, breathing in her sweet fragrance.  He parted the thick mat of curled hair with his fingers and touched the tip of his tongue to the area just above her vagina.  Warm fleshy tongue met damp sweet flesh, causing both lovers to shiver.  Softly, slowly, his tongue slid up between her fleshy labes and outlined the tiny mound of her clitoris.  Around and around he circled, too much perhaps as she gasped and moaned.  He drew back and delved lower, exploring the entrance and the dipping his tongue into her interior, darting in and out with quick motions, then sliding a finger in to join the lingual invasion.

     Lara gasped, her fingers tangled in his hair. She couldn't think. She clutched her ass and pushed her hips upward against him, inviting him further.  His fore and middle fingers touched her, probed, sank deep.  She cried out, the muscles of her stomach clenching, convulsing as she felt the intruders begin a fast, jerky rhythm. She wanted him in. Her heart was pounding so hard she couldn't get her breath. Her hands clutched his shoulders, her nails bit into his flesh.  He sent his mouth back up to her clitoris.  This time he gently sucked the little button, feeling her start to clench her muscles around his fingers.  She moaned louder now and the movement of her hips becomes more violent as she pushed against his mouth.  She began to call his name, softly at first, then louder until it was almost a scream. He stabbed his fingers into her as her entire body tensed, her face flushed.  She dug her hands into the skin behind his ears and pressed him firmly against her as she shook, then she released him and he withdrew, resting his cheek against the inside of her thigh, marveling at the passion buried in this woman.

     "Move." She could barely force the words from her dry throat.  "I want you, not just your fingers."  She undulated her hips against him.  Karl moved slowly upward, meeting her lips with his as he rested his turgid staff in the damp hollow between her legs.  He tweaked a nipple gently as she wriggled beneath him, stroking his sac and shaft with a cool hand, fingernails teasing his behind.  She moved against him, lifting her legs and opening wide as she guided him inside.  He placed his hands on either side of her and pressed steadily.  First the head popped in, causing both of them to gasp and pause, then she urged him on with her hands on his bottom as he sank deeper inside her until she had him completely in.  Karl had to close his eyes from the sensation.  It was incredible. He moved back and then in, building a rhythm as Lara took her hands away from his buttocks to play with his rudimentary nipples.

     She pulled him down to her and they hugged and kissed as she rocked her hips.  His tongue pressed between her lips and she squeezed her vagina around him.  The motion of her hips around his shaft almost sent him over the edge, and he said so just as he felt the explosion forcing its way through him.  Karl shut his eyes and muttered something incomprehensible as the long-forgotten feeling sent sparks throughout his body.  Lara watched raptly as he swallowed once, twice, three times echoing his thrusts as he helplessly poured his seed into her body. As he slowed down, Lara felt herself coming again, this time in slow waves that rolled over and around her.  They stayed locked together for a while, his flesh hot against hers, just enjoying the feel of each other in the afterglow.

/ END /


Rest Room Reaction

Keys: [file:rest] [date:1994-09-14] [words:1422] [codes:FFm, mast, voy, humil]

Abstract: There's a reason they tell men not to go into the women's restroom

Rest Room Reaction

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1994, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I was heading down the hall toward the men's room when I heard a squeaking noise coming from the women's room.  I thought this was odd, since I didn't think anyone else was working this late. I think the lateness of the hour got to me, as otherwise I'd never have considered opening the women's room door. It was a good thing this place oils its hinges well.

     What with it being after 10 pm, the bathroom only had about a quarter of its lights on.  I heard a female voice panting, saying something like "ummmm, nummm, do it, do it..." Between that and the squeaking sound I managed to work out that someone was in here trying to get off.  I ducked my head down and scanned the spaces under the stall doors till I saw one with feet.  Nice feet, splayed wide with sensible blue pumps set to one side.  I wondered how I was going to pull this off...

     I slid under the side of the stall at the end.  It was only two down from the one where the woman was sitting.  Her voice was lower and softer now, little fluttery noises from deep in her throat.  I took off my shoes, set them up on the ledge, and climbed up on top of the toilet.  Good thing I did a lot of push-ups when I was young, my arms were up to the task of getting up on top of the stall wall. Of course the bonus was that with my shoes out of view, and me at the back of the stall, I was pretty much invisible to a casual onlooker.  I balanced my belly on the wall and poked my head out further. Finally I saw what was going on.  Or getting off, more like.

     She was nice looking -- black hair, frilly yellow blouse gaping open, medium tits, smooth legs.  Her panties were out of sight, probably on the floor the way she had her legs spread. She was leaning back on the toilet seat with three fingers sliding through her wet slit and her left hand mauling her breast.  She must have been pinching her nipple -- it was red, and stuck out like a cherry on a sundae.  Her eyes were closed, and I got an immediate erection from the scene.  Her fingers started going faster again, and she flipped her thumb against her nipple as she muttered "fuck him, don't need him, don't need her, fuck 'em, got myself, yeah, right there, do me, do me, ahhhhhhh...".  Her mumbles faded into groans and gurgles, as her right hand became a blur between her pussy and her clit, ending when she suddenly sagged back with a long "OOOohhhhhhhh".

     I was breathing faster myself, and I watched in fascination as she took some toilet paper and dabbed at her sweaty face and chest, then sat up and flushed the toilet, using the spray like a bidet.  I couldn't get enough of this, but suddenly something happened that made me freeze.  I felt a hand on my crotch.

     Now understand my position:  balanced on the stall separator wall, head and chest on one side, waist down hanging in the air on the other.  I hadn't heard the bathroom door open, and I would have felt the breeze if my stall door had been opened. (At least I *think* I would have... I'll admit I was pretty much absorbed in the woman I was watching.)  That only left one possibility -- someone had heard this woman and had the same idea I had. I hoped it wasn't security.

     I hoped it was a woman, and I really wished I could do something to find out because there were fingers tracing my erection through my pants and I couldn't move without making enough noise to draw attention from the woman I had watched. That didn't seem like a good idea.  She was buttoning her blouse now; her nipples were almost visible through it.  As she drew her panties back up her legs, I dropped my head to be on the safe side.  I had my own problems to deal with.  The fingers in my crotch knew what they were doing, and a hand had joined them pressing my pants into the split of my bottom.  It looked like I was going to be having my own sexual experience, but it was going to be in my pants.

     I heard the woman leave her stall and wash her hands, then I heard a female voice from my stall call out to her. "Elaine? You still working on that Harkins project?"  "Oh... hi, Marge. Yes, it's a grind but you know how it is when you have to get something done."

     I was grinding my teeth by now, as Marge (I assumed) was bringing me closer to the edge and I knew I wouldn't be able to last long.  She was playing with what felt like her thumb and one finger, running up the ridge of my shaft, gripping the head through my pants and rubbing it with her thumb, then scratching with her nails back down to my balls.  I put one arm out to press against the wall and reached back to hold the top of the stall with the other as I felt my cum start to boil.

     What a scene... Elaine was drying her hands, and I was never so happy about a bathroom being equipped with those hot air dryers. The sound that made drowned out any squeaks I may have caused as I shot off in my pants, my hot sperm coating my rod as Marge rubbed my pants against me.  She kept this up until I wasn't jerking my hips any more, by which time I knew the front of my pants was stained clear through.  I could feel the pool of semen from my waist down to my sticky balls.

     Elaine finished drying her hands and started to leave the bathroom, but Marge detained her to talk about someone who had just had a baby.  Me, I was managing to keep my balance, keep my head and legs down, and wondering what Marge's game was.  I got really worried when I felt her dig my wallet out from my hip pocket, but I wasn't in any position to protest.  Finally they finished talking and Elaine left.  That left me with Marge, who kept her hand on my crotch as she spoke to me for the first time.

     "You've got a nice ass, Tim.  I'd like to see it again some day.  Up close and personal, and I think you know what I mean. I'll be leaving now, and if you get down quickly, I'll make sure the hallway is clear for, oh, say two minutes.  Long enough for you to go do something in the *right* bathroom." She chuckled, a deep throaty sound, and rubbed my wet spot. "Don't look around for me -- it would be a waste of your time, and besides, now I know how to find *you*."  Then she left.

     I clambered down, put my shoes on and hurried to the bathroom door.  Sure enough, the hall was empty.  I didn't even hear any footsteps, although the carpet made that clue unlikely to begin with.  I rushed to the men's room and looked at my pants.  Stained from the waistband to the bottom of my fly. Well, there was nothing to do about *that*.  I unzipped, took some wet paper towels and did as much as I could to clean up.  I smelled like a cross between a locker room and a whorehouse mattress.  The cleanup helped a little.

     I went back to my cubicle, skittishly checking at corners so I wouldn't run into anyone.  When I got there I saw my briefcase and breathed a sigh of relief.  I could hold that in front of me when I left.  When I tried to pick it up, the handle slipped out of my hand.  Funny... I looked closer, then took a sniff.  I had a thought and opened it -- seems Marge decided to leave me a little present to remember her by. There was a pair of damp panties on top of my papers, and they weren't wet from urine.  I certainly couldn't give my boss my project report now, but that could wait until morning.  I had the stirrings of an erection again, and for some reason I didn't trust the men's room any more.

/ END /


At The Movies

Keys: [file:movi] [date:1994-09-18] [words:919] [codes:MF, public]

Abstract: A couple finds all the action at the adult theatre is not on the screen

At The Movies

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1994, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     You met me in one of the private booths in back.  The screen came on and rolled the movie I had selected.  It was a story about a massage parlor, and when the housewife went in and was surprised to get a woman to serve her, I wrapped my arms around you and cupped your breasts, hefting them and letting my fingers define their contours.  Your breathing got slow as you watched the housewife slowly strip, and I lifted the front of your skirt to run my hand down and up your leg, ending at your panties, which were already damp.

     The woman doing the massage was rubbing and kissing the housewife's perky bottom now, and I matched her motions by kissing your neck while I leaned you back against me so I could work my finger into your panties and your hot slit.  I rubbed my finger up, down, sometimes in just a little, and you started writhing from side to side. By this time the woman in the movie had the housewife's legs over her shoulder and she was tonguing the woman until she cried out and pounded her hands against the massage table.  You took my other hand off your breast and pressed it to your mouth, muffling your own cries as your other hand pushed mine so I was slicking my finger down and rubbing my palm against your clit.  You shook hard several times and bit my palm a little...

     You wiggled in my lap as my finger swirled in your soppy slit. The movie had changed scenes without our paying strict attention and now there were three women in the massage room. The housewife was on her back and one woman was squeezing her breasts while the other was sliding a large grey dildo in and out of her. The housewife was moaning loud, and I slipped my finger fully inside you, moving it in and out in rhythm with the action on the screen.  You finished unbuttoning your blouse and slid your bra cups up and off to caress your own breasts as I did this.

     The woman with the dildo pressed it deep inside the housewife and leaned down to suck her clit, while at the other end the woman massaging the housewife's breasts climbed up on the table and lowered her crotch to receive the housewife's tongue. I could hear your breath coming in short pants, and I worked a second finger in between your legs.  You began rhythmically squeezing your legs around my hand, tight then loose, tighter then loose, and when the woman on the table started shaking all over you grabbed my hand and moved it in and out fast.  You shook once, twice, then rubbed your ass hard from side to side against my crotch as you came, quietly, breathing hard...

     You sat in my lap, leaning back against me as your breath returned to normal.  On the screen the two women had tied the housewife's arms onto the table and were tickling her with feathers.  I watched the scene as you got up and asked me to trade places.  When I stood, you quickly undid my belt and zipper, and tugged my pants down before letting my sit on the bench in front of you.  You slid your cool hands into my briefs, moving your fingers down to play with each of my testicles.  I was already hard, and the visual stimulation on the screen only enhanced the tactile stimulation of your fingers.

     You left one hand casually stroking the bottom of my ball sac as you withdrew the other one.  I watched the women on the screen lift the housewife's legs, wondering, when your hand returned to the inside of my briefs, warm and sticky-wet.  You clasped me, making a loose fist, and started moving your grip down and up my shaft, coming almost all the way off the head on the upstroke.  I opened my legs wider and breathed a low "aaahhhhh" as my erection grew.  You took advantage of my spread legs to wiggle your fingers down to the soft spot between my balls and my ass, and I lifted my hips involuntarily when you teased me there with a sharp fingernail.

     Your fingers and palms were working me quickly into a lather, and when I opened my eyes again I gasped at the scene on the screen. One woman had her face and tongue nestled between the housewife's nether globes while the other was slowly working an extremely large dildo in and out of the housewife's pussy.  The camera zoomed and I could see her labia stretched and tugging as the woman would pull it out.  That was the last straw, as I groaned and said "ohmy... ohhh I'm... gonna..."

     "I know," you said, and you started lightly squeezing my balls with one hand as you slid your other hand up and down.  My groin muscles spasmed and I jerked my hips, thrusting up and back at your hand, sending wave after wave of sticky hot semen up onto your wrist and hand, soaking my briefs (good thing you took down my pants) and dripping down inside where your other hand rubbed the creamy stuff into my balls.  I closed my eyes as my jerks slowly grew farther between and slower, less intense.  Finally we sat there, your right hand lightly stroking my balls as the movie came to an end and I heard you say, "So what's the second feature?"

/ END /


Imitating PeeWee

Keys: [file:pewe] [date:1994-10-05] [words:521] [codes:M solo]

Abstract: A man reflects on a solo interaction

Imitating PeeWee

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1994, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I'm sitting at my computer, nobody around but the sound of the a/c clicking in and out.  I was looking at some old kinky GIFs -- women in rubber, holding men's cocks, things like that.  Well, I figured I might as well haul out old faithful and give him some relief.  I unzipped my pants and fumbled around trying to find the opening in my briefs.  Finally I said to hell with it and grabbed John Thomas and pulled it around the side and out into the open.  I could see the vein was throbbing already and it was warm in my hand.  Dry, though.  I licked my thumb and ran it over the head of my cock.  Better, definitely.  Hmmm, I was going to need some napkins or something if I didn't plan to make a mess of my pants.  I suppose I could just take them off, but you never know when the cleaning staff will come in and surprise you.  If it were a female staff, maybe I'd still try it.

     The briefs were binding so I stood up and pulled my cock further out so the edge of the briefs hit around my ball sac instead of the shaft.  My spit had dried already (it does that, unfortunately) so I used more and used my fist to rub it in and over the whole head.  WOW!  I didn't realize I was *that* sensitive -- I almost shot off then and there.  I flipped through the GIF directory, just sort of holding myself near the edge, till I ran across one that always does it for me.  It's nothing particularly kinky, just this tall blonde leaning over her boyfriend, her tits hanging down and brushing against his chest while she's got his cock cradled in one hand.  It's a big cock (at least it looks that way in the picture), and I am imagining it's her hand on my cock.

     I re-lick my hand and use my fingers to rub it into my shaft, leaving the crown alone for the moment. I grip the shaft and move my fist up and down in a speeding-up motion, playing with my balls on the downstroke.  When I can't stand it any longer, I let my fist go all the way up and over the top, rolling it around and watching as the friction of my hand pulls the tip open, flaring at me like a blind eye, and as I keep going I feel my balls tightening and I go back to a fast up-and-down fist making sure that my thumb rubs up just under the crown every time, and I look up and bite my lip as the cum erupts and shoots into the air, coming down on the floor in front of me, six, seven times before I have the sense to grab a Kleenex and toss it in between my legs, as my cum oozes more than cums for the next several times I squeeze my fist upward.  Finally, I lean back and catch my breath while my softening cock shrivels and lies on the sticky Kleenex.

/ END /


Virtual Reality

Keys: [file:virt] [date:1994-10-24] [words:3228] [codes:mc]

Abstract: A woman takes her husband to a place her boss recommended; the two of them are in for the ride of their lives

Virtual Reality

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1994, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     *** Prologue ***

     Ken and Carol had been seeing each other for a few months. Their relationship was generally fine, they liked the same kinds of music, managed to agree on places to eat, and both loved dancing.  But something had gone flat between them.  Their intimate sessions didn't seem to have the same spark, and lately Carol's sense of humor had just vanished.

     One day Carol was having lunch with her boss when he started talking about "virtual reality". Apparently, this wasn't just something that computer nerds talked about any more.  Her boss had visited a place where they had a working VR setup.  "Do you remember the episode of Mad About You," he told her while they worked through a large Caesar salad, "where Paul Reiser wound up with Christie Brinkley and his wife got Andre Agassi?"  Carol wasn't much of a TV watcher, but she did gather that both she and Ken could set up their own universe together, and that sounded intriguing.

     Carol called the number her boss gave her, and spoke with the secretary.  She was surprised at the cost -- the secretary quoted her $120 per person -- and was annoyed that the company didn't have credit cards set up yet so she would have to bring cash.  The secretary also told her that there would be some medical and physical tests required for software calibration and to satisfy their insurance company.  Carol wondered about that, then dismissed the thought.

     The couple had an early dinner after work, where they talked and jointly wondered about what they were in for.  After dinner, they drove to the location Carol had been given.  It was a darkened office building on the east side of downtown, one of the casualties of the economic bust.  They parked in the covered lot, went inside, and signed in at the security desk.  The guard pointed them to the right bank of elevators and they went on up to the 17th floor.

     *** Interlude ***

     The guard at the security desk picked up the phone and pressed some buttons.  "They're here," he said, and waited for a reply.  After a time, he said "Okay" and hung up the phone.  He took the guest log, removed the page bearing Ken and Carol's names, and replaced it with another log sheet.  After checking the original and writing something down, he folded it in thirds and slipped into his jacket pocket.  He picked up the phone again and dialed a number.  "Hello, George?  This is Wally at 515 Main. I've got one you can have.  License plate Y45-EKE in the covered lot.  The usual."  He paused, and went on "Yeah, well, business is slower than we figured, what can I say.  Call me next week, we'll do lunch on my tab." With that he hung up the phone, picked up a magazine, and started to read.

     *** The Interview ***

     Ken and Carol knocked on the designated door, and were ushered into a spartan office.  There was little in the way of decoration, just two desks, a few chairs, and a table with electrical equipment, a pressure cuff and medical looking equipment.  The man and women who greeted them explained that the actual VR setup was in another suite, but they had to start with a preliminary screening because some people were hyper-sensitive to direct stimulation of the sensory cortex and others weren't emotionally stable enough to deal with a continuously changeable environment.  "If for some reason you aren't suitable for the VR environment," they hurried to assure the couple, "we will of course refund your money."  Carol fumbled in her purse, and came out with the $250 which the man took and folded into his shirt pocket.

     The tests were fairly standard.  They took Ken and Carol's blood pressure and pulse, looked at their eyes, tapped their knees, had them remove their shoes and tapped the soles of their feet to check the reflexes there.  They had each separately do word associations, and showed them some sort of inkblots on cards to get their reactions.  The only interesting part of the testing came when they were given tongue depressors that had been soaked in something and asked to identify the tastes.

     Finally, the two testers got together in a corner of the office to check their notes, and came back to tell Carol and Ken they seemed quite suitable and would be taken to the main room where the VR environment was set up.  A button was pressed, and in due course the door opened and two men in suits came in to escort the couple to the other suite.  They took the elevator again, going up to the 23rd floor, and went down the hall to another nondescript door.  This, however, opened into a much more sumptuous suite.  The carpet was dark blue, and thick, and there were abstract hangings on the maroon walls.  Carol tried to make out the details but her eyes wouldn't focus on the paintings.  A couple of women in white lab coats met them and exchanged a few words with the escorts.

     This room was set up with some high-walled cubicles, and Ken and Carol were taken to different areas. Each was interviewed in depth about their attitudes, likes, dislikes, medical history, fantasies, living arrangements, and all sorts of odd items.  Then they were hooked up to something that looked like a lie detector and asked to describe various smells out of bottles and tastes (as they had already done).  This part of the procedure was explained as identifying their general level of sensitivity to calibrate the software, so a flashlight beam wouldn't seem as bright as the sun to them.

     *** Ken's Account ***

     I awake in an empty office, my head woozy on the desk. There is an index card in front of me.  It said,

     "Ken -- you passed out during the tests and the VR folks freaked out.  I've gone to get help so if you wake up, don't go anywhere."

     I wait for what seems like 10 or 15 minutes; I must have left my watch at the office.  Just as I'm getting ready to head out anyway, I hear voices in the hall and the door opens.  A group of people in blue scrubs comes in wheeling a stretcher on wheels. The woman (nurse?) who is apparently in charge tells me in a no-nonsense tone to get on the gurney so they can check me out. She quickly undoes my shirt buttons and slaps patches with wires connected over my nipples and belly button.  One of the others tends to a machine which has started to make irregular beeping noises.

     A wave of dizziness passes over me, and I lay back passively as they take their readings.  The nurse prods my lower belly, and I gasp at a sudden intense pain.  "Duodenal," she says to nobody in particular, and "Versed, medium weight".  Something stings my arm, and I stir from my strange lassitude enough to call out your name.  "She'll be in to see you as soon as we have you (mumble)," the nurse says, her voice trailing off as she unzips my pants. "Hand here," she barks, and two orderlies appear to grab my pant legs by the cuffs and drag them off of me.

     The nurse cuts away my underpants and pokes at my testicles. Her fingers are very smooth and cool, and I can feel my penis thickening in a detached sort of way.  I start to get up, but something seems to be holding my shoulders down.  Someone puts a thick tube in my mouth as they start to move the gurney, and I suck on it reflexively, taking in air.

     The movement of the gurney sends streams of air over my naked body, giving me chills as they roll me out into the hall. I hear Carol's voice and try to talk to her, but I can only mumble around the tube in my mouth.  The air seems harsh to my throat, but she strokes my head and places her hand comfortingly on my belly as we all head into the elevator. "Is he..." she begins, and the nurse replies, "I think we will be in time."  The elevator jolts upward, and Carol's hand slides from my belly to my cock, holding it like a stick shift.

     The elevator comes to a jarring halt, and when the doors open I am rolled out onto the roof of the building.  I can smell incense, and see the stars above.  There are rustling noises around me, and suddenly the blood is pounding through my body and all of my extremities are tingling.  I struggle again to sit up, but something has my shoulders fast to the gurney.  The nurse leans over, and I am surprised to see that she is topless.  Her heavy breasts sway over me as she rubs a sharp-smelling unguent onto my shoulders, neck and chest.  I look down and Carol is also topless and doing the same to my feet, rubbing her fingers thoroughly between each of my toes, then working her hands up my calves, knees, thighs.  Her hands meet the nurse's at my groin and they work as a team to make sure none of that area is left dry.  The unguent warms me where they have rubbed it.

     I had forgotten the wires and patches from earlier, but my nipples suddenly feel a low tickling vibration. I try to say something but the tube in my mouth seems to have gotten larger. Carol and the nurse lift my knees and push my feet toward my bottom, fastening my ankles to the side of the gurney.  Carol reaches beneath me and rubs a dollop of the ointment between my ass cheeks, moving with deliberate strokes of her long fingers, dipping in, rubbing around, each time lingering longer with the tips of her fingers at my anus.  I watch her breasts sway in the moonlight, fascinated and aroused.  Finally she slides one finger in, deep, deeper, I don't know how she can get it so deep within me and my cock throbs almost painfully in response.

     The nurse moves over me, blocking my view of Carol, and lowers herself onto my erection.  She is impossibly tight; the tip of my cock is pulled open as she forces herself down in short sharp shocks.  Hot... so hot inside... and when she reaches back and rubs more of the heating unguent on my swollen balls I cry out around the slick tube in my mouth, begging for release, for her to move just a little faster, when liquid starts to come from the tube in my mouth and I'm too busy swallowing to complain...

     *** Carol's Account ***

     The new office had several large cubicles set apart by partitions, and I went into one while Ken went into another.  The cubicle was set up like a small medical exam room, and the women with me asked me to remove my blouse and skirt while she set up a rather complex machine with electrical leads, dials and displays. I watched with interest, as this was a much more sophisticated looking setup than the one they had used for the preliminary screening.  I draped my clothes over a chair and sat down as she affixed little sticky tabs (kind of like round band-aids) to the leads coming from the machine.  She attached several on my shoulders, sides and lower spine, and I shivered at the cold contact.  Then a couple low on my belly, one on the inside of each of my thighs about an inch below my panties, and finally one between my breasts.  My skin tingled faintly where she touched me.  The wires hummed with a low, not unpleasant, buzz.  I blushed to feel that my nipples were erect, but the woman took no notice.  She placed a hood over my eyes, and said, "Tell me if you can feel this."  I felt a pin prick my neck, a feather between my breasts, a pinch at my right earlobe, something sharp gripping my toe, hot flashes at my crotch.  Suddenly I felt the urgent need to go to the bathroom, and I told her so.  She removed my hood and directed me through a door into a small room.  I rushed into the small toilet and voided loudly, embarrassed at the odor. When the spasms ceased, I turned the fan on and washed up thoroughly, using the scented hand soap I found there before going back out.  I went back to my seat and put my bra back on as the woman puttered at her desk, then my skirt and blouse.

     She handed me the hood and led me into a darkened booth.  I sat in a metal frame chair that was cold against the backs of my legs, and she positioned my left arm through a hole in the left side of the booth onto what she called the "control handle".  I moved it experimentally; it seemed to be covered in foam rubber or something equally flexible.  My right hand went into the special computer glove lying on the chair arm.  I blinked twice as I heard the door close, and the darkness of the hood faded and was replaced...

     I was in a low-slung sleek car, driving down a highway.  The engine throbbed beneath my feet, and I was passing a sign that said "VR Central -- 7 miles".  I heard a phone ring, and looked down to see a cellular phone on the passenger seat.  I picked it up and heard Ken's voice saying "Why don't you put the top down, and I'll see you at VR Central for lunch."  I found the convertible top switch, and as the roof folded down behind me I felt the wonderful breeze against my face, contrasting with the warmth of the sun against my arms and breasts.

     Breasts?  I looked down... my blouse and bra were gone.  The breeze whipped its way past my nipples, leaving them all tingly. I shrugged, wondering how the computer managed that effect, and drove on.  Up on the right I saw some small signs, like the old-style Burma Shave signs.  These said:

     For extra speed

     In special cars

     What you need

     Is handle bars!

     Squeeze the left handle...

     I looked to my left and saw a leather-covered handle sticking up from the side panel.  I wrapped my hand around the resilient surface and pushed -- no movement.  I pulled and twisted it, but nothing happened. Finally, I gave it a good squeeze and tugged upward.  That seemed to be the key.  The handle felt hot in my hand and the steering wheel suddenly began changing on me.  I grabbed the wheel as it stretched and morphed into a set of evil-looking handle bars, like you'd get on a Harley.  The seat under me felt more like a bicycle seat as well, contoured to cup and separate the cheeks of my bottom so I felt the purr of the engine there as well as under my feet.  I held down the gas pedal as I passed a sign that said "VR Central, next exit."  The middle of the seat under me seemed to have dropped, so it was more like sitting on a U-bar.  I moved until I finally got comfortable with it, about the time I came to the highway exit.  The exit led to a tollbooth, and when I looked down I found some quarters on the passenger seat.  I tossed the quarters in the toll basket, and waited for the arm to rise.

     Instead the steering wheel/handlebars moved, stretching out from the dashboard to wrap around my chest, pinning my body and arms against the seat back.  My hands were still wrapped around the handles, though, and the tollbooth arm rose so I pressed the gas pedal.  The vibrations of the engine seemed more immediate, both through my foot and through the seat, and I was starting to get a pleasant buzz from them as I drove out.  The sign directed me to a restaurant at VR Central, so I followed the arrows and wound up at a drive-through place.  I stopped at the speaker, and the voice was Ken's. "Hi, Carol, glad you could make it here. What'll you have -- Lunch Special 1 or Lunch Special 2?"  There wasn't any sign explaining what the difference was, so I shrugged and said, "Surprise me."  Big mistake.

     The engine of my car came to life, and the whole seat under me started vibrating.  I twisted the handles for all I was worth, but that didn't seem to have any effect.  However, the frame that was holding me in my seat shifted shape again, with large rings wrapping around the bases of my breasts.  The rings were warm and they hummed, and moved outward from my chest, shrinking as they moved until at the farthest out they were the size of dimes holding my nipples.  Then they came back in, still humming.  I was starting to get turned on from all this, when I felt something between my legs.  I tried to look down, but the framework got in the way.  It was warm, though, and slick, and humming.  I said "Ken...?" to the speaker but didn't get an answer.  Whatever it was between my legs started moving up and down, squeezing up between my thighs and resting against the top of my panties.  Then it started vibrating, right over my clit.

     I can't say it was unexpected, but it caught me by surprise anyway.  My eyes opened, and I clutched the steering handles tighter.  It felt *good*, not like the vibrators I had tried when Ken was out of town.  This time when it moved down, it stopped at the opening to my vagina and paused there.  I twisted the right handlebar, and felt the thing press into me.  I realized I didn't have any panties on, and wondered at that, but the little humming wonder felt *good*, and I twisted the handlebar a little more and felt it push into me as I tried to move my legs apart for it. Suddenly it was inside me, and I was breathing heavily as it buzzed and slowly moved in and out.  Between the frame holding my breasts and this wonderful joystick probing inside me, I was sweating and shivering all over.  My bottom felt odd, like I had to go... no... it was the other way round... something wanted *in*, something warm... and wet... ohhhhhhhh...

     *** Not The End ***

     Samantha climbed off of Ken where he lay strapped down on the table, his rampant cock held erect by the ring at its base, and turned to the other couple.  Carol was suspended in an iron frame by her wrists, and Rhonda was teasing her ass with a vibrator.  "How's she coming," asked Samantha.  "Very nicely," was the response, "she's as suggestive as the profiles indicated and it doesn't take much to set her off."  "Shall we hang him in the cage for phase two yet?"  "Oh, I don't think we need to rush -- nobody's coming for them any time soon, and I want a piece of that big stick you've been hogging!"

/ END /


What the Sysop Read

Keys: [file:syso] [date:1995-06-20] [words:1134] [codes:MF rom]

Abstract: The operator of a computer bulletin board is very aroused by a story written by one of her users

What the Sysop Read

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1995, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     The new computer was a present for herself.  She had been a supervisor at the company for two years, things were looking good, her last two reviews had been glowing, and it was time for her to do something just for herself.  She got a system with plenty of disk space, the two fastest modems she could find, lots of memory, and even a CD-ROM.  The salesman thought she was going to use it for work, but that was just her cover story.

     She was going to set up a BBS.  She had done the club scene in this city, and found it a dreary and unproductive way to meet people.  When she was in college, she had known a man who ran a board for people to talk to and meet others, and that was what she would do now.  After getting the system set up, she spent a few weeks dialing around the city, looking at what the boards in town used in the way of software. That done, she got her software, installed it, set up her file and message areas, added a few games, and sent out notices on other boards that she was "on-line and ready to party".

     Nothing happened for several days, although she did get several "I'll come check you out" messages on the boards where she had advertised.

     Finally, one morning before she left for the office, she heard the modem tone and went over to see what was happening.  It was a new user logging in, one of the men who had sent her an acknowledgement.  She watched as he filled out the new user questionnaire and said "Y" to the question about adult access. He zipped over to the file section, glanced at the directory titles, went back to the message section, scanned through the message areas, jumped over to the games section, then went to the logout sequence, where he left a message explaining that he couldn't use the board's call-back verifier because he was dialing out through the office PBX, and there wasn't a direct number to call his modem.  He did, however, leave a number where he could be reached by voice during the day.

     Later that morning, during a break in her office schedule, she called the number.  A man's voice answered, with the name he had given.  She said, "Hi, this is Miss Priss from the Eagle's Nest. I believe you called earlier...?"  He acknowledged the call, and gave her the correct answer when she asked for his secondary password.  They talked briefly about the board, what he did for work, and the other boards he called locally.  Finally, satisfied that this was a serious user, she ended the call, telling him his account would be validated later in the day.

     She validated him at lunch, dialing remote from her office and setting his access for the adult sections. While she was on her modem, she called a few more local boards, leaving announcements about her system, and joined an on line adventure game on one of the more active multi line boards.

     That evening, after dinner, she went to check the board. She had 40 new users, seven of whom had expressed an interest in the "Dark Side" section.  Her caller had already come and gone, with a logoff note that he had left a story for her.  Sure enough, there was a new file in the upload area called "TOSYS.TXT", with a description that said "Thoughts for the sysop at night..." Intrigued, she opened the file and began to read...

     >>> The Story <<<

     "Perhaps it was the daiquiris," Lena thinks as she wobbles to her feet. Something had hit her from the evening out, and she wondered if she was up to driving.  Then Claude, who she had met that evening, sees her condition and offers his services as a driver.  "I can always catch a cab from your place back to get my car," he proposes.  Lena finds that reasonable, hands Claude her keys and off they go to find her yellow Miata in the lot.  He holds the door, and her skirt rides up her leg as she slides onto the unfamiliar passenger seat.

     Claude drives the car with an easy familiarity, taking the turns of the highway with relish and prompting her from time to time for directions. Somewhere along the drive at a stoplight, his hand slips off the gearshift and onto her upper leg.  She giggles, and he gives her a friendly squeeze before the light changes and they drive on.  "Black looks nice on you," he comments.  She looks at him, confused... her dress is red, not black.  When she looks down she realizes how high her skirt has gotten, and fumbles with it finally leaving it perhaps an inch lower.

     They finally arrive at her house, where Claude closes the garage doors and opens the door for her.  Lena leans on his arm for support and fumbles with the keys until she can open the door and turn off the alarm. She excuses herself to go to the bathroom, and he responds by asking where the phone is so he can call a cab.  In the bathroom, she rucks her skirt up, pulls her panties down, and cups her head in her hands as her bladder empties.  When her head feels steadier she lifts it to see him standing casually in the open doorway watching her, an enigmatic look on his face. "Let me help you with that," he says, and takes a couple of tissues from the counter.  Before she can get more than a splutter of protest out, his hand is between her thighs, daubing, patting with quick sure strokes.  He drops the damp tissues into the toilet and flushes it, cool backspray tickling her bottom.

     Lena sits stunned as he replaces his hand between her legs, his large thumb brushing against her clit. "Not here..." she murmurs, but closes her eyes and shudders as his middle finger slips between her labia, sliding up and down.  Her body is betraying her, those flaps swelling around his finger and making her slippery for him.  His thumb rolls knowingly up and over her clit, rolling it against her body again and again until Lena comes to a quivering orgasm, hands holding the toilet seat for balance as she clamps her legs around his hand.

     Dazed, she lets him slide her panties off over her shoes and help her up, leading her to the bedroom.  He helps her out of her dress, unzipping it and letting it fall to the floor.  Standing behind her, he cups her breasts through her thin lacy bra while cupping her mound with his hand.  She shudders, surprised that she is coming again so soon.

/ END /


Desk Clerk's Distraction

Keys: [file:desk] [date:1995-07-14] [words:428] [codes:MF]

Abstract: It's hard to deal with customers at the front desk when there's someone behind you fooling around

Desk Clerk's Distraction

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1995, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I am handling a customer complaint when you come up behind me, looking stern in your bun hairdo and glasses.  The woman in front of me barely gives you a second glance as she goes on about the problems in her room.  I manage to look interested and reserved at the same time while I pull out a notepad and begin writing out a report.

     I feel your hands around my waist, moving down sinuously to my belt.  You start to unfasten my belt and your fingers deftly slide the zipper down quietly.  If this woman could see behind the desk she would be shocked at my unprofessional appearance!  Your hands slip down my stomach into my shorts and I stifle a sudden urge to choke, scream and run.  You can't be serious...

     Your cool hands find my shaft, already half-hard, and you stroke the sensitive head with your fingers.  I'm finding it more and more difficult to pay attention to the whining woman in front of me, and the hand caressing my balls doesn't help at all.  I mumble something in response to the woman.  My handwriting is getting harder and harder to read...

     Your hands move faster, the left hand gently gripping my shaft and moving up and down, your thumb flicking the head of my cock on each stroke.  With your other hand you are playing with my balls, rolling them from side to side.  Your nails occasionally scrape deliciously against my inner thighs, and my cock is throbbing painfully.  I want to move my hips, but that would alert the customer that something peculiar is going on. "Young man, are you listening to me?" she snaps...

     I mollify her and ask her to wait while I finish writing up the incident report.  Thankfully, I feel your hands move with more purpose now as you stroke me over the edge, cumming shamelessly into your palms, the excess dripping down over my balls and in my shorts.  You rub the creamy flow into my balls, wipe your hands on my ass and pull my shorts and pants back up.

     I take a few deep breaths, make sure my professional smile is back in shape, and raise my head to finish taking care of the woman in front of me as you raise my zipper and fasten my belt. I apologize to the woman for her troubles, and remind her we always want to have satisfied customers.  I hear a snicker behind me and turn to see you walking back to your office, sucking on one finger...

/ END /


Ergonomic Chairs

Keys: [file:ergo] [date:1995-07-19] [words:1300] [codes:mc]

Abstract: A man finds out the secret to a company's staff motivation

Ergonomic Chairs

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1995, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "I don't know how you find them, Thomas", my visitor commented.  "I've never seen a quieter secretarial pool in any of the offices I've surveyed this year.  What's your secret?"

     "Ergonomics," I said mildly.  "It's all in providing a proper work environment conducive to productivity.  Special desks, special chairs, that sort of thing."

     "Well, Mr. Porlock, I must say if the rest of your operation is as impressive as this, the home office will have no trouble approving your expansion plans."

     I smiled to myself.  Sheila Manderly would find nothing on the rest of the tour to object to.  Just as well that she didn't seem to be interested in the details of just how "special" some of that furniture was...

     *** *** ***

     Six months ago I had been contemplating bankruptcy.  I had the busiest import-export firm on the Gulf coast but my back office couldn't keep up with the activity.  Companies were being misbilled, shipments were lost and customers were getting more and more unhappy.  Further, my personnel costs were going out the window even though I kept having to replace trained workers (who left for better paying jobs) with new, cheap help.

     Then I saw the ad in the back of the paper.  It was barely noticeable in the Furniture For Sale group.  "Women's Chairs -- special design for motivation.  $325 each, ask for Sondra."  That and a phone number.  Something about the wording of the ad piqued my interest.

     Sondra had a low, whiskey-tinged voice on the phone, and gave me directions to a warehouse building on the east side of town.  I pulled my 4x4 into the dirt parking lot and went up to knock on the door.  Before my knuckles could hit the metal, the door swung open.  A sultry redhead in a loose-fitting jumpsuit greeted me.  "Cal? I'm Sondra.  Won't you come in?"  I followed her into a forlorn office space, and sat down on an old wooden chair while she perched on the edge of the desk.

     "What are you looking for," she inquired.  Well, I wasn't totally sure but I found myself telling her about my business and the problems I was having.  "So you see, the word you used to describe those chairs -- motivation -- sounded like it might be helpful. Although I must say $325 sounds a little on the high side."

     She looked me over for a few minutes, and finally commented, "For some people it would be high.  For the right customers, though, it's cheap at the price.  Let's go see a demonstration."

     She got up and headed through the back door into the warehouse as I wondered how you "demonstrate" a chair.

     *** *** ***

     The warehouse was dim and echoed with the sounds of ancient air compressors dying in the southern heat.  She moved quickly around several areas where I noticed woodworking equipment, a plastic extruder and some unfamiliar machine tools.  Quiet women working industriously occupied most of these areas. We stopped at a desk with a "Bookkeeping" nameplate.  The woman there had her fingers flying over the keys of an adding machine. Sondra interrupted her.  "Janice, I have a customer here -- would you please take a break?" A strange look -- of pleading? -- passed over the bookkeeper's face, and she mumbled something like "yes, ma'am" while she totaled her tape and set down her pencil.

     The woman pushed her chair back and stood up, straightening her skirt, then walked to one side of the desk.  "Check it out," Sondra invited me.  I walked around the desk and looked at the chair.  To all appearances it was a fairly standard issue office chair, casters, adjustable seat.  The seat cushion was of some unfamiliar material, and didn't have the stiff feel I normally associate with office furniture.  I sat down in the chair and rolled it up to the desk.

     Now I began to see some difference.  Without having to make any adjustments, I found myself at an optimum height for working. The back of the chair seemed to find the small of my back automatically.  When I leaned back away from the desk, the chair supported me in a comfortable position, but not one where I'd easily fall asleep.  I looked at Sondra, who had an enigmatic smile on her face.  "I can see where you might go $200 for this," I remarked, "whatever you have here is better than anything else I've seen in the market.  But I can't see $325."

     Sondra smiled openly now.  "There are some features that aren't immediately obvious," she responded.  "Janice!" The bookkeeper approached.  "Please take your place in the chair so Mr. Porlock can see how it works." Janice had that odd look on her face again, but merely replied, "Yes, mum" and moved behind the desk as I rose from the chair.

     Janice stood in front of the chair, and to my shock pulled her skirt up to her waist! She had neither panties nor hose, and I noticed that her pubic area seemed swollen. Holding her skirt, she sat down on the chair, legs parted.  As she did so, an opening appeared in the seat between her legs and something moved upward between her bare thighs.  It looked like the knob of an English saddle with a thinner stub projecting from it. As I watched, fascinated, the thinner probe made its way into Janice until the saddle was nestled firmly against her mound.  Her eyes lidded over briefly, then she shook her head and let her skirt down covering her decorously.

     "There's a matching probe in the back." Sondra's voice broke in on my reverie and I felt her hand on my ass, moving between my bottom cheeks with knowing strokes.  "It's a modification of the intermittent reward theory of positive reinforcement.  The inner probes have the feel and temperature of human flesh, and they expand, contract and move at random intervals.  Janice would rather break a date than be late coming back from lunch, wouldn't you dear?" The bookkeeper nodded, her white teeth worrying her lower lip.

     Meanwhile Sondra had insinuated her hand between my legs and was busily stroking my balls.  I was already aroused from Janice's demonstration, and it took most of my strength to remove her hand before I came in my pants.  "I begin to see how you can charge $350," I said as I turned to face her, "but how do you convince her to get into the chair in the first place?"

     "We have a model that works on an induction principle," she replied, and turned to walk back toward the office.  "You use that model and watch their reaction.  If they complain about the chair you give them regular furniture and let them leave of their own accord.  If they start coming to work early, you know to give them the standard model." We arrived back in the office, and I took the same seat I had earlier while Sondra busied herself behind her desk.

     I leaned back to catch my breath, when suddenly I had the oddest feeling, as if something furry were wrapped around my balls and stroking with light teasing motions.  I looked down but there was nothing there. The feeling became more powerful, and now it felt as if there was a wet tongue rasping across the head of my cock, now sucking... I gripped the arms of the chair as I gave in to the pleasure and came, sudden and hard, soaking the front of my pants.  Even as my orgasm subsided and my cock started softening, my balls still felt occasional light brushes that sent little shocks of pleasure up my spine.

     When I looked up, Sondra had a knowing smile on her face. "Did I mention we have models for men too?"

/ END /


Seen by Air

Keys: [file:stew] [date:1995-11-30] [words:794] [codes:FF]

Abstract: A woman has an encounter on an airplane while her husband sleeps

Seen by Air

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1995, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Jay's work as an installation specialist often took him out of town, to wherever the customer's home office was located.  I was tired of being left to my own resources at home, though, so when his company landed a new client on the other coast I twisted Jay to let me tag along.

     Once in flight, we flipped up the armrest between us and I lay against Jay, who lay against the wall.  It was nice like that and I spread Jay's coat over us like a blanket.  We had hours of night-time flying in front of us.  I leaned against Jay and he wrapped his left arm around me, holding me close.  He kissed my ear and I felt him slip his fingers under the waistband of my pants.  He slowly fingered me, and I closed my eyes as I felt that warm feeling growing inside me.

     I opened my eyes as the stewardess walked by.  It was so strange to have Jay fingering me right there in front of someone. My cheeks were flushed.  Eventually Jay withdrew his fingers.  I could tell he was sleepy.  Soon I could feel him sleeping, his shoulder moving slightly with each quiet breath.  I slipped my own fingers where his had been.  I wanted that feeling again.  I moved my fingers so slowly, focusing on the glide of skin on skin.

     The stewardess came back and stopped at our seats.  I held my hand still and sat there frozen.  She looked right at my flushed face, then down at the coat over my lap, and asked if I needed anything.  I blushed more (if that was possible) and said no.  After she left, I turned my head away from the aisle and dozed off with my hand still between my legs.

     I awoke disoriented.  Most of the passenger lights were out, and the stewardess was squatting in the aisle next to me, asking if I was all right.  She said I looked feverish.  Then she said, "No, you look hot," and slid her hand under the coat to rest her fingers on my upper leg.  Her fingers were cold against my skin, and she pressed her hand upwards under the leg band of my panties until it covered my hand.  I shuddered as she pressed my fingers between my labia knowingly, stirring me up again.  She released my hand and I felt her finger enter me, long, probing upward. She found my center and I closed my eyes and bit my lip to stifle any sound.  I was coming, wanting to wrap my hips around her hand but restrained by the nearness of my sleeping husband.  She withdrew her finger slowly, teasingly.  When she slid her hand out from beneath the coat, she pressed her finger to my lips.  I opened my mouth without thinking and tasted myself, licking her finger thoroughly.

     The stewardess retrieved her finger, stood up and strode briskly down the aisle.  I pulled my hand out of my lap and rearranged myself in my seat, wondering what had just happened. Jay moved in his sleep, mumbled, and settled down to regular breathing again.

     About fifteen minutes later, I got up to go to the bathroom. When I got back, the stewardess was in my seat, under Jay's coat as I had been.  His eyes were closed; hers were open.  I started to ask a question but she put her finger to her lips.  She pointed to the floor in front of Jay.  "Down here," she whispered sharply.  I kneeled on the floor in front of Jay, and she lifted the edge of the coat, pressing my head beneath it.

     It was dark under the coat, and it smelled of musk.  Her hand pressed me forward until my nose bumped into something soft. I knew what it had to be -- Jay's cock.  It was standing tall, and my breathing sounded loud under the coat.  I opened my mouth and his cock bent down and entered.  She was holding it, then stroking my cheek as I sucked.  I held onto Jay's knees as I bobbed my head up and down, working my mouth and tongue more and more urgently until he came, filling my mouth while I swallowed and the stewardess stroked my cheek and forehead.

     I felt her hand leave my face, and then she slid from under the coat.  I tucked Jay's softened cock back into his pants and stood up to get back into my seat.  I looked around, but the plane was dark and the stewardess was nowhere in sight. Eventually the plane landed, and as we got our bags from the overhead I noticed Jay was walking oddly.  He said he must have slept in a bad position.

/ END /

Endnote: This was an entry in the second annual Celestial Reviews story competition.


It Started At The Bar

Keys: [file:hbar] [date:1995-12-13] [words:2305] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A couple meet at a bar and go upstairs to deepen their connection.

It Started at the Bar

by Rajah Dodger {} and Mae East, (c) 1995, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     *** Mae ***

     What follows is the first installment of a joint fantasy written by Rajah Dodger and me. I say "joint", but it will really be consecutive. One of us will write a part independently, then the other will continue the story. We haven't collaborated on what we will be saying; we will be as surprised as the rest of you. But that's part of the fun. I hope it turns out well.

     *** Mae ***

     As I stalk into the hotel bar, I am totally wired.  It has been a rotten day.  I got completely lost trying to find this place.  I've gone from roaring down the freeway to crawling around the parking lot looking for a space, but it was all useless.  I missed my evening meeting, and now I have HAD IT!  I climb onto a bar stool and say to the bartender (a little louder than necessary), "I want the biggest, most fattening drink you've got!  I want alcohol and calories! I have had it with the diet!" He laughs and goes to whip something up.  "I have also had it with the suit," I say, taking off my gray flannel jacket and draping it over another stool.  "And with the shoes," so I kick off my black high heels under my chair.  "And with this blouse buttoned up to my throat!"  I take off the brooch I'm wearing at my collar and unbutton the first three buttons of my white silk blouse.  "I need to RELAX!"

     "I guess you do!" you say. I turn and see you sitting a couple of stools away, smiling at me.  It's a nice smile, I think, amused but not laughing at me.  I smile back.

     *** Rajah ***

     I come into the bar to kill some time before dinner.  There's no poker game tonight because most of the training class is going out on the town, and I don't see any reason to go up to the room and watch Dan Rather.  A few other people seem to have the same idea -- there are some couples in the booths along the wall, and a couple of the tables are occupied.  I get a stool about halfway down the bar and order a gin and tonic, then settle in for a spell when in you walk -- no, you slouch, carrying your body like you were loaded down with a piano.  I note the well-tailored business suit even as you kick off your shoes and let everyone in the bar know how much you need to relax.

     "I guess you do," I agree, and I am happy to see an answering smile on your face.  You never know, some people don't take kindly to strangers, but you obviously had a hard day and I'm told I look like the friendly sort.  I like your face, too -- freckles almost hidden by the makeup (and not hidden where you opened the top of your blouse), green eyes looking wearily back at me.  "I just got out of a training session -- how did you wind up here?"

     You explain about the missed meeting, and we commiserate about life and its injustices.  Somewhere along the way, I flag the bartender and she refills both of our drinks as I move onto the bar stool next to you. "You know, you ought to have something in your stomach to handle those drinks," I suggest. You seem to freeze up, and when you respond your tone of voice has the edge in it I heard when you walked into the room. "Oh, and would you just happen to have some place in mind?"  "Not really," I respond calmly, "I'm not all that familiar with this town anyway -- I've been eating in the hotel.  But I've done my share of that joy juice" -- nodding in the direction of your second drained glass -- "and I would be adjourning for something more solid right now."

     You look at me quizzically, then shake your head as if coming to a decision.  "I know a place -- let's check it out."

     *** Mae ***

     "How about the Italian place next door?" I say. "I don't feel like walking very far, and I know I shouldn't drive." "That's fine with me," you say.  "Would you hand me my shoes, please?"  I cross my legs to put on each shoe, well aware that you are checking them out.  As I get off the bar stool, I fall against you, not entirely accidentally.  "Sorry," I start to say, but you interrupt, "I didn't mind a bit.  Maybe I'd better take your arm.  You seem a little wobbly."  "Right. Thanks."

     At the Italian restaurant we slide into a dark booth next to one another. "What are you in the mood for?" you ask. "Pasta, the food of love!"  I reply. "I've never heard it called that before," you laugh. "Sure!" I say. "Italians are very romantic -- and sexy -- aren't they, and Italians eat a lot of pasta, right? Besides, a good meal of pasta in cream sauce makes me feel all dreamy and relaxed."  "Whatever you want," you say, "I just hope you don't relax yourself to sleep right here."  "Not a chance, buster," I say.  "The name's Roger," you say.  "What's yours?" "Oh, it's May," I reply.  "I just realized I've gone to dinner with someone without even knowing his name."  "Come on," you say, "I'm sure that isn't the most daring thing you've ever done.  Not with a face and body like yours."  For a minute I think I ought to be insulted, but decide that you're too likeable.  "You're right," I laugh, and launch into a story about my college days.

     After a delicious dinner, we walk back to the hotel, uncertain about what to do next, but not really wanting to part. We stop at the door of the bar. "Would you like another drink?" you ask.  "Well, I don't really need one," I reply, "but listen, there's a band playing in the bar.  I'd like to dance." "Great!" you say, and we make our way to the dance floor. There we melt into each other's arms, pressing our bodies tightly together. With each number we seem to get closer, until you are cupping your hands around my ass, and I am pushing my pelvis into yours. At the end of the set we kiss, standing on the dance floor until the lights come up.

     *** Rajah ***

     Our tongues dance to their own music as we realize the band has quit playing.  Your body is sending messages to mine, and I am sure you can feel my reactions below the waist from the last close dance.  The band is taking its break, so I take the initiative, looking into your smoky eyes as I suggest, "Might we continue this dance elsewhere?"  "Upstairs, perhaps," you reply, "You are staying here, aren't you, Roger?"  I press my finger briefly across your lips.  "Answering a question with another question is a habit I've learned to break -- your answer is yes." "Well, then," as a grin crosses your face, "so is yours."

     We leave the bar, arms draped around each other loosely, and get into the elevator to my floor.  As the door closes, I move behind you and wrap one arm around you, the other hand at your shoulder.  Nuzzling my face into the back of your neck, I say "May, that's a wonderful apple scent in your hair."  You giggle, "You know, Roger, that's probably the first time anybody's ever commented on how my hair smelled!"

     When the elevator door opens, I lead you by the hand to my room. I turn on the entrance light, then cross to the TV set to turn the radio on to the dance music station.  "I'll be right back --  I need to refill the ice bucket. Would you prefer Coke, Diet Coke, or Sprite?"

     *** Mae ***

     "What I want is for you to bring your body over here," I say, sitting down on the bed. "So who needs drinks?" you say, joining me.  "I've wanted to finish unbuttoning your blouse ever since I saw you start it in the bar," you say, opening my blouse to reveal my ample breasts in a pink lace bra.  "Ah, the real woman under the dress-for-success suit," you laugh. You slide the blouse off my shoulders and arms, and reach behind me to unhook the bra.  As soon as my breasts are free, you take one in each hand, bringing your mouth to one to suck the pink nipple. "Mmmmmm, that's good," I say, "VERY relaxing." "It's having the opposite effect on me," you say. I reach over and unzip your pants, freeing your erect cock.  "I've been wanting to do this since our last dance," I say, sliding to my knees beside the bed. Running my tongue around the head of your cock, I savor the velvety texture.  Then I suck the shaft into my mouth, over and over again.  "Ohhhhh, that's great!" you moan.  "But I don't want to come yet. Let's get rid of the rest of these clothes, okay?"

     I stand up and take off my skirt, followed by my shoes, pantyhose and pink lace panties.  "What an ass!" you say.  "It's as great as your tits. I like a well-balanced woman."  "You're not so bad yourself," I say, assessing your naked body.  "I like a nice round ass on a man, not to mention those great shoulders, and of course the main event, which I just had in my mouth." "Enough of this mutual admiration society," you say. "Let's get into bed." And in we jump.

     *** Rajah ***

     We kiss, hard and hungry.  Your hands clutch greedily at my ass, your nipples high and hot against my chest, the head of my cock rubbing against your pubic bone.  My own hands are no less active, as I draw lines with my finger nails from your shoulders down your spine to your resilient cheeks. You wriggle from side to side, drawing gasps from both of us.

     "My engine's overheating," I say, pulling slightly away and rolling you onto your back.  "And besides, I gave you a free sample, so I ought to get one in return."  As I bend down to suck each nipple, teasing the little buttons into hardness again before moving lower, you respond, "Do you need a guided tour?" You shriek, then giggle as I suddenly swirl my tongue in your belly button.  "No, I think I can find my way around." "I'll bet you can," you murmur, running your fingers through my hair as I move my nose into position, taking a deep breath of your most personal essence then using my thumbs to open your labia. Quickly I lap the dew from bottom to top, drawing a responsive shiver from you.  "Mmmm, I just love your sauce," I say, "what do you have cooking down here?"

     Without waiting for your reply, I do my own investigation, drawing each lovely lip between my own, moving my tongue across the delicious flesh, savoring the tartness.  Your breath is coming in shorter gasps now, and I take the cue to follow the trail to the top of the mountain. As I settle in for a prolonged, wet, sucking kiss, my tongue-tip teasing your budding clitoris, you let out a low moan and clutch my head tightly.

     *** Mae ***

     "Oh, Roger, that was wonderful," I sigh.  "Now I want you inside me." "Glad to oblige, ma'am," you laugh, as you slide up my body.  I gasp as I feel your cock enter me for the first time. My cunt muscles clutch its strong, hard length.  We fuck slowly at first, kissing and hugging at the same time. When you sense that I'm ready to go into high gear, you stop and pull my legs up to your shoulders, then begin faster, deeper strokes. I become so excited that I toss my head from side to side and cry out and come.  "Stop, stop, I have to rest a minute," I pant.  You withdraw and lie down beside me.  "Am I too much for you?" you ask with a grin.  "I didn't say that,"  I protest.  "I just need to stop after coming, because I get too sensitive.  Especially after a come like that one."

     *** Rajah ***

     You look down, a pleased smile playing on your moist lips. "Why, Roger, you're still standing!  Let me do something about that."  I lay back and you straddle my chest, sliding your hips back toward my head as you lie down, casting a hot breath over my pulsing flesh.  As you take me into your mouth, I close my eyes and squeeze your lower back and ass, surrendering to the feelings.  "Oh, May, just keep that up!"

     "Gee, and I thought the idea was to bring it down?"  With that, you swirl your tongue, drawing a gasp from me.  You cup my balls with one hand, while the other probes lower down.  I open my legs in reflex, giving you better access while I start moving my hips in counterpoint to your head.  "Oh, oh, oh May, don't stop," I plead as I finally lose all control, jerking joyously into your mouth, burying my sounds of delight between your legs.

     You look over your shoulder as I relax, and comment "You have good hands, lover -- I hope those prints on my ass will come out." But you temper the remark with a chuckle and turn around so we can embrace for a soft, liquid, post-orgasmic kiss.

     *** Mae ***

     We turn off the lights and snuggle up together, and soon I hear you breathing in the soft, deep rhythm of sleep.  Before I fall asleep too, I think about the pleasures in store for me in the morning.  Or maybe even sooner -- I wouldn't put it past you to wake me up in the middle of the night for more fucking!  And after tomorrow morning, well, who knows? I don't have a crystal ball.  I just know that we had a fabulous time tonight.  And am I ever RELAXED! Zzzzzzzzz...

/ END /

Endnote: Written in 1995 on Adult Contacts BBS, (916) 338-4909


Secretarial Help

Keys: [file:secy] [date:1996-02-05] [words:1537] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A businessman with a headache asks his secretary for some help.

Secretarial Help

by Rajah Dodger {}, (c) 1996, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     My secretary, Lynda Billings, is very efficient.  She manages to keep on top of all my appointments and sees to it that my calendar doesn't get too hectic -- which, when you're in middle management in the computer industry, is no small task.  I suppose most would call her attractive -- she's 5'10, brunette hair to her shoulders and green eyes.  She does frequently wear a spicy perfume that I find enjoyable, but I've never done anything in her direction.  For one thing, you hate to take a chance at losing a good secretary.  For another, my wife is more than enough woman to keep me busy in bed.

     I came to work one Monday with a blinding headache, and after Lynda brought me a Danish and briefed me on the afternoon's meetings, she rubbed my temples.  It helped the headache, and I took the opportunity to surreptitiously watch the movement of her breasts beneath her blouse. The morning was unremarkable, and by ten I was moving some boxes of files around when I threw my back out.  When I called Lynda in, she sized up the situation and immediately started rubbing my back.  It helped immensely, but because she was working on my lower back all the rubbing was rocking my cock against the floor in my pants and I had developed what was going to be an embarrassing hard-on.  She finished the massage and stood up, her skirt flashing a glimpse of her upper leg, and I managed to decline her offered hand, saying I'd rather just let my back relax before I got up.

     I rolled to one side as she left the room, and got back to my desk without any incident.  The next week I had another killer headache, and I asked her to help out again.  She stood behind my chair, and I closed my eyes as she rubbed my temples.  It felt good and She rocked my head from side to side gently as she worked, and I was starting to relax into a floating state.  When I opened my eyes, I realized that my head wasn't resting against the chair's headrest.  It was nestled between Lynda's breasts.  I started to stammer something but she shushed me by covering my mouth with her hand, "Just relax and let it happen," she said, and then slipped a finger into my mouth and rubbed my tongue with it.  I clamped my lips reflexively on her finger and she moved it in and out as she continued to stroke my temple.  She moved her caresses from my temple down to my cheek, then deftly unbuttoned my collar and slid her cool hand inside my shirt to rub my chest. I closed my eyes again and reveled in the feeling.  She pinched my nipple, digging her fingernails into it, and I feel an answering twinge down below.

     Lynda moved around the front of my chair and climbed into my lap facing me.  She lifted her left leg and placed it over my shoulder, hooking her right leg around the side of the chair to help her balance.   "I think these stockings make my legs and ankles look really sexy," she said, placing my hands on one long leg.  "Don't you think so?"   "Uhh, Lynda..." I began, not quite able to put words together.  "I love the way they make my thighs feel," she told me, sliding her hands over the glistening nylon covering her legs.  The motion of her hands drew my attention to the fact that she wasn't wearing any panties -- the hose were attached to a simple white garter belt and her pussy was sitting there separated from my stiffening cock only by the material of my slacks.  I started running my fingers up and down her calf almost unconsciously as she began to unbutton her blouse.

     "I really don't think this is a good idea," I muttered, but I didn't take my eyes from her half-bra as she took her blouse off and rubbed her breasts.   "Don't worry," she purred reassuringly.  I watched entranced as her nipples started becoming visible by the way they poked into her bra cups.  "They don't bite," she continued, "although *I* might!"  She abandoned her nipples and placed the palm of her hand on my crotch.  Her fingertips traced the rigid length of my cock as I trembled.

     I reached out and slid my finger into her crack. It was slick and the hair was moist. She rocked slightly on it and grabbed my zipper, tugging it down in fits and jerks.  I slid my finger up and down, back and forth. Her clit was hard enough to feel, so I rubbed it with my thumb. She closed her eyes, beads of sweat on her lip and her forehead. Her hair smelled sweet and it struck my face softly as she swung her head.

     "Why don't you -- ahhh -- do something for my breasts?" she whispered hoarsely as she unfastened the catch at my waist and slid her hand into my briefs.  Her cool hand wrapped itself around my most intimate flesh, and I continued to stroke her pussy lips and clit as I reached around and unhooked her bra.  I tossed it to one side as I leaned over to trap a nipple between my teeth.  I heard her gasp remotely as her hand continued to play with the head of my cock.  She pushed my lips away with a glazed look in her eyes, and reached down with both hands to pull my cock through the flap in the briefs.  It was standing up, straight and deep red, and she slid her fingertips along the shaft with one hand while the other one palmed my balls through the cotton. Her mouth quivered and she closed her eyes as she suddenly let go of my cock and clasped my head to her chest.  She started going "uhhh... uhhh... uhhh..." and her pussy clamped down on my fingers.  I teased her nipple until her shakes settled down, then lifted my head and met her lips and tongue for a deep, soul-searching kiss.

     She clawed at my underwear to free my cock, which popped out ready for action.  Her pussy was smooth as silk as she raised herself up and slid down slowly onto me.  And tight... her inner tissues dragged against my cock with agonizing pleasure.  "This is it!", I thought as she guided my throbbing penis into her. She looked me in the eyes as she slowly settled down. About halfway down she stopped and began slowly to lift off. We both sighed as my cock came all the way out. "I just wanted to do that again!" she breathed as she slid back down, this time taking me balls deep.

     I watched her face contort in pleasure as she began to slowly work me in and out. I couldn't believe how velvety soft she was! She fit me like the tightest glove but the friction was smooth and almost liquid. As she sped up I realized I couldn't take much more of this and I wished I could last long enough for her to come again.  As I felt the urge to come grow, I was surprised to hear her gasp "Ohhh! It's sooooo good!  Cum with meee!!". I met her lips with mine, and our tongues dueled as her climax seized her.  Her back arched so hard I feared she'd break her spine. I was surprised that I hadn't come, but indeed I was still hard within her.  Finally she slumped forward in release, kissing me between ragged breaths. She knew I hadn't come, so she made little grinding motions to keep me "interested" while she caught her breath.

     She reached down and wedged her hand under us, enough to find my ball sac with her fingernails.  At the same time she started squeezing me with her vagina, and the fire began to build in me such that I knew I wouldn't be delaying much longer.  I set the side of my thumb down against her swollen clit, and we both groaned as I sped up my motions, pistoning in and out with liquid sucking sounds.  Her vagina was like a living milking machine, thirsting and drawing my come. It felt so damn good to be inside her that I wanted it to never end.  But of course it did, and soon!  She flexed her hips and my eyes crossed as my body let loose all the erotic tension that had been building.  I yelled, something hoarse and unintelligible, and she covered my face with quick little kisses as she took my juices.   "Come inside me! Yes... give it to me now!"  I buried my cock as deeply as possible in her and groaned as each spurt of come burned its way through my shaft and into her eager pussy.

     Later, when the beads of sweat on our bodies had turned into little chills from the air conditioning, I heard her giggle.  I stroked her ass in recognition of the delightful way she squeezed me, and asked what was funny.  She replied, "I just wondered... you haven't mentioned your headache once!"

/ END /


Removing The Chocolate

Keys: [file:choc] [date:1996-02-22] [words:947] [codes:Fm best]

Abstract: A man is embarrassed to show his wife the side effects of his latest BDSM session

Removing the Chocolate

by Rajah Dodger {}, (c) 1996, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

Author's Note: In a previous encounter, Mystrys painted the author's penis with a heavy coat of chocolate, with instructions to recount the process of its removal.

     I arrived home, walking oddly due to the unusual weight in my briefs.  My wife met me at the door, frowning.  "You've been playing again, haven't you?  Let's see it this time," she commanded.  I moved from the exposed doorway to our living room and took my accustomed place against the display wall.  As she came into the room, I had already unbuckled my belt and slid the leather out of the loops, coiling it neatly on the floor by my shoes.  I slid my pants down around my ankles and carefully pulled the waistband of my Jockeys out as far as possible, moving it down so as not to further damage the dull brown sheath surrounding my penis.  I struggled to keep my muscles clenched so my cock would not droop, otherwise the tube would fall off.

     She looked at my now-cracked chocolate condom and clucked her tongue.  "I have to admit, Roger, this marks some creativity on that woman's part. Although the time you came home with hickeys on your nipples still stands out as some sort of achievement. Now what are we going to do with you?"

     I stood at attention as she inspected the thickness of the Hershey coating. The touch of her nails along the bottom of my shaft and the feel of her breath near my balls brought my erection back, making the chocolate tube snug again.

     "Well, I can see a few approaches to this," she mused.  "We could cut it off, freeze it and shatter it, heat it until it melts, or put whipped cream on it and lick it off."  I shuddered at the thought of knives, ice, or matches near my private parts. She watched my reactions play across my face, then leaned next to my ear.  "I'd like to see you work to keep it hard in an ice bath," she murmured, "but I think I'll give you some of what you think you want." With that she led me to the work table and pushed me backward.  I scooted back into my designated position, lying supine with my arms and legs spread.  She moved around the table, fastening the nylon cuffs to my wrists and ankles, then lightly tying the blindfold around my eyes before leaving me to contemplate my position.

     I heard her rattling around in the kitchen, and then her feet padded softly back into the room.  I concentrated on breathing slowly as my anticipation increased. I knew how well she could read my face, and her statement seemed to indicate that she was indeed going to lick the chocolate off my needful cock.  I jumped at the touch of her nails crossing the light hair on my balls, and my shaft slapped dully against my stomach.  The next thing I felt was cold and wet as she slid an ice cube between my bottom cheeks.  I tried vainly to lift my ass off the table enough to avoid the probe, even as my brain whirled in confusion. I knew I hadn't indicated wanting the ice treatment...

     She removed the cube, not before swiping it across my balls and then against my nipples.  I shivered, from the cold as well as my arousal. Silence held in the room for a few long minutes, then I did in fact feel the caress of a tongue between my legs. A sharp tongue.  In fact, I knew the raspy feeling well -- it was our cat! I well remembered when she had spread me out and dripped honey on my nipples; they were sore for a week.

     I didn't know that cats liked chocolate, but he settled down between my thighs and lapped away, his tongue dragging against the base of my shaft in a way that was both irritating and inflaming.  I clenched my ass muscles and tried to focus on statistical tables and state capitals.  I shouldn't have forgotten my wife -- she saw my motion and slid another ice cube beneath me as encouragement.  I writhed as the cat bit off a small chunk of chocolate, his teeth nipping me in the process.

     I alternated for I don't know how long between trying to lift my ass away from the melting ice (which my wife kept replacing) and jumping from the rasp of the cat's tongue against my cock and the pricking of its claws on my inner thighs. Somewhere in there, she brought out the little padded clamps for my nipples. I was almost grateful for the dull pain, as the cat had stripped my shaft of most of the chocolate and was getting perilously close to the head.  It wasn't going to be enough to keep me from going over the edge, though, as the cat's tongue was lapping just under my frenum and its fur was tickling my balls.

     It wasn't the cat's tongue, though, that brought me off.  It was the feeling I got when my wife grabbed the remainder of the chocolate coating from the head of my cock and quickly twisted it off.  The sudden and unexpected stimulation blew my head off, and I gritted my teeth while my thigh muscles spasmed and cum flew onto my chest and up to my chin.  The damned cat padded its way over my crotch and up to my chest, where it proceeded to lick the droplets that had landed there, jiggling the nipple clamps as it did so.  My breath was coming in quick gasps and my thighs were sore, and the final indignity came when my wife opened my mouth and fed me pieces of chocolate, with my own creamy filling.  I whimpered, but I ate every morsel...

/ END /

Endnote: For Mystrys.  Also, I'm subsequently informed that chocolate can be poisonous to cats.


Remote Controlled

Keys: [file:gzmo] [date:1996-02-23] [words:1502] [codes:MF m-solo nc]

Abstract: A woman gives her lover a special present to remember her by

Remote Controlled

by Rajah Dodger {}, (c) 1996, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     She brought it in one Sunday afternoon.  We had been fooling around on the sofa while Philippe Entremont was conducting Brahms on public TV.  Honey was lying back, one long leg hooked over the sofa back and the other stretched out in front of me, all the way to her shiny red toenails.  I was bent over her lower leg, my tongue swabbing her clit as I worked two fingers in and out of her cunt.  She wiggled, her ass flexing as she helped me look for her G-spot.  We had been looking off and on for a few years, and though we hadn't found it she always enjoyed my efforts.  She grabbed my hair and pulled my face down into her crotch as she came, bouncing on the cushions.  I kept my tongue and fingers busy until she quit shaking, then I got up on one elbow to look at her. Her face and breasts were flushed, her nipples jiggling with each ragged breath.  I love the way she looks when she's just come, her neck and chest covered with a light sheen of sweat.

     My fingers were still lazily moving in and around her slick pussy when she spoke up.  "I brought you something," she said. "I had a couple of the engineers help me design it.  They liked the challenge." She reached under the sofa cushion and retrieved a small gift-wrapped package.  Her eyes stayed on me as I slit the tape with a fingernail and opened the wrapping to reveal a medium size jewelry box.  I looked at her quizzically and opened the box to find what looked like a couple of large black jacket buttons, some stretchy cord and a velcro strap all tangled together.

     "Is this Rubik's G-string?" I chuckled, turning the assemblage this way and that.  "Funny you should suggest that," she replied as she sat up, removing my fingers from her pussy and stretching her long legs. "Lie back and I'll show you."

     I lay back on the sofa and she knelt between my legs holding the thing.  Her cool hands slid over my balls and she briefly took the head of my cock into her mouth as her hands moved around my groin.  I didn't know what the present was for, but I sure was enjoying the presentation. I let out an "aaahhhhh" of pleasure and spread my legs further apart for her.  "That does it," she said, and stood up.  I looked down at her handiwork -- one of the buttons was resting on top of the big vein of my cock, the other was pressed firmly against the base on the bottom side. The Velcro was wrapped around the shaft and under my balls, and the elastic cord held the whole shebang in place.

     It looked kinky, and I said so.  My erection seconded the motion, waving in the breeze, and she replied "You think that's kinky -- check this out."  Suddenly, it felt like little hands were feeling me up, moving in waves from the bottom of my balls through my sac and up through my penis to the tip.  The feeling was incredible -- and so intense I squeezed my eyes shut in preparation for a monster orgasm. But just as suddenly it stopped and I opened my eyes, gasping like a fish, my hips thrusting forward blindly into empty air.  "What," I managed to croak, "in all the seventeen pluperfect hells of Venus, was that?!?  And more to the point, Honey," as my balls started to feel lonely, "please do something about it -- I'm getting a colossal case of blue balls here!"

     She came up to me, kissed me long and deep, and wrapped her hand around my cock.  I swear that's all it took -- I shot off like a fire hose, and Honey aimed my jets at her proud tits, then the rest into my fading patch of chest hair. She released me to flop on the sofa, my leg muscles suddenly weak, as she grinned and rubbed my cum into her breasts, making her nipples shiny and erect.  I kept taking in deep breaths, trying to will my heart to slow down to something sensible.

     She took it off, her fingers cool against my overheated groin... She wanted me to wear it to work.  I thought it was at best a silly idea, but when she reached down and stroked my balls, and whispered in my ear, "I'll make it *really* worth your while," well I found it hard to turn her down.  Actually, I just found it hard, and so did she, and we proceeded to find things to do about that for the next few hours.

     *** *** ***

     I wore the thing to work Monday morning. It was an odd sensation during the drive, I kept getting a hard-on every time I'd shift position and feel the button at the base of my cock. However, after a few hours the sense of oddness wore off and I was able to get my work done.  I even managed to go to the bathroom without getting too hard to relieve myself.  Of course, I had to use the stalls.  At 2:00, while I was preparing for a meeting, the thing started up.  It began with a low buzz, more felt than heard, and my cock sprang to attention there in my pants.  I spread my legs to relieve the pressure, and tried to concentrate on my work.  The phone rang.  "Hi, hon..." she said in a breathy voice, "I was thinking of you... I'm in the tub, all wet and soapy, and I've got my finger in my cunt, ooohhh, that's nice, but I want something bigger, big and hard... are you big and hard for me?"  I was stiff and my pants were painfully tight, and her little gizmo just then gave me a little extra jazz at the base of my cock.  I tried to keep my voice from trembling as I answered her.  "Hon... you know, I've got a meeting in a half hour..."

     "Well then," she replied, "you'll need to take care of me soon then.  Let me hear your zipper go down."  Good thing my office door was closed and I have a sizable desk.  I put the phone set in my lap, and dragged the zipper slowly down so she could hear the grinding of the little teeth.  I was grinding my teeth as well... the vibration of the zipper going down felt wonderful, and my cock felt much better out of the tight pants. I put the phone back to my ear.  She was talking, or more like moaning, "Mmmmm, tell me how hard your cock is, uuhhhnnn, I've got my finger on my clit and I want you to cum with me, cum on, tell me..."

     I looked at my erection, waving up between my legs, and told her "I'm hard all right, my cock is stiff and the head is all purple, it's throbbing hon, can you feel it throbbing?  I'm rubbing my balls, they're all full of cum just waiting to come out for you."  They were, too, what with the gizmo humming away it was like there was a string running from the bottom of my balls up through my cock to the head, all flared and dark red. Every time I touched it, it jumped.  I continued, wrapping my palm around my shaft and stroking it with my thumb rubbing up against the head.  I drew in long shuddering breaths as she continued "Is it red like my cunt lips? Ummm uhhhh, I'm so wet, I want your cummm hon, I'm frigging my clit, I want your cock in me, feel it swell up in my hot pussy, make it cum for me darling...".  The gizmo suddenly went into a series of jolts at the base of my ball sac, and I said "aaahhhhggggg" into the phone as I came hard, unprepared, trying to catch the long spurts in my other hand.  My thighs were aching from how hard I was cumming, and she was going "uhhh... uhhh... cum... oh shit... cum hard... OOOhhhhhhh!!"

     My cock was still jerking away but was down to a slow ooze, and I was dabbing Kleenex on the spots I had missed when line two rang.  It was my secretary, reminding me about the meeting.  I switched lines and Honey was still moaning softly into the phone, "cum so good... ohh yeahhh... my fingers feel so good inside me...".  I apologized for cumming and going and she managed a weak "g-bye".

     I swept my papers into a file folder, tucked myself into my pants and headed out the door.  I stopped to tell my secretary to reschedule my Thursday meeting, and when I turned to leave the damn gizmo went into low buzz mode.  It felt kind of nice against my soft cock but I knew I'd have to avoid standing up in the meeting.

/ END /


Business Overnight

Keys: [file:bovr] [date:1996] [words:340] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A businessman finds a way to get entertained while on a trip

Business Overnight

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1996, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I'm on a business trip in Dallas and there's nothing really worth watching on TV, so I turn on my laptop and plug into the internet. I find a list of local "female companions" and call one to set up an appointment. I follow her directions to a modest one-story house, park and knock on the door. She opens it and lets me in, closing and locking the door behind her. She's wearing an off-the-shoulder blue dress that clings seductively to the curves of her bottom, a string of pearls, and strappy heels.

     I turn to put the envelope with the agreed amount on the coffee table, and while I'm doing that she comes up from behind and hugs me, one hand drifting down to cup and stroke me between my legs. I turn around to meet her face to face, and we kiss with lips and tongues meshing as she grinds her hips against mine. I reach up to her neck to tug her zipper down, and she pushes me back onto the sofa as she shimmies out of her dress. She's nude beneath it, dark puffy nipples protruding from handful-sized breasts, a small auburn triangle of hair between her legs. Now wearing only pearls and heels she strides up to the couch, steps up and straddles my face with her pussy.

     I start licking as she unfastens my pants and pulls out my cock. A few strokes of her soft hands and she's holding a hot hard weapon ready for firing. She pulls away from my face, leaving my cheeks and mouth sticky, and holds my cock up as she sinks down onto it. The rush is just too much for me to handle, and I clench the sides of the sofa as I cum fast and hard inside her.

     She stays on me, squeezing me with her inner muscles, then leans down to kiss me again. "That was nice," she says, "but after we get you cleaned up and into the bedroom it gets a *lot* nicer..."

/ END /

Endnote: Written for the Yahoo Erotic Sexual Fantasies Club.


Lunchtime Vignette

Keys: [file:lnch] [date:1997-06-10] [words:724] [codes:bdsm Fm harsh]

Abstract: His Domme demands he meet her at lunchtime; but not to eat

Lunchtime Vignette

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1997, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     He hurried to her apartment as soon as he could.  The message on his pager had just said, "Be here soonest for lunch."  When she opened the door for him, she quietly pointed to the side room where the computer and her toys were kept.  Knowing the routine, he went into that room, half-noticing the active chat session on the monitor.  He took off his clothes (hanging them in the closet) and lay on the floor with his legs spread and his hands folded behind his head.

     She walked into the room, unsmiling, dressed down in jeans and sweatshirt and carrying the thin stranded flogger and an adjustable cock ring.  As always, his cock rose at the sight of her.  She knelt by his waist and fondled "her cock", then suddenly slapped him *hard* on the balls.  His vision clouded as his stomach lurched, and by the time the shock and initial pain had faded she had put the cock ring around his shaft and throbbing balls.

     She twirled the flogger until it made a whistling sound in the air, then brought it down over his chest until the tips barely scraped his nipples in passing.  She angled the strands one way and the other, covering his chest with bright red lines that quickly faded, moving the flogger downward to leave similar marks on his belly.  His erection had grown back through this and he struggled to keep from moving his hips, knowing how keenly those nylon strands would bite into his cock.

     She pulled the flogger back and paused, admiring her handiwork. She reached down to trace some of the lines on his belly and his body quivered in response.  Satisfied, she unfastened her pants and slid them down to the floor.  She had nothing on beneath -- the dark curls between her thighs glistened in the light.  She stood over him, presenting her ass for his attention, and kneeled slowly taking his cock in her hand and holding it at the most convenient angle for her.

     He gasped as she sank down onto him and started a slow up-and-down movement.  Her anus winked obscenely open and closed at him, and he licked his lips absent-mindedly.  Not for the first time he both thanked and cursed the cock ring -- it kept him hard for her, but the longer she rode him the more sensitive and painful the head of his cock became.  She knew this, of course -- she had used her little vibrator to bring herself to a quick shivering cum right before he got to the apartment, just so she could last longer with him inside her.

     He watched helplessly, toes curled, wishing she would at least allow him to lift his hands to touch her as she grunted and moved faster on top of him.  He winced as she squeezed her cunt around his cock, then felt her spasms as she began to cum.  His cock throbbed painfully now, swollen and trapped as she rubbed one hand over her clit and screamed out her pleasure, again and again.  Finally she rolled off to one side, leaving his cock to slap stickily against his belly.  There was a time of silence, broken only by the paired sounds of heavy breathing -- one from passion denied and one from pleasure taken.

     She stood on wobbly legs and left the room for a moment, returning briefly with a damp washcloth.  She took the head of his cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, then released it and cleaned his groin of her juices.  She then lay down on top of him and kissed him deeply, rocking her now-clean crotch against his still pulsing cock.  "I just love having take-out," she purred.  "Hope you don't get into an accident with that on the way back to work!"

     And with that she left the room.  The clock on the wall told him he'd have just enough time to get dressed and get back for his afternoon meeting -- but only enough time for that.

     Lying in her bed, softly stroking between her legs, she heard the door close behind him and imagined what he would be like until he could remove the cock ring.  She wondered which of the secretaries in his office would call her later with a detailed personal report...

/ END /


Hotel Meeting with his Mistress

Keys: [file:htlm] [date:1997-09-08] [words:3543] [codes:Fm bdsm]

Abstract: He meets his Mistress for dinner and to become her dessert treat

Hotel Meeting with his Mistress

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1997, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I walk into the hotel lobby at the appointed time. You are sitting as arranged by the lobby phone, dressed in a soft purple dress.  I call your name, and you look up from your magazine, smile and rise to take my hand.

     I hold the car door open for you to slide in, watching the lower part of your calf as your skirt catches on the car seat. When you are seated and belted, I close the door and drive to the Chinese restaurant.  We chat briefly on the drive about your trip, my job, the weather, my children, the accommodations at the hotel.

     When we get to the restaurant, they are relatively uncrowded and can seat us immediately at a wall bench table near the back.  We look over the menus, and when the waitress arrives we order a round of egg rolls and crab puffs, and iced tea for both of us. After she leaves, we decide on our main dishes and you rustle in your purse.  Finally you bring out a small paper bag and hand it to me. "Go to the men's room, dear; you'll work out what to do with this."

     A shiver runs through me, and my cock hardens in my slacks. I wonder if this is the larger butt plug you have discussed with me in our phone conversations.  I take the package and find my way to the restrooms. The men's room door does not lock, but there is a handicapped stall inside which does.  I open the bag to find, not the hard rubber of a plug, but the silky fabric of a pair of panties.

     I look at the garment, momentarily nonplussed, then find myself becoming aroused.  I unlace my shoes so I can take off my slacks and underpants, then slide the panties up my legs.  They are small on me, and after trying several positions I finally settle on resting my cock in the crease between my groin and left leg, aimed upward at a slight angle.  The restroom door opens, and I hold my breath until the other occupant does his business, flushes, washes and leaves.  I pull my slacks up and fasten my belt.  With every motion my cock shifts against its smooth cover and sends another thrill up my spine.  I put my shoes on, stuff my underpants in the paper bag, and return to our table.

     Our appetizers have already arrived and you have placed our orders by the time I arrive.  I hand you the paper bag, which you put back into your purse.  You smile, looking at the detectable bulge in my pants.  I slide into the seat, my hip inches from yours, and unroll my silverware to put my napkin in my lap. I see you have already sampled the egg rolls and have a crab puff on your plate, so I put some appetizers on my plate as well.  As I lift an egg roll to my lips, you slide your hand under my napkin and rest your palm on the bulge of my cock.  You look at my face, and inquire mildly, "Is something wrong with the egg roll, dear?" I swallow, trying to regain my composure, and shake my head in the negative.  I try to concentrate on the mechanics of eating instead of the weight of your hand in my lap and the occasional brush of your fingers between my thighs.  You smile, and bite into the soft part of a crab puff.

     You chew and swallow, and slowly lick the rest of the cream cheese out of the puff shell.  Your eyes twinkle as you watch me try to eat calmly, and your hand can feel just how un-calm I am. You inquire as to my current web activities, and I brief you on the handful of new web sites I've found and the current size of my textfile collection.  Our main courses arrive, and you remove your hand from my lap after lovingly rolling your fingertips over my balls.  You open up your chopsticks and start on your cashew chicken.

     The panty's waistband is now under the head of my cock, and the constant rubbing there is both an irritation and a distraction. When I reach down to adjust my lap, though, you tap me on the shoulder. "Please keep your hands above the table," you direct. I return my hands to my silverware, squirming for a more comfortable position in my pants.  You reach down with your free hand and dexterously unfasten and unzip my pants, briefly pinching the head of my exposed cock.

     We eat in relative silence, broken by the occasional nondescript comment.  From time to time you ask me pointed questions about the subjects of the text files I keep and the ones I discard. Our dinner scene is normal enough that my penis would retreat on its own save for the images raised by your questions.

     After finishing your meal, you dip your fingers in your plate and slip your hand once again under my napkin.  Your fingers, slick from sesame oil and soy sauce, rub around my cock bringing it back to full hardness.  You enfold the head in your warm hand and squeeze and roll your fist around it as our waitress arrives.  I spread my legs as much as my pants allow, and if she notices the flush on my face, I hope she attributes it to the spices in the food.  She inquires how our dinner was and I tell her we enjoyed it, then ask for the check.

     When the waitress leaves the bill and our fortune cookies, you center my cock pointing up to my belly button and direct me to refasten my pants.  I do so carefully so as not to catch any flesh in the zipper, then pull out my wallet and lay down enough to cover our meal and tip.  Looking down to check my appearance, I stand up and hold out my hand for you to rise from your seat. We walk out of the restaurant to the car, and all the while I am acutely aware of my cock sticking up past the waistband of the panties.  I wonder what you have planned for later.

     When you get into the car this time, your skirt pulls up high enough for me to see that you have stockings with garters -- not pantyhose.  You look me over from top to bottom, and then nod for me to close the car door.  As we drive back to your hotel, you stroke the inside of my right leg with your long nails.  The head of my cock, where it sticks out from the panties, scrapes against the inside of my pants zipper as I shift in my seat. When we arrive at the hotel, I am sure my erection must be obvious to everyone.  We walk casually through the lobby to the elevators, and you stand behind me as I press the button marked "16". There are a half dozen people already on the elevator, and I stare at the ceiling trying to be nonchalant while you amuse yourself by fondling my ass.  By the time we reach your floor, my cock is throbbing painfully.

     You retrieve the door card from your purse and open the door, pointing me toward the room proper while you head for the bathroom. I hear the toilet flush and the sound of running water while I stand by the dresser observing the room.  It's the standard mid-comfort hotel room-two twin beds, work desk and phone with computer data jack, color TV with remote and list of pay channels, combination alarm clock/radio.  Looking around the room has allowed my body to relax, and when the bathroom door opens you come into the room, frowning as you see me. "You're overdressed" is your only comment, and you lean against the wall, folding your arms. Embarrassed at my lack of foresight, I head for the bathroom only to be stopped by your command.  "No. Here." I look around the room and settle on the open space in front of the television.

     The prospect of undressing before you for the first time is enough to bring my softened penis back to attention in its silky confines.  I stand facing you and unbutton my shirt, revealing a chest liberally sprinkled with light gray hairs and a stomach losing the fight against executive spread.  I hang the shirt carefully over the back of the chair behind the desk, then return to face you.  I slide my belt through the loops, coil it and place it on top of the desk, then slide my feet out of my shoes and shove them under the desk with the side of one foot.

     Now I unzip my pants and slide them down my legs, slowly revealing first the head of my cock already red and flaring, then the panties that you bade me wear, then my legs -- knobby knees and all.  I slip my feet out of the pants legs, fold the slacks and put them also on the desk. I lift each foot in turn and slide the sock off, then put my socks on top of my pants.

     I feel it safe to assume since you told me to wear the panties that you will instruct me when to remove them.  I stand at parade rest, hands clasped loosely behind my back, legs parted.  I hold my eyes focused straight ahead, but I know by feel that my cock and balls are bulging in the panties.  I can feel each stray air current passing between my thighs. Goosebumps appear on my arms.

     You move to me now, barely brushing against me as you describe a circle. I feel the swell of your breasts pressing into my back through your dress, the delicate trace of your fingernail in my underarm, the touch of your dress sliding past my crotch, the barest whisper of your thumbs against my nipples.  I clench my hands together forcing down the urge to move my hips forward. You smile fleetingly, and back away from me to sit down on the edge of the bed.

     You press the middle of your lips with your index finger pensively, then quietly order me to turn around and lean over with my hands on the dresser.  I turn and face away from you, nervously clenching and unclenching my buttocks.  I feel your hand insert itself between my legs, rolling my balls, and you briefly grip the shaft of my cock through the panty.  Your hand leaves me with only the hushed rustle of your clothing to indicate your presence.

     !SHFAK!  "Owww!... One, thank You ma'am."  I remember how you told me to accept my discipline, and I try and relax my bottom before the next spank hits.  !SPLAP! "(gulp) Two, thank You ma'am."  I am just beginning to feel the separate spots on my right side where your fingers landed when your hand hits my left cheek.  You settle into a slow, steady rhythm, and every time your hand strikes my ass, my hips thrust forward from the impact and my cock slides past the edge of the panty.  Twelve spanks before you finish. A few tears have trickled down my face, my bottom is on fire and my cock is throbbing.

     Your hand slips into the back of the panty, cool against my burning skin, and strokes me gently before withdrawing, leaving me shivering in reaction.  "Feet together" comes your soft command.  I slide my feet along the carpet, bringing them close to each other.  Your nails prick my skin at the sides of my waist and bring the panty down to the floor, where you hold it until I remove my feet.

     I hear you moving behind me and the soft squeak of the bed as you sit down.  "Stand and present" you say.  I push off against the dresser into a standing position, move my feet about a foot apart, and hold my arms out to my sides, slowly bringing them up until my hands meet high above my head.  I clasp my hands together in a high arch and stretch.  You follow the lines of the muscles on my arms, back and legs.  My butt cheeks clench and release randomly, as if winking at you.  "Lift" you say, and I raise my heels off the floor making my calves stand out.  My body quivers as I work to keep my balance.

     "Front and out," the words I both dread and anticipate.  I drop back down onto my feet, savoring the brief moment of relaxation in the backs of my legs, and turn slowly around.  My arms are still arched above my head, and my cock bobs in the air as I rotate to face you.  You sit on the edge of the bed, gazing at me. I finish turning and plant my feet a well-practiced 30 inches apart so that my balls dangle free.  Smoothly I draw two quarter-circles in the air with my extended fingers, stopping when my arms are straight out, palms up.  Your eyes travel across my body from forehead to feet, my erection flagging to half-mast under your impassive gaze.

     You stand and go to the bathroom, returning with the ice bucket.  You place two of the small cylinders in each of my palms, and rub another handful of ice over my reddened bottom, melting the cubes down somewhat.  Then you slowly draw a cube up and down between my ass cheeks, stroking the tip against my anus before pushing it inward.  With my legs spread I can't put up much resistance, and the cold intruder works its way inexorably inside me until my sphincter snaps tight around your finger.  I shiver and try to focus on keeping my palms facing up while you rotate your finger inside me before pulling it out.

     You return to the bed, wiping your finger on a towel, and comment "That wasn't so bad now, was it?" The question is rhetorical, since my renewed erection is answering for me.  Long minutes pass, and the smile now on your face grows while I struggle to stay steady and upright.  Melted ice water trickles down between my fingers, and also down the insides of my legs. Finally, when the quivering in my arms and legs becomes pronounced, you point to the floor in front of you and command, "Drop ten."

     I bend my knees and half-fall forward toward you, landing on all fours with my bottom sticking up in the air.  I shuffle into a balanced position, tucking my hips down as I do so. Before I can take more than a brief steadying breath, your feet land on my shoulders with the tips of your high heels digging sharply into my shoulderblades.  "One, Mistress" -- I dip and rise, feeling the strain in my arms.  "Two, Mistress" -- and each time my body drops to the floor, the base of my cock scrapes against the carpet.  When I finally finish the required exercise, my upper arms ache from the effort.  You lift your heels from my back and place them on the floor in front of me.

     Still in pushup position, I bow my head to kiss each instep and tell you "Thank You, Mistress."  Your response is a curt "Roll over."  I roll onto my back, arms outstretched, and wait as you rise from the bed. You walk over me, the hem of your dress dragging over my face, and kneel over my chest.  Somehow I am not surprised to find you without panties under the dress.  You press your ass back against my face, and I respond with kisses and long lapping strokes of my tongue across and between your cheeks.  I fill my lungs with your scent, squirming in response to your toying with my nipples.  My cock throbs, catching your attention, and you slide forward to sit astride my stomach.

     You grasp and roll my balls, feeling the heat from my cock against your wrist.  With my head covered by the back of your dress, I can only squirm beneath your touch and wonder what will happen.  You dig your nails into the sensitive skin around my ball sac, forcing me to open my legs wide and making my cock lurch in response.  I feel you grip my balls tighter, then my balls are quickly wrapped with a lace or string, pulling them out from my body and separating them.  Satisfied with their new size and color, you open a lubricated condom and unroll it onto me.

     I breathe in deep shallow draughts as you move on top of my stomach.  You grip my shaft and squeeze the residual air out of the top of the condom, twisting the slippery latex around the swollen head of my cock.  Then, lifting the hem of your dress and leaning slightly back, you swipe my cockhead up and down between your labia.  At one end of each stroke you tease the opening to your vagina (and squeeze my cock tighter to counteract the effect your cunt has on it).  At the other end you roll the cockhead on and around your clit.  Your juices gather in my pubic hair and slowly make their way down around the edges of my ball sac.

     You stroke yourself harder, softly cooing and moaning, mashing my cock against your clit, pushing it deep into your vee and thrusting it deep inside you.  All the time you maintain an iron clamp at the base of my shaft.  I can feel your cuntwalls writhing around me cock deliciously but I'm trapped beneath you unable to make any moves of my own volition.  Every time you move my swollen balls feel even larger. Suddenly you change your approach, leaning slightly forward with your weight on your heels and dropping your hips down hard onto me.  You start grunting audibly with each downward stroke, culminating with an "ah... ahh... OOOHHH!!!" as you drop solidly onto my cock and writhe from side to side using your free hand on your clit.

     My diaphragm aches from supporting your weight; my balls feel ready to explode, and the top of my cock is almost in pain every time it moves within your cunt.  A few minutes pass marked only by heavy breathing on both our parts, and then you lift yourself off of me with an audible "pop".

     "Open your mouth, dear," you command.  As soon as I do so, you squeeze the shaft and head of my cock rhythmically, once, twice, three, four times, then whip the condom up and off my cock as you release the base of my shaft.  My balls, painfully denied for so long, practically turn themselves inside out as I cum hard, my moans approaching a scream which you muffle with the discarded panties.  Cum strikes my chin and shoulders as I practically throw my hips into the air, bucking like a wild man. When I start to slow down you release the laces from around my balls and stroke them gently, sending me off again to that place where I'm only aware of two feelings -- your hand on my balls and my cock pushing my cum out.

     Finally spent, I lie exhausted on the floor.  You remove the panties from my mouth, scoop up some of the cum from my chest and place your finger in my mouth.  I suck your finger clean thoroughly, obediently, happily.  You leave me on the floor to go to the bathroom, and return fully nude.  Leaning over my head, you offer me your breasts to be kissed and suckled, then you turn around and squat over me so that I may clean your juices from your belly and between your thighs.  When my tongue is aching from the workout, you move to the bed and pull down the coverlet and sheet.  "Arise," you command, "and finish bidding me a proper good night."

     I stand shakily and see you lying face down on the bed. Thinking about the phrasing of your statement, I lean over you and tenderly kiss your bottom cheeks, first on the outside, then along the full curve, and finally in the cleft.  I then give you lingering kisses down the inside of each leg, and bathe each of your toes in turn with a long suckling kiss.

     Finished, I stand attentively at the side of the bed.  You slide underneath the covers and beckon me closer.  Reaching out, you take my cock in your hand and bring it to your lips for an equally tender kiss. You then bid me lean over to kiss you good night and make my departure.

     After a quick shower, I look around the room for my clothes and realize my underpants are nowhere to be found.  I look back at the bed and meet your laughing eyes, realizing this is merely another expression of your power over me.  Figuring out how to get home and to bed without my wife noticing will be another test for me, one you will expect me to report on at our next meeting.

/ END /


Betrayed Wife's Revenge

Keys: [file:btry] [date:1997-10-17] [words:2862] [codes:Fm nc]

Abstract: Janet finds out about her husband's indiscretions and decides to take matters into her own hands

Betrayed Wife's Revenge

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1997, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Janet didn't know what to think.  She was cleaning out the front seat of the car when she stuck her hand down between the seat and back and came out with the pair of panties. Not her panties.  Not her scent on them.  And Don had been the only other driver of the car.  Suddenly she started to wonder about the car pool he had joined a month back.

     She had thought at the time it was odd that he had to drive most of the time, and it had played hob with the family schedule that he had to be out of the house an hour earlier and get home later, but they coped with it.  Now of course, that all took on a darker significance.

     So what was she going to do about it?  That was a problem itself.  She really wanted to find something that would rub his face in the dirt, show him up, and kick him in the balls on the way out of the door.  She toyed with the idea of having an affair of her own; the woman next door who had some sort of telemarketing business had been sending Janet fairly obvious signals for some time.  It would really get Don where it hurt if he found out his wife was getting her kicks from another woman instead of him.  But how would she prove it to him?  Pictures? She wasn't really sure she could do that.  Maybe she could hire a detective to get photos of Don and his floozy that she could use in court.  But there were always the kids to think about, not that Don apparently was thinking about anything except his cock.

     Janet sighed.  And she *liked* his cock, dammit.  It felt *good* inside her the way he used to swing his hips from side to side so she felt like he was twice as big as he was.  Thinking about that only got her madder.  She shook her head and resolved to put it out of her mind until later, maybe she would think of something in her sleep.

     It turned out to come from the TV.  She was marinating the chicken breasts and caught the tail end of a movie ad, something like a comedy set on an S&M island, or some such preposterous plot line.  But it gave her some ideas.  And as she covered the pan with Saran wrap, her mind was at work devising punishments to fit her husband's crime...

     Don parked his car in the garage and got out whistling.  It had been a *good* day.  Old Mr. Karner had poked his head in to compliment Don on getting the Ludlum account, his 401(k) investments were doing well, and Lily had been especially playful on the morning drive.  She had brought some hand lotion in her briefcase and languorously, deliberately stroked him off at the railroad crossing.  Just thinking about it made his balls tingle, and he carefully rearranged the crotch of his pants before he went into the house.

     Janet had dinner on the table and the children were mostly finished by the time Don sat down to eat.  He tried to start a conversation about school, but the kids weren't very communicative.  Janet mentioned something about all of them having plans, it being Friday night.  "I picked up a couple of movies, hon," she added, "something to help you relax after your long week at the office.  You don't have to go in this weekend, do you?"  Don shook his head.  Lily had offered, but she was having her period and that really turned him off.

     Eventually the kids were all fed and went their respective directions, with the usual admonition to be back sometime before sunrise.  Don and Carol were left alone in the big house, and Carol poured him a tall drink as she cleaned up in the kitchen. "I left the tapes upstairs by the bedroom VCR," she told him, "why don't you go on up and load one while I finish up here. I'll only be a few minutes," she concluded.  Don took a long pull from his drink, savoring the bite of the scotch, and headed up the stairs.  When he got to the bedroom he kicked off his shoes, loosened his belt a notch and wandered over to the TV.  There were two boxes there, neither with titles he recognized.  He flipped a coin mentally, yawned, and slotted one into the VCR.

     The scotch must have hit him hard, because he couldn't stop yawning.  He hit the play button, deciding not to wait for his wife to find out what kind of silly romance she had picked up this time.  After a few seconds, the screen lit up without the usual "coming attractions".  Don stifled a yawn when he saw what was on the screen!  It was a couple, nude, the man standing behind the woman with his erect cock poking out from between her legs.  In front of them was a tall woman in dominatrix gear.  She was holding the man's cock, rubbing her thumb over the head while she used a small whip in her hand on the woman's breasts, slapping at her nipples.  "Do you want this, Helen?  It belongs to me now.  *You* belong to me now.  Say it!"

     The woman on the tape screwed up her face, then as the dominatrix slapped her nipples again she opened her mouth and said in a low voice, "I belong to you, Mistress Kane.  My *breasts* are yours.  My *cunt* is yours.  My husband and that which he pleases me with belong to you."  The Mistress smiled evilly and said, "That was very good.  Now you may ask me for something."

     Wow!  This, thought Don, was very hot.  But there was going to be hell to pay at the video store when his wife found out what kind of tape had been in the mislabeled box.  He yawned again and rubbed his crotch absent-mindedly.  Maybe he'd better check the other tape out as well, he thought as his eyes drifted closed...

     Janet came upstairs to find Don snoring in the chair, his hand draped over his crotch.  The tape was still running, the male slave's head buried between his wife's legs and a dildo protruding from his bottom.  She wondered what Don had thought when he saw the tape; even asleep he had an erection, nice and thick... Janet licked her lips and forced her mind back to the task at hand.  She unbuckled his belt and half-pulled, half-dragged his pants and shorts off.  Then she went to the closet and brought out the paper bag with her purchases from earlier, dividing them into "his" and "her" stacks.  She took the cuffs and made sure his arms and ankles were secured to the sides of the chair in case he woke up before she was ready.  Then she unbuttoned his shirt and played with his chest and belly hair, occasionally toying with his cock to keep it hard.

     When Don awoke he looked around muzzily, then remembered he needed to get the tape.  He started to get up from the chair but was jerked back rudely by the cuffs.  He was suddenly aware of the room breeze on his bare balls... a hard pillow pushing his butt forward on the chair.  Naked?!?  What the hell...

     "Hello, sleepyhead," Janet's voice caught his attention and he turned his head, eyes widening in surprise at his wife's appearance.  She was topless, and her full breasts hung over the top edge of a vinyl corset. Below that she wore a black garter belt attached to a pair of very sexy black-and-nude patterned stockings that stopped a good two inches below her cunt.  Her nipples had lipstick traced around them and stuck out like bullets.

     Janet spoke before her husband had more than a chance to open his mouth.  "You've been dipping your wick in someone else's honeypot," she accused.  Don started to splutter a denial, but Janet put her finger to his lips and shushed him.  "Don't insult me by trying to deny it.  I guess you forgot how good *this*," sliding her fingers into herself, then rubbing them under his nose, "could be.  Here, have a taste in case you've forgotten."

     She poked her fingers into his mouth and Don licked them clean, then began sucking on them.  Janet jerked her hand back before the feel of his tongue made her lose her resolve.  "You like that?  Think you're going to just come back from some cheap slut's *pussy* and slide back between my legs?  No way, Don. You're going to have to do better than that!"  She went over to her bag and pulled out a dildo.  "I bought this today, and it's too dry... open up!"

     "What the hell do you think..." Don started, then closed his mouth fast as the fake cock approached his lips.  He tried to keep his mouth clamped shut, but Janet pinched his nose shut until he had to open up to breathe.  When he did, she forced the thing into his mouth.  Don nearly gagged; it had a nasty new-plastic smell and the surface had a nubbly texture that dragged unpleasantly against his tongue.

     Janet didn't really need the dildo moistened -- she was surprised at how wet she was already -- but she had to make an impression on her husband.  "Pretend you're licking the mustard off a hot dog," she suggested.  "Or sucking on that bimbo's toes."  She worked the fake cock in and out, watching his real cock with interest.  It had slumped badly when she first violated his mouth, but it was slowly coming to life again.  When the crown started to turn nice and purple, she pulled the dildo out quickly.

     "That should get it nice and wet," she mused, and stroked her pussy with the dildo.  When she pressed it up between her pussy lips, the feeling was so intense she had to fight to keep her eyes open.  It was easily an inch thicker than Don's cock, and the look on Don's face as she started softly moaning was priceless! Janet huffed and puffed as she worked the invader up inside herself, until only the balls of it were visible. Her cheeks were flushed and her nipples were distended.  "Ohhh, yesss...," she gasped, "you really should try this, Don, you have *no* idea how good it feels."  She strummed her clit a few times, writhing to keep her balance.

     She looked at her husband, too shocked to even talk back. His cock was as big and hard as she could ever remember seeing it.  "Make yourself useful, hmmm?" she murmured, "but perhaps not in that position."  With that she moved around his back and tipped the chair back so it was lying on the floor. His face started to turn red as the blood flowed to his head. Janet lowered herself slowly, squatting over Don's face, until she could just feel his warm breath caress her ass.  "Lick me, Don... Shove your tongue up my asssss," she hissed.  Inwardly Janet thrilled at the thought -- she had read about this in Penthouse but had never dared to ask Don to do it to her.  Now, of course, she didn't have to worry about his cooperation or disapproval.

     "Now, just wait a..." Don started, only to be forcefully interrupted as Janet grabbed his balls and dug her nails in. "Shut up you sonofabitch and listen good.  You've been having plenty of fun with your car pool girlfriend -- now it's time to bring some of that back home where it belongs.  Here's how it works: when I say lick, I want to feel your tongue working overtime.  If I tell you to suck, I want to feel like I'm up against a Hoover."  She squeezed his balls in her palm.  "We can do this easy or I can get *really* pissed -- your choice!"

     Don shuddered at the attack between his legs.  Closing his eyes, he gingerly extended his tongue to meet his wife's ass.  To his relief, it didn't taste at all bad -- she had apparently bathed because there was a little soapy tang.  He opened his eyes and lapped across her anus, hearing a sudden intake of breath from Janet. With a little less fear, he poked the tip of his tongue inside her.  There was a peculiar taste there, but not totally unpleasant.  "Oh yeah, Don, that's the spot," said Janet, and she released his balls in order to work the dildo in and out of her slippery cunt.  Don started to alternate pushing his tongue up into Janet's ass with rimming around her asshole.  The next time he poked his tongue up her bottom, Janet let more of her weight down onto his face.  Her cheeks spread out from the contact, forcing his tongue deeper inside her. Between the fluttery movements of Don's tongue (spurred by his increasing difficulty breathing) and the way the big dildo was filling her, it didn't take Janet long to cum with loud shrieks of joy, rocking her ass on her husband's face and rubbing her clit furiously.

     Still shaking from the power of her orgasm, Janet rolled off of Don's face.  While he took several deep gasping lungsful of air, Janet reached out to his throbbing cock and toyed with it, tickling the shaft and lightly stroking his balls until she saw his leg muscles start to tense up.  She snatched her hand back then, chuckling. "Oh no, dear boy... we can't have you cumming yet, that would spoil all of our fun!"  Don moaned "Oh baby... please..."

     "Please what?"

     "Please... do me... I gotta cum..."

     Janet grinned maliciously and teased his cock with light feathery touches.  "Of course you do, dear... That's the whole purpose of this little game -- to get you to cum for me instead of that slut back at your office."  She slid the dildo out of her pussy, shivering with a little mini-orgasm as it slipped out the last few inches.  "Maybe you'd like to play with this, hmmm?" She dragged the slimy phallus under her husband's nose then changed her mind and slipped it between his thighs, massaging his balls.  Don's cock jerked and throbbed at the touch and he moaned pitifully, "C'mon Janet, look, I apologize about Lily, it was just one of those office things, you know?  Believe me," at that Janet slid the dildo down under his balls until it rubbed against the rim of his asshole, "uuhhhh... oh god... I was going to break it off with her anyway."

     "Shut up, Don," said Janet, keeping Don on the edge of coming.  "You and I both know you wouldn't pass up a chance at pussy if it were attached to a dog.  But I'm tired of being the only one you don't seem to be interested in.  The way I figure it, you've got two choices."  She stopped and waited for him to catch up. Finally he took the hint.  "What choices?"

     "Either keep your schlong working at home, or I go out and find someone to keep me satisfied.  And you might not be happy with who I wind up spending my time with."  Janet put the dildo to one side and replaced it with her hand on his balls.  "So who's going to take care of me, Don -- you or someone else?"

     Don was straining at his bonds now, trying to push his cock harder into his wife's hand, anything to cum.  Finally he blurted out, "Me, hon, I promise I'll keep my sex life at home, whatever you want.  Cross my heart!"  Satisfied, although she knew better than to trust his promise, Janet smiled at her husband and leaned over to kiss him on the lips.  "Of course, dear, whatever you say.  Here, I'll do something nice for you too!"  With that she gripped his hard cock by the shaft and stroked it faster, aiming it carefully.

     It didn't take much -- Don grunted and said "Oh jeeze... oh god..." and cum started shooting out of his cock in long thick spurts.  Working carefully, Janet made sure the first and longest dollops of cum landed in his mouth.  When he started to gag, she pinched his nose shut with her left hand and continued milking him with her right until his cock finally started to soften. Janet leaned down and whispered hotly into his ear, "Lick your lips and swallow!".  Aware that his wife still held his balls in her hand, Don shut his eyes, cleaned his sticky lips and swallowed.  The taste wasn't really too bad -- it was more the texture of the stuff that made him want to throw up.

     Janet let go of her husband's balls and stroked her clit, feeling a thrill run through her.  This had been fun -- and she could see having a lot more fun before the weekend was up.  It was too bad she couldn't have Don under her thumb like this more often.

     Or could she?

/ END /


A Flirt Too Far

Keys: [file:flrt] [date:1997-11-05] [words:2071] [codes:Fm humil nc]

Abstract: An office Lothario finds out some of the women are on to him

A Flirt Too Far

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1997, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     It always comes back to the office.

     My wife and I had gone through some rough stretches during a dozen years of marriage.  I'm not the easiest guy to live with and although I wasn't a virgin I didn't exactly revel in physical contact to the degree that my wife did, and needed me to.  Meanwhile I was actively flirting with two or three women on the bulletin boards and goofing around with the office secretaries, at least to the degree that they invited and went along with it.  After all, I was a married man.

     One result was our sex life got dull.  Oh, we had orgasms -- at least I know I did -- but it was all routine.  I couldn't find a way to talk with her about the suggestions I had gotten from the boards, and she didn't seem inclined to suggest anything different.

     Another thing that happened was I started getting careless at the office.  My flirting with the secretaries got a little bit bolder -- not enough to invite harassment charges but more like you'd expect from a single man.  Plus, I was spending more of my office time on the modem, downloading explicit graphics files, logging into adult MUDs on the Internet, and once actually having a "hot chat" with the sysop of a local board while waiting for the secretaries to bring me a report.

     Eventually, something had to break.

     *** *** ***

     I was catching up on my BBS mail one morning when I got called away from my desk for a quick project update.  When I got back I saw Nell, one of the department secretaries, leaving my cubicle with a worried look on her face.  I looked around my cubicle to see what she had left, but I didn't find everything, and all of the papers on my desk were just as I had left them.  When I left for lunch, I passed Nell's desk and complimented her on her outfit, saying something like "it really flatters you."  She looked at me oddly, then smiled and said "And you know all about flattery, don't you, Ron?"  Then she flashed her winning smile at me and I walked out the door thinking about long legs under a dark green skirt.

     I went to lunch that day at one of the topless bars in town.  The Candy Store had just changed management, and they were running a special with a five-buck cover, a free lunch buffet and $3 drinks.  All told I could get in and out for under ten bucks if I passed on the table dances.  When I got back to the office I leaned over Nell's desk to get my messages.  Her blouse was open just enough to show a little cleavage, and I smiled as I admired the view.  When I got back to my desk, I restarted Windows and flipped through the messages... ignore... ignore... call tomorrow... buzz Nell?  I picked up the phone and dialed her extension.  "What's this note about?"  She told me to hold on and she'd be in to discuss it with me.

     She walked in just a few minutes later, closing the door behind her.  "I've been going over some files," she said as she came around the side of my desk, "and I think we need to reorganize the way we work around here."  Nell was standing right beside me, her chest almost brushing my cheek.  I couldn't help getting aroused, but at least my chair was close to my desk.  "I'm not sure what you mean, Nell," I said. "Well, Ron, I think we ought to be working more closely as a team," she responded.  With that, she pulled my chair back from the desk and turned me to face her.  "You've been talking sweet to me for a few months, Ron, and I'm ready to do something about it."  She opened a few more buttons on her blouse, showing more skin but no sign of a bra.  "The question is, what are you ready for?"

     My eyes goggled -- her breasts looked every bit as delicious as I had been imagining them, and I would have loved nothing better than to get my hands and mouth on them right then.  But I tried to stall. "Um, Nell, I think perhaps I may have given you the wrong impression..."

     "Wrong impression, hell!" she retorted angrily.  "What impression do you expect me to get from this?" And with that she planted her hand firmly on my crotch, squeezing and releasing my balls.  "And don't try to pull that faithful husband crap on me, I know the kinds of things you do in here when the door is closed."  I suddenly thought about my network mail and the pictures I had been downloading, and a shiver ran down my back.

     Her voice suddenly got softer as she continued, "and the door is closed now, Ron... and locked."  She shook her upper body, making her breasts wiggle under her blouse.  "Come on, Ron, you can talk the talk, but can you walk the walk?"  Her fingers started doing delightful things to my balls through my pants, and as much as I wanted to get up and run, I wanted her hands to touch me that much more.

     It was too much to take.  I groaned and grabbed her breasts through the thin blouse.  "Walk *this*," I snarled as I flipped the last few buttons out of their holes.  No bra, for sure, and nice perky nipples capping big brown areolae.  I stuffed as much of one breast into my mouth as I could, hearing her murmur approvingly.  She rubbed her palm over the shaft of my cock, making it grow in my Jockeys.  I alternated sucking on each of her breasts and moved my hands around the backs of her legs to grab at her bottom.  She had a nice fleshy ass, and she pressed her chest into my face as I squeezed her ass cheeks.  I felt her fingers at my waist, and she quickly unfastened my belt and had my zipper down.  She grabbed my cock through the material of my briefs and slid her hand up and down a few times.  I wiggled my fingers under the leg band of her panties and slid my hands around the curves of her ass, letting my fingers meet each other to tease her asshole.  She must have liked that, because she shuddered and moved her legs farther apart.  I pressed my middle finger inward and felt her back hole flare around the tip.  My finger went in slowly, and every time I moved it farther in she responded by squeezing my cock through my briefs.

     I really wanted to feel her hand on me without any irritating cloth, but my hands were both busy and she wouldn't let me get my face out of her breasts.  Nell bent her knees and settled down on my hand, shoving her ass back onto my finger hard.  I moved it in and out faster while she panted and moaned.  Her hand was doing a number on my cock meanwhile, alternating rolling her palm over the shaft and teasing it with her nails, and even though she had never directly touched my flesh I was getting near the point of no return.  I wrapped my lips around one fleshy nipple and gnawed on it, and she started moaning and hunching hard on my hand.

     I came first, hard, hot and sticky into the cotton of my briefs.   Then she started moaning louder, and jammed her ass down onto my finger, shuddering all over as she kept rubbing my cock through the wet cotton. I opened my mouth and her nipple popped out, red and just a little raw. She leaned forward and rubbed her sweaty chest against my face.  The smell of sex was all around the room, and her hand kept moving until my underwear was soaked through with cum.  I wouldn't have expected it so soon, but the feeling of the sticky cotton around my cock was starting to get me hard again.  I didn't know what had set Nell off, but I was really enjoying this.  Nell was practically swabbing the soaked cotton over my shaft and balls, and if I wasn't exactly hard as a rock, I was at least ready for action.

     Then I heard the door open.

     "I thought you locked that!," I squawked as the cold breeze of fear hit me.

     "I lied," she said.  Someone -- I couldn't see since my face was still buried between Nell's breasts -- grabbed my wrists, pulled them around and tied them behind the back of my chair.  At the same time, Nell was slid a pair of dark goggles over my eyes before getting off my lap.  "Eeuugh," said a new voice, "you were right, Nell, he sure let a load loose in his lap."  "Tell me about it," my secretary replied as I squirmed in the chair and someone tied my ankles apart.  I felt a hand grasp my cock and thread it through the flap in my briefs.  Despite my embarrassment, I had my erection back.  "But let me scrub my hands first. Keep him quiet."  I had been too shocked to do anything until then, but Nell's comment woke me and I opened my mouth only to have a soft hand cover it firmly.  "I don't think you want to raise any kind of fuss," the unknown woman said.  "There are a half dozen secretaries within earshot, and I'm sure they'd be vastly entertained to find out one of their bosses was jerking himself off in his office, cumming all over his underpants."  I heard the click of computer keys.  "And I'm sure your supervisor or your wife would love to see the kind of pictures you keep at the office to jerk off with -- what have we here?"  The keyboard rattled away.  "Oh, this would make a good impression -- one girl with her hands tied behind her back, sucking a guy off while another girl licks his ass.  Let me guess -- you pretend you're the guy, right?"

     Right now I was wishing I had gotten around to moving my picture library off the hard disk.  I knew the entire series of pictures she was looking at, and my traitorous cock was showing how much I liked it. About then Nell came back in, and I listened for and definitely heard the "snick" of the lock this time.  There was a little silence, then I heard a series of loud clicks and barely saw flashes of light through my goggles.  "Smile, sucker," said my secretary, "This is your life!"

     I felt someone unfasten my wrists, and then Nell ordered, "Jack off."


     "You got a problem hearing, horny boy?  Jack off.  Cum for Mama Nell and her friend Kodak.  Pretend you've got your cock in my mouth or my pussy -- like you would get so lucky.  And do it now, before we leave your office with the door unlocked."

     I wanted to protest, but she had me in a corner.  I wrapped my hand around my cock -- shit, the cum had dried too much.  I spit into my hand and rubbed my fingers over my balls, feeling them come alive.  I heard movements in the room around me as I jacked my fist up over the head of my cock, rolling it around before settling into an up and down motion. My legs were already spread wide the way they were tied back.  Every now and then I heard the camera go off.  Sooner than I would have thought, cum came slowly spurting out and rolling down my hand.  The camera was clicking away.  I heard the unknown voice say "fill me in later," and then the door opened and shut.

     Nell finished taking pictures, then untied my ankles, removed the goggles and tossed a damp washcloth into my lap.  "Clean yourself up," she said, "and I'll make sure nobody disturbs you for the next, oh, three minutes.  Then we can talk about making some changes in the way you run this department."  She walked out, closing the door firmly.

     Two and a half minutes later, the phone rang.  "Your wife on line one," came Nell's voice.  "Shall I tell her you're available?"

/ END /



Keys: [file:lmts] [date:1997-11-20] [words:2355] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A man has to rediscover himself after his wife's death


by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1997, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Cori's relatives and my coworkers were milling around the funeral home, munching on celery sticks and green bean casserole, and occasionally coming up to me to murmur something soothing and useless.  I was still somewhat in shock and denial since the car accident, and I have no idea to this day what they said to me, nor whether my replies made any sense.

     I do remember when Kenneth from Accounting came over; Ken's hobby was accounts receivable, but his real job as far as he was concerned was the location and harvesting of attractive women. He came up to me with his current brunette in tow.  "Tough break, old man," he said, clapping me on the shoulder, and turned to his companion.  "Blue, this is Green.  Hey, your names go together!"  Ken was the only person who called me Green; it came from my middle name.  My parents, with an elegant sense of art and sadism, had saddled me with Samuel Giuseppi Grunewald Franklin.  My friends called me Sam; I never claimed Ken was one of my friends.

     The woman by his side looked at me with something that wasn't exactly pity, took my hands in hers and brushed her lips against my cheek.  "I'm sorry for your loss," she said in a husky voice, "I know it's not a consolation, but there are others who survive every day.  Just don't try to rush things -- we all have our limits.  God grant you the strength you need to go forward."  And she brushed her lips against my cheekbone just under my right ear.

     Somehow, the feeling of her lips persisted through the afternoon.  And I don't know why, but her reassurance seemed to mean something to me in a way that nobody else's comments had. That night, in the big bed with the gaping empty spot on the mattress, I managed to get to sleep with less effort and fewer tears than I had managed for the entire previous week.

     I ran into Ken a few days later and asked after his companion, but he couldn't remember her.  Typical of him.

     *** *** ***

     Time went by.  I survived my loss in the way of men since time immemorial -- I buried myself in work and shut out the rest of the world.  There was one good result of this; I earned myself a promotion.  Instead of being confined to a cubicle for eight-point-five hours a day, I now got to (well, had to) leave town frequently to visit the company's other sites.  Getting out of town was a blessing -- it reminded me that there was a lot going on in life that I used to be a part of.

     Six months of bland hotel rooms and HBO brought one particular part of life to the forefront.  One cold night in Chicago, I left the hotel for a walk and came back with a trashy-looking tabloid.  I flipped through the back pages until I found the heading "Health Services".  There, along with a few legitimately therapeutic massage studios, was a column and a half of women who would be glad to "pamper" and "relax" me for a fee.  What the hell -- it was forty-two degrees outside, I was four hundred miles from home, and I'd been both widowed and celibate for almost a year.

     I made several calls, just to find out what the going rate and sales pitch were, and eventually settled on "Marla" who described herself as green-eyed, 5'8", brunette and "proportional".  I gave her my hotel address and arranged to meet her in the coffee shop that evening.  After hanging up, I thought about some possibilities and eventually bundled up some things to go into the hotel safe.  I set eight twenties into an envelope, sealed that, and put another five twenties in my wallet.  Then I took a long hot shower.

     I was in the coffee shop at five till nine, seated at an open table with a copy of the Proceedings of the IEEE in front of me.  Not as Hollywood as a red rose, but just as distinctive for identification.  Promptly at nine, I was tapped on the shoulder and heard a mellifluous voice say "Sam?"  I turned to look and was more than pleasantly surprised -- the woman at my table could have been one of our district managers in her business suit and briefcase, with what looked like crucifix earrings.  I got up to hold her chair, and when we were seated I discreetly passed her my airline ticket and drivers license.  My orange juice arrived, and she declined my offer of a drink.  She glanced through the papers and handed them back to me with a smile.

     I finished my orange juice as I noticed that her earrings were the Egyptian ankh, not a crucifix.  I rose and offered her my arm, and she took it as we strolled through the lobby to the elevators.  She wore a faintly spicy scent, almost a reminder of cloves.  We got off at my floor and walked to my room, where I opened the door and held it for her.  "You can put your briefcase over there," I said, indicating the low dresser on which I had left the envelope marked "Marla".  She looked in that direction, smiled at me and said "Thanks," then set her briefcase down unopened on the dresser.  When she turned back to me her arms were open, and I accepted the unspoken invitation -- taking her into my arms for a warm embrace followed by a gentlemanly kiss.

     "Is that all you asked me up for?"  She inquired.  I smiled and said, "not exactly," and pressed my head forward for a more thorough kiss, letting one hand trail down to fondle her ass. Her side of the kiss got noticeably more enthusiastic after that -- I guess she was looking for some sort of non-cop behavior.

     When we broke the clinch, she headed into the bathroom and returned with a couple of towels.  "You might want to get comfortable while I freshen up."  That was fine with me; I was a little bit nervous at the thought of disrobing in front of a strange woman.  Silly thought, since after all I was paying her to be in my room.  I nodded and she shut the bathroom door behind her.  I folded my clothes neatly over the top of a chair and lay down on the bed, one towel under me, the other draped discreetly over my bottom.  "Okay," I called out.

     I looked over my shoulder at her as she came out of the bathroom.  She had changed into -- no, she must have been wearing under her suit -- a short black dress that swirled around her hips and stopped just beneath her knees.  I noticed in passing that she had disposed of her nylons.  The top of her dress wasn't straining, but it justified her claim to be "proportional".  Her earrings and a simple gold choker completed the picture.  I whistled -- something I hadn't done in a long time -- and was rewarded with a pretty smile and a graceful pirouette.

     I lay my head down on the pillow as she opened her briefcase.  "Lotion or powder?," she asked.  I shrugged my shoulders, "Whichever you like.  I've got no preference."  She replied, "Okay dear, powder it is."  I felt her sprinkle the powder lightly across my back, then climb onto the bed to sit straddling the towel over my hips.  Her fingers bit into my shoulderblades, then went skittering across my back -- an interesting sensation with the powder instead of the lotion. For a good five minutes she alternated a good strong massage with deft touches that woke up tingly nerves along my neck, arms and sides.  She then turned around and worked on my legs, paying particular attention to the soles of my feet.  Another few minutes and I was feeling both relaxed and tingling from my heels to my neck.  She slapped me on the bottom and said, "Turn over, sport -- the towel's optional."

     I rolled over, tossing the towel to one side.  I wasn't particularly erect, but that changed as Marla stood up facing me and pulled her dress over her head.  I revised my estimate of her age up to the early thirties.  She wasn't wearing a bra, and her breasts looked lovely tipped with big brown nipples.  The only thing she wore now was a narrow panty of forest green, and she watched my cock grow as I looked her over.  Her eyes twinkled as she got back on the bed and scooted up my legs, finally sitting astraddle my stomach with her ass rubbing against the head of my cock.  "You haven't done this before, have you?," she inquired.

     "No," I said in some surprise, "did I do something wrong?"

     She chuckled low in her throat, and reached back to fondle my cock in her cool hand.  "Oh, no...  I think you're going to do just fine."  And with that she released my cock and leaned down toward me, her breasts dangling on either side of my face. "Why don't you see what you can do with these?"

     I reached up and cradled her breasts in my hands, slowly stroking her nipples with my thumbs.  She closed her eyes, and scooted back until she was sitting on my cock, trapping it in a warm silk embrace.  I took her left breast, put it to my lips, and gave her nipple the deepest soul kiss I could imagine, exploring the unfamiliar surface and taste with my tongue as her hips began rocking gently from side to side.  She tangled her fingers in my hair and stroked the back of my neck as I switched from her left to her right breast and gave it the same treatment.  I was finding it a little hard to concentrate because the way she was rocking her hips was rolling my cock between her panties and my powder-covered stomach, and there was more than enough friction to get me fully aroused.

     She pulled back from my mouth and cupped her breasts briefly, then put her hands on my chest and teased my nipples with her nails.  All of a sudden the stimulation was too much for me.  "Uh-oh, Marla, I'm gonna..."  and that was all I had time for as my hips bucked under her weight and I started cumming.  A brief look of disappointment crossed her face, then she started riding my cock, scooting forward and back and reaching back to stroke me.  Every little move she made just made my balls throb and spasm that much more, and I was reduced to making incoherent mouth noises...

     The next thing I remember I was curled up on my side, shaking and crying like a baby.  Marla was spooned up behind me, holding a damp washcloth against my forehead and stroking my leg and hip.  She was murmuring something like "There, there, hon." When I could get words out I tried to apologize, but she pressed her finger to my lips and shushed me.  Then she took my head in her hands and pressed her mouth to mine, no tongue, just a wide-open caress of lips as she held me until I quit shaking.

     She rolled me over and got me to lie on my back, then cleaned the sperm from me with the washcloth and went into the bathroom.  I heard the water run for a bit, and when she came out she had a bath towel that she deftly wrapped around me. She kissed me on the forehead, and started putting her dress back on.  "I don't know who she was," she commented, "but you're not ready yet to do this with someone else."

     I had plenty of time to think about that as she quickly changed from semi-naked bed partner back to professional businesswoman.  A snap of her briefcase latch and the thud of the door, and she was gone -- leaving me with my tears and her scent.

     I dreamed of Cori that night, for the first time in a while.  She seemed to be giving me a blessing.

     *** *** ***

     I went back to HBO for my entertainment after that.  Truth be told, I was more than a little scared at the intensity of my reaction and the loss of control.

     Last week there was another staff shuffle in the office and our group got a new addition.  It was the woman I remembered from the funeral, and seeing her brought back memories of Cori, but also the sensation of her lips at my ear.  Somehow I knew I wanted to know more about this woman.

     I got the opportunity to have lunch with her a few days later and asked her (out of curiosity) why Ken had called her "Blue".  It wasn't her name, which was Camilla, nor her eyes, which I saw were green.  It turned out Ken had played the same game with her names that he had with mine -- where my middle name was Grunewald (which became green), hers was Azul (Spanish for blue).  We shared the humor in that.

     Camilla asked what I had been doing since losing my wife, and I gave her an edited history covering my work, promotion and travel.  She looked at me oddly, but dropped the subject and we moved on to other topics.  We finished our lunch, which was really very pleasant, and got up to return to the office.

     In parting, Camilla suddenly hugged me tightly, her hair brushing my ear.  "I'm glad to see you doing well," she said quietly, "You seem like a really nice person.  I'm going to enjoy working with you."  When she straightened up, much to my surprise she gave me a quick, warm kiss on the lips.  Then she brushed her skirt off and we returned to the office like any two colleagues after an uneventful lunch break.

     I think I'm going to ask Camilla out.  I think I'm ready to start living again.

/ END /


Bogota Bang

Keys: [file:bogo] [date:1999-03-01] [words:4221] [codes:FM bd, MF]

Abstract: A trip to Colombia offers a man unexpected excitement

Bogota Bang

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1999, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "Colombia? As in drug cartels?!?"

     My voice rose an octave and a half as my boss revealed himself to be an alien from the planet Moron.

     "Who goes to Colombia?  Do you realize that country's on the State Department's 'don't go there' list?"  I continued in the same vein for a few minutes before allowing him to get a word in edgewise.  He reminded me that all the major oil companies had major investments south of the border, that the advisory was for targets such as diplomats, and that regular business transactions were continuing unabated.  I wasn't terribly reassured by all this.  He tried to lay a guilt trip on me, pointing out that this would be a really good thing for the company to have under its belt, and that I was the only one who was available to take it, not that he was forcing me or anything.  When he went on to describe the incentive compensation and how the client would arrange for a security escort, and by the way there was a $30 per hour incentive bonus, then I felt a little better.  After all, my passport was current and I had no dates planned, so taking the job wouldn't really mess up my life.  I told him I'd take it.

     Then my boss gave me the kicker -- I'd have to leave in a week.  Great.  That wouldn't give me enough time to get anti-malaria shots and have them take effect.  I eyed him with thoughts of mercenaries and torture flitting through my head, but the bonus money won out.  Besides, there was a certain James Bond-ish thrill to the whole idea of going down there.

     My roommate didn't see it that way when I got back to the apartment.  "Colombia? As in drug cartels?!?"  He added several pithy comments casting doubt on both my parentage and my sanity, concluding with "Guess I'll see you in the remake of Midnight Express."

     Over the next week I arranged to put my email lists on vacation status, checked the Web on what to eat, drink and avoid, and crammed a week's worth of business casual into one piece of luggage.  I'd have to use my laptop carrier for medicines and papers so I could get under the two-item carryon limit and not have to check any luggage.  On most airlines that direction, checked luggage is another word for bye-bye.

     I was all set by Friday evening, which gave me enough time to get my last McBurger for a while.  And to see Angela and have my ashes hauled.  I liked Angela -- she was a zaftig brunette with vibrant green eyes, something more than escort and something less than girlfriend, and she didn't mind if sometimes all I wanted to do was strip down and cuddle up to her backside for an hour.  This evening I had more strenuous activities in mind, and I didn't leave her apartment until three hours later, having exercised all of the major muscle groups and some I didn't know were useful.  I walked out of her apartment gingerly, trying to keep my aching empty balls from rubbing against the inside of my pants.  I didn't even have the strength to get undressed when I got home, just fell onto the bed and collapsed.

     My flight was Saturday afternoon.  It was nothing exciting; the DC-10 was full up, the food was better than I expected and some Chris Rock movie was showing.  There was a lot of turbulence -- the guy two seats to my right wound up with a rum and coke in his lap.  I managed to get a couple of spotty naps anyway.  When I landed at Bogota there was a minor hassle over my laptop, and I had to plug it in to prove that it worked.  Also, they wanted to see the prescriptions for all of my medications.  Finally, I made it through there, got my passport stamped, and looked for the uniformed company driver who was supposed to meet me.

     The local company contact had been insistent about not taking any public taxis while I was in the country.  I had a couple of nervous moments shaking off some shady-looking drivers who offered me a ride into town, but finally saw someone holding a sign with my name on it.  Well, a reasonable approximation of my name.  I waved and hauled my two bags over, and followed the guy out to the van where he put the bags in the back and I got to ride in the front.  We chatted some on the twenty-minute drive, interrupted every so often as the van hit a bump or pothole and the seat slammed into my rear.  It was a good thing my laptop case was padded -- this drive was worse than baggage handling would have been.

     I arrived at the hotel, slightly the worse for wear but fully briefed on topics including which subjects to avoid in conversation, what the odds were on the Colombian team in the World Cup, where to get a good deal on jewelry (probably his brother-in-law, I was guessing), who to contact for security escorts and what the arrangements were to pick me up from the hotel in the morning.  I checked in, got my room key, went upstairs and had just enough energy to take my hanging clothes out to unwrinkle before I took off my clothes and climbed into bed.

     The first day of the job was very straightforward.  I got up at 6:15, showered, got dressed, got my laptop and working papers set up, went downstairs and had a cup of coffee.  A driver arrived promptly at seven, dispelling at least one stereotype about life south of the border.  He and I went through a security scan at the front entrance, he went his way and I went mine, schmoozing with the staff until we started the first meeting at 7:30.  We broke at noon for lunch, down in the building refectory.  Then between working sessions, brainstorming and more meetings, we finally wrapped our daily review at 6:00pm.

     Five of us stopped by security and picked up a driver, then went to dinner at one of the better restaurants, up in a high-rise with a revolving view of the city.  We talked about office gossip, about the project, about sports.  There was some conversation in Spanish, which I couldn't follow, but they kept that to a minimum.  About an hour and a half later, they dropped me off at my hotel and I wandered up to my room to collapse, stopping in the lobby to get a daily paper.  Up in the room I checked the TV channels -- outside of the Spanish-language programs there was just HBO, MTV and a Sony channel showing a variety of sitcoms.  I looked through the ads in the paper but didn't see anything of interest, then flipped through the Yellow Pages.  My rudimentary Spanish allowed me to identify the bars, some massage outlets (probably legitimate) and something that literally meant Turkish Baths.  I made a few notes for reference, then flipped to the jewelry section and copied down some names and addresses.

     The next day was like the first, with yet another driver; they must have had a number on staff, and they didn't seem to have a standard uniform.  The work was longer, and we didn't get to our review of the day until 7:00 in the evening.  I noticed during the day that there were very few women on staff, and that those who did work there were all pretty good looking.  The group went out for dinner again, so I got to my room later than on the first night and still had to spend some time writing up my meeting notes.

     I didn't have anything of visual interest on my laptop, because I'd heard tales of travelers who had their PCs seized by customs for pornography.  I attempted to do some recreational programming, but my mind wasn't in it and I really didn't have the energy anyway, so I just went to bed that night.

     On the third day, before I went up for the first meeting, I stopped by the security office and told them I'd need arrangements for an evening driver.  I told them I wanted to go look for some emeralds and to check out the nightspots.  At lunch that day, I stopped by the hotel in order to change a hundred and fifty into local currency.  The bills made an uncomfortable bulge in my jacket pocket.  We only worked until 6 that day, which left me a decent amount of time to go shopping.  I went down to the security office, but they told me my escort would be at the front exit.  So I went down to the front area and a guy in a driver's uniform was slouching by the door.  I waved and went over to him.  "You must be my driver," I said as I extended my hand to him, "Call me Brad."  He took my hand and shook it, responding in kind, "And my name's Rogelio."

     We got into a nondescript car and headed out.  I told Rogelio I was looking for emeralds, and mentioned the place the airport driver had recommended.  Rogelio made a rude face and muttered something in Spanish, short and probably derogative, then said only that there were better places to find quality gems.  I looked around as he drove, noticing that there were high security fences around every residential building and barred doors and windows on the businesses.  Apparently Bogota had the same sort of crime problems that you see in near-downtown Chicago or New York City.

     We drove for a while until he pulled into a parking space somewhere outside the central business district.  We stood outside the door as he pressed a buzzer, and when the door clicked loudly he opened it and we went in.  The shop was small, but they did seem to have good stones.  Rogelio turned out to have some knowledge of emeralds, and his advice was helpful as I settled on a couple of earring-size pieces for Angela and a stone that would make a nice pendant for the right woman.  Also a ring for my mother; Mom was going to be surprised when I remembered her 60th birthday this year.

     After that Rogelio suggested dinner, and drove us to a place off the tourist route.  No decor to speak of, but the grilled meats were incredible.  We chatted as we ate -- I talked about Dallas, my job, my roommate and my life.  He related tales of foreigners he had taken one place or another and the troubles they had gotten into trying to use American behaviors in Colombia.  I looked longingly at a baked coconut flan, but decided I'd best pass on dessert.

     Over coffee, Rogelio asked what kind of nightlife I was looking for.  I told him I was looking for a rubdown, adding "...something with the *personal* touch, if you follow me."  A flicker of something went over his face.  "That's not going to be in the best part of town," was his only comment, and our conversation came to a screeching halt.  I paid the bill and we left the restaurant.  Rogelio drove through the streets quickly and without small talk, leaving behind us the relative safety of heavy traffic and bright lights.  We eventually pulled up under a flickering street light at a building where the small sign on the door said *"Masajistas -- femeninas"*.

     We went in, finding a shabby waiting room which held a small coffee table and a sofa.  A door next to a barred window was the only sign of business, and Rogelio rang the bell at the window.  A middle-aged woman appeared, and he spoke with her in low tones and rapid Spanish.  The woman looked at me oddly a couple of times, and Rogelio turned at one point to ask whether I wanted a man or a woman.  *"Una mujer, por favor,"* I replied, and he nodded curtly before turning back to his conversation with the woman at the window.  Finally, he turned back to me and said "Go down to the end of the hall.  You need to put down at least 75,000 inside and get on the massage table.  I'll wait out here.  See you in about 45 minutes."  A buzzer sounded, and Rogelio held the door open for me, a sour look on his face.

     I went through the door and down the short hall, passing a couple of doors along the way.  When I opened the door at the end, I was pleasantly surprised.  The room was clean, although the paint in the molding was peeling.  There was a small cabinet for the towels and lotions, and a place for me to hang my clothes.  I pulled out a hundred thousand in local currency, did some mental math to come up to roughly $65, and put down an extra twenty thousand to be on the safe side.  It seemed unlikely that I'd be able to do any negotiating in the room.  I stripped, hung up my clothes, laying my socks and shorts on top of my shoes, and lay on my stomach on the towel-covered table.  I was starting to doze when I heard the door open and close.

     With my head down, I could only see her from about mid-belly down.  Sandal-clad feet, tanned muscular legs topped by a fairly wide wraparound burnt orange skirt.  I greeted her with a *"Buenas noches"*, but only got a noncommittal "mmmm" in response.  I heard the sound of the lotion bottle being squeezed, and felt her hands on my upper back.  She worked my shoulder blades and back muscles knowingly, eliciting more than a few grunts from me as she worked out the knots.  She ran her fingertips up my sides, making me wriggle, but then got serious about my shoulders and neck.  A pause, another wheeze of the lotion bottle, and she pressed her forearm alongside my spine, pressing and dragging her entire arm down my back.  Instead of stopping at my waist, she continued on down sliding her whole arm between my asscheeks, her fingers fluttering along the way.  I jumped and squirmed at this, lifting my hips to give my expanding cock some room.  I settled down and started to relax again as she squeezed my thigh and leg muscles and worked from there down to my ankles.  She spent quite a bit of focused attention on my calves and feet, and by the time she said *"a su trasero, por favor,"* I was purring way deep in my throat.

     I flipped over onto my back and got my first good look at the rest of her.  Late forties, I guessed; shoulder-length black hair topped an angular face with pretty brown eyes.  An overfilled black athletic bra top completed the picture, and seeing that she had my attention, she took the top off.  I felt my cock thickening as her breasts came into view, large dark nipples pointing right at me.  She squeezed some lotion into her hands and leaned forward to rub the tops of my legs.  I spread my feet outward to give her better access to everything, but that didn't get the reaction I expected.  She frowned at that.  Standing back for a moment, she barked, *"Puede usted quedarse quieto?"*

     Not quite understanding her, I shook my head and said no.  She pursed her lips, and then reached down on either side of the foot of the massage table.  She brought out a couple of worn leather cuffs and quickly and efficiently fastened them to my ankles in their spread position.  Then she strode to the head of the table and brought out a chin strap which went into place before I quite figured out what was going on.  When she finished buckling my head down, she took some lotion and spread it over her breasts, then leaned over me and dangled them against either side of my face.  *"Esta practico."*  She shook her torso, slapping me in the face with her breasts, and sent her slick fingertips dancing down my sides and over my belly, stopping just short of actually touching my cock.  I'm very ticklish, and in no time I was writhing from side to side, trying to escape her teasing hands but restricted by the face and ankle restraints.

     Next she went to the side of the table and dragged her nails up the insides of my legs, grazing my balls.  She leaned down as she did this and her hair brushed over my cock, making it quiver that much more.  With one hand she toyed with my nipples, with the other she stroked under my balls, teasing my ass with one sharp nail.  By this time I was almost throwing myself from one side of the table to the other, trying to force my painfully hard cock into contact with her hands, whimpering *"por favor, senora, por favor"*.  Just when I thought I'd break down and start crying, she slid her hand between my asscheeks and rubbed her thumb in a spot somewhere under my balls.  I gave out a strangled scream and came like a gusher, cum flying everywhere, landing on my belly, her breasts, up to my eyebrows.  She stroked my balls, murmuring something musical as I gasped, groaned and gave up my load.  Tears were running down my face, and when my cock slowed to a dribble she released the ankle cuffs, came up and cradled my face between her breasts, unfastening the chin strap as well.  When my body stopped shaking, she took a moist cloth, cleaned me up, put her top back on and left.  It was several minutes before I could sit up, much less get myself dressed.

     When I came out to the waiting area, Rogelio put down the daily newspaper, sighed, and took a look through the window before opening the front door.  We got into the car without wasting any time in that neighborhood, and headed off to the hotel.

     On our arrival, Rogelio greeted the concierge, and without my asking he escorted me up to my room.  In the elevator, Rogelio spoke up for the first time in over an hour.  "I need to use the bathroom, if it's all right with you."  I nodded, and when I opened the door to my room he went directly for the bathroom while I headed for the bed.  I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks and wiggled my toes while he went into the bathroom.  I turned on the TV and lay back to see what was on -- Meryl Streep in some movie being depressed in Egypt.  I heard the toilet flush and the water running in the washbasin, followed by Rogelio gargling.  Just as I finally worked out that the other actress was Tracey Ullman, Rogelio cleared his throat and I glanced up.

     Make that, cleared *her* throat.  Rogelio had doffed the uniform jacket and shirt, and I was looking at a very appealing pair of small breasts with lightly traced tan lines running up to her shoulders.  I took a second and third look at the uniform pants -- I didn't see any bulge there.  I started to turn red at the thought of Rogelio waiting and listening back at the massage place while I was getting my rocks off noisily.

     He...  She...  giggled.  "You should see your face!  You don't know whether to get turned on or run like hell!"  Rogelio came over to where I was sitting, pushed me so I fell back onto the bed, and climbed up on top of me, straddling my legs.  "But I bet turned-on is winning, though!"  Rogelio rested one hand on top of my crotch, and we both felt the erection pulsing there.  She flexed her fingers over my balls and shook her breasts over my face.  She spread her legs wider and settled down on top of me, one breast popping into my mouth as her hands moved knowingly to my belt and zipper.  I sucked reflexively when her hand popped into my briefs and grasped my cock, tugging on it back and forth until it was at least as hard as the masseuse had made it.  I wasn't anywhere near coming, though, when Rogelio sat up, popping her nipple out from between my lips.  "Get undressed, gringo.  I had to listen to you giving it up to that *puta* in town, now I want that for myself."

     She didn't leave me any time to fold my clothes; by the time I had my slacks down around my ankles, she was nude.  As pretty below as she was up top, with a sparse dusting of brunette pubic hair already glistening with her arousal.  She pulled my pants the rest of the way off while I got out of my shirt, and we worked together getting rid of my underpants.  "Lie back," she said, and swung herself around so that her thighs covered my face.  I dove in, enjoying the tart sweetness of her while she breathed on my balls and surrounded by cock with her wet active mouth.

     I was hard in no time, but without the sense of urgency I'd had earlier in the evening.  Good thing, too, because she got off my face, held my cock up and lowered herself onto it.  She rode me like a rodeo bull, rising and falling to her own rhythms and needs, while I just held onto her knees and stroked her legs, enjoying the feeling of being inside her.  I watched, entranced, as a light flush spread over her breasts, chest and shoulders, and as I extended one finger to stroke her visibly-engorged clit she let out a deep moan and her pussy did some amazing things around my cock.  I started wishing I *could* cum, as she slammed her hips down hard, grabbed her breasts, opened her mouth in a soundless "O", and then fell forward onto me in mid-spasm.  I stroked her sweaty back and asscheeks until her eyes opened.  "You're still hard," she said in some surprise.  I shrugged, not a terribly effective gesture when you're flat on your back beneath a naked woman.  She rolled her hips from side to side, then lay her head down on my chest while still clasping me inside her.  "I *like* that feeling," she murmured in my ear, "... a lot," and yawned, then slowly dozed off in my arms.  I was feeling a bit worn out myself...

     I woke up in the middle of a very nice dream, lying back in the jacuzzi with the water jets finding all of my sensitive places.  When I opened my eyes, Rogelio was nibbling at my cock and playing with my balls and backside.  Seeing that I was awake, she rolled over on her back and told me to "put him here, cowboy".  I sat up, climbed on top of her, and did just that.  First with slow strokes, in and out, rubbing her clit, then when she wrapped her legs around me and urged me to go faster, I sped up and let my balls do the talking.  There wasn't going to be a second act this time -- I already had that tight feeling between my legs, and she was pulling me into her almost as fast as I was trying to sink myself in.  Four, maybe five minutes later I was huffing and she was moaning; no sooner did I let loose inside her than she let out a yelp and dug her nails into my back.  I could tell there would be blood, but I was too lost trying to drive my cock further into her to care.

     At some point, after we both caught our breath, she slid out from beneath me, her pussy still managing to grasp the head of my cock for a last kiss as it popped off.  "I really ought to let you get *some* sleep before you go to work," she said smiling.  I lay on the bed, totally wiped out, as she took a shower and dried her hair.  She came back to me for one last long kiss, cupped my balls and said "Take good care of these, mister."

     And with that she was gone.

     I woke up the next morning, energized and looking forward to my drive to the office.  I hoped for Rogelio, but I got a different driver and he was in a lousy mood.  When I asked why, I got a lecture about foreigners who thought nothing about telling security they needed a driver and then not bothering to show up at the appointed time or location.  "What did you do, just pick up a car and driver off the street?  You should consider yourself lucky."

     I thought about that comment all through the morning wrapup meetings.  I guess he was right, because when I called the security office after my final meeting they claimed they never had a driver named Rogelio. I didn't get another opportunity; I left Colombia after lunch and haven't been back since.

/ END /


     Okay, folks, I feel it incumbent on me to add some sort of disclaimer.  Anonymous encounters in foreign countries with no condoms are an invitation to any number of nasty STDs.  Unprotected sex in the United States is no guarantee either.  Play careful and live to have fun.

     Also, thanks to my good friend Tom of Panama who provided me with the correct idiomatic Spanish to use in place of my dictionary translations.


VIP Lounge

Keys: [file:vipl] [date:1999-04-07] [words:1660] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A businessman tries out a new "adult company" lounge and finds it very much to his liking

VIP Lounge

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 1999, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I was flipping through the alternative paper, and I ran across a coupon for a new place had opened in town, the "VIP Lounge".  No cover charge and only $21 an hour before 10pm.  I had heard something of these places on the net but I was interested to see how they worked in practice.  It was that rarity in my schedule -- a day when I finished before 5. I had wrapped up my client at 2:30, so I could head home for a much-needed nap or go by the home office and catch up on some administrative paperwork. I decided to take the third option, and checked the address in the coupon.

     The place didn't look like much -- a ramshackle wooden building at the end of a dying shopping center.  When I went inside the doors, I was greeted by cool air conditioning, Barry White on the sound system, and a moderately attractive Chinese woman to welcome me. "What your name?" she asked in accented English. I told her I was called Danny.  "Have you been here before?"  When I shook my head, she directed me to a seat by the bar and took the seat next to me, her skirt rising to show a very pretty expanse of leg.

     "This is for business men to spend time with nice ladies," she began. "Dance, talk, whatever.  Two drink minimum.  The house gets $30 an hour and you tip the lady for her time, $20 to $40 an hour."  She pointed to some signs on the wall, warning of dire consequences for anyone who requested sexual activity. "No funny business, you understand?"  I nodded my agreement.  "Fine, I show you the girls and you tell me which one you like.  Follow me."

     I got off the bar seat and followed her into a side room, where a half dozen women were reading, watching TV, talking on cell phones, buffing their nails.  None of them were standouts, although I did like the looks of the busty redhead on the phone.  But when I indicated her, the hostess just said "Well, she busy right now.  You like one of the others?" I took a second look around and settled on a hippy Latina in a stretch velvet dress.  The hostess called her over and introduced us, "Danny, this is Maria.  Maria, Danny would like to spend time with you." I thought the hostess patted Maria on the butt as she left, but the light was dim and it was probably my eyes playing tricks on me.

     Maria's hand was cool and dry as she led me into the back part of the building, which was lit by a couple of spots and a glitter ball, and divided into partitions by standing metal poles with streamers hung from them.  There were small areas with couches and tables, and large spaces with an open floor for dancing.   The stereo was playing "Disco Lady"; I had to chuckle at that. We settled in one of the small areas, and by the time I got the hang of sitting on the couch without sinking into it, the hostess arrived asking about our drinks. I asked if Maria wanted anything, and when she demurred I just ordered two bottles of water.

     Maria and I chatted for a bit while we waited for the drinks to arrive.  We talked about my job, her pets, the lousy weather, the guy carrying a flashlight who was making his rounds.  "They say he's security, but I think he's just hoping to see something exciting," she confided slyly.  The couch sagged slightly in the middle, and Maria's left leg was pressed up against my right, not unpleasantly.  Eventually the hostess arrived and I leaned forward enough to slide my wallet out of my back pocket, find a five and a one, and give it to her.  After she left, the music changed and Maria asked if I wanted to dance. Sure thing, I said, and followed her onto the dance floor.  It was just the two of us and some neo-swing number, and it didn't take long for us to find each other's rhythms.  I liked the way my hand fit in the small of her back, and she didn't pull away when I occasionally moved my palm lower down.

     When the music ended, the next number was something from Rod Stewart's glam phase; Maria saw the look on my face and headed for our couch without asking.  I slid an arm around her waist in a half-hug, half-caress.  She rested her hand on my knee, then drew a short line with her nails up along my inseam.  "So, Danny, why me?" she asked, breathing the question into my ear.  "What is it you like about Chicanas?"  The way she was brushing her fingertips along the inside of my right leg was making it difficult to focus.  "It's mostly the way they move," I finally allowed, "they move with their whole body, not stiffly like someone trained to be an office drone."  I spread the fingers of my right hand and stroked her belly as I continued.  "And I liked the way you smiled when I saw you."  "Mmmm," was all she said, but I could feel her relax back into my arm, and the strap on her near shoulder slid off giving me a nice look at her breasts.  Her left hand moved a little higher on my leg.

     The flashlight guy came near our area; I tensed and pulled my hand back to her hip, but he merely walked past our space ignoring us.  The music changed again, and perhaps feeling my change of mood Maria said, "Dance?"  I was grateful for the break, and stood first to offer her my hand.  We went out onto the floor to the sounds of Sinatra, close dancing with my one hand cupping her bottom and my other between her shoulderblades.  Sometimes I led, and sometimes she led. When the music changed she excused herself to go to the ladies room, and I went back to our area, pausing to pull a couple of twenties out of my wallet and transfer them to my shirt pocket.

     When Maria came back, she sidled up close to me on the couch and rested her hand lightly above my knee.  I slid my right hand behind her to cup the swell of her bottom and rested my head on her shoulder, enjoying the view.  After a little bit, she squeezed my leg and commented, "You're awfully quiet all of a sudden."  I let her know, with a bit of embarrassment, that this was my first time here and I was a little bit unclear as to the way things were done.  "For example," I explained, "I know when we clock out that I pay the hostess for our time, but am I supposed to do the other tip there as well?  It just seems a little... I don't know... cold."

     She nibbled at her lower lip, looked at me, and then smiled.  "Well, if you're uncomfortable with that, you could take care of it any time before you leave," she said, and pointed to her purse on the table.  I pulled the two bills out of my shirt pocket and slid them into her purse.  "Like that?" I asked, also smiling now.  Maria nodded, and leaned closer to me.  "I think you catch on fast," she said.  With her leaning forward, her bottom was lifted a bit off the seat so I slid my hand underneath and she quickly sat down, trapping my hand there.  I wiggled my fingers, feeling the curve of her warm bottom through her thin skirt.

     Her fingers went back up the inside of my leg, stopping when they bumped up against my balls.  She traced the outline of my now-evident erection with a single finger, teasing my legs apart.  I wiggled my fingers up between her thighs in response, and suddenly realized that matters were proceeding way too quickly.  I covered her hand with mine and started "Uh, Maria..." but about that time she rubbed her thumb over the zipper and my cock erupted under her gentle urging.  "Don't worry, chico, just enjoy," she said, and slid her fingers down to cradle my testicles until the spasms stopped.  I closed my eyes and just went with the flow.  When my body was quiet, Maria kissed me on the cheek, gave my crotch a gentle squeeze and said "You're sweet.  I like that."  I opened my eyes to see her face next to mine, and moved my lips to hers.  She gave me an unforced, natural, lingering kiss that left me dizzy.

     Just then my pager went off; I had it on vibrate and it was between our hips, so we both got a quick unexpected thrill.  I checked the number -- it was my afternoon client -- and slid my hand out from under Maria's bottom to give her a quick hug.  She got her purse and I got up slowly, glad that I was wearing dark slacks.  I checked out at the front desk, giving the hostess my coupon and $32 for just under an hour and a half.  It hadn't seemed that long.  I looked around for Maria to say goodbye, but she was nowhere in sight.  When I looked back, the hostess had a knowing look on her face.  "Maria work the afternoon shift -- see you soon okay?"

     I called my client from a pay phone down the block.  He needed some code revised, but I felt the sticky mess in my pants and told him he'd have to wait until tomorrow because other matters had come up.  Come up and gone down, I thought, and made a couple of mental notes -- one, to go by the drugstore for some condoms, and two, to see what I could do about finishing my work early...

/ END /


Erin's Aunt

Keys: [file:aunt] [date:2000-03-28] [words:2128] [codes:FM anal]

Abstract: A man finds surprising facets to his girlfriend's aunt

Erin's Aunt

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2000, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Life is funny.  Sometimes you waltz through life like there's nothing to it, and then sometimes it slaps you upside the head.  I had a good deal going with my girlfriend; we'd been going out for a year and a half, and neither of us was in a rush to get married.  We got along, liked mostly the same things, and the sex was good.  Not mind-blowing, she wasn't much for creativity in bed and I didn't want to be pushy about it, but it was okay.

     Well, Erin was out of town for a conference and I was home and horny.  I wanted something more physically satisfying than the topless bars, so I went down to the newsstand and picked up one of the adult entertainment papers.  There was quite a variety of ads, both print and picture.  I settled on "Nurses Station – Let our personal treatment reduce the swelling!".  I wanted something different from Erin, so I asked for a redhead.  They offered me a 5'10" brunette for 200 dollars, and pointed out that this was an incall where she had complete exam facilities.  I agreed that the full medical workup sounded like a good deal, and we set an appointment for eight o'clock.

     I arrived at the indicated location, a house in an unfamiliar neighborhood, at three minutes before eight.  A few moments after I rang the doorbell, the door opened and I looked at the face of about the last person I'd have expected to see.

     Erin's Aunt Theresa.

     I'd met Aunt Theresa on several occasions, and she was always the soul of disapproving propriety.  But not now.  She was wearing a white nurse's uniform with a very short hemline, white hose and white pumps. The top of her outfit was unbuttoned enough to emphasize cleavage that I'd never consciously noticed, her long dark-brown hair was pulled back with a single hair bow, and she had done something with her makeup that made her look about ten years younger.  We both stared at each other open-mouthed for what seemed like forever, but she got her composure back first and stepped out of the doorway, beckoning me in with a chuckle.

     "Well, John, fancy meeting you here!"  I went in and looked around the living room, which was decorated tastefully but anonymously.  I was still trying to figure out how I was going to explain to Theresa what I was doing here... well, actually that was pretty obvious but I could see my relationship with Erin going down the tubes.

     Theresa came up behind me while I was woolgathering, and wrapped her arms around my chest.  Her fingers started deftly undoing my shirt buttons as she breathed warmly into my right ear, "So, shall we go on to the back?  I understand you were interested in the exam and treatment room..."  Thoughts of Erin faded from my mind as Theresa nibbled at my earlobe and one of her hands drifted down to brush over my groin.

     "Uh, Aunt Theresa," I started, but she hushed me quickly.  "Please, John... since you're already obligated to the agency for the fee, I wouldn't feel right not giving you the full treatment.  And in here, I'm Nurse Terry.  Just keep that in mind and I'm sure everything will turn out just fine."  She slid one hand inside my shirt to tease my nipple, while she gestured with the other hand to a doorway.  "If you'll just go in there like a good boy, take off your street clothes and put on the exam gown, we can get started."

     I went through the designated door into a room that might have once been a sitting room.  Now it held a low couch with a standard-issue blue hospital gown, a bookcase with a selection of medical tomes, a coffee table with a variety of current magazines, and a coat rack with hangers.  I put my shirt on the coat rack, slipped out of my clothes, put the envelope with my two hundred-dollar bills on the coffee table, and put on the drafty hospital gown.  Theresa... I mean, Nurse Terry walked in after I had finished.  She was carrying a clipboard and pulling a stethoscope out of the pocket of her uniform, and glanced once at the envelope on the coffee table before telling me to sit on the couch.  She sat next to me, flashing a long expanse of white-clad leg below the hem of her uniform to go with the cleavage above, and held my wrist while she checked her watch.  She made a notation on her clipboard, then had me breathe in and out.  While I did so, she set the cold metal pad of the stethoscope in several places on my upper and lower back, then on my chest and belly, and finally under my testicles. That last contact caused my erection to come back in full force, and she smiled and said, "We'll take a closer look at that, but not right now."

     She made some notes on her clipboard and stood up, going to the door at the far end of the sitting room and opening it.  Over her shoulder, she said, "If you'll come in here we can get down to the full examination."  I got up and followed her through the door, and my jaw dropped.  You'd never have guessed there was what looked like a standard hospital exam room back there.  Exam table, metal cabinets with all sorts of equipment and tubing, you name it.  "Up on the table, please," she prompted, and I shook my head and sat up on the edge, legs dangling.  She took my temperature and my blood pressure, then went to the side cabinet and fetched a little rubber hammer, which she used to pop me on the knees and see how my legs bounced.

     The next thing she did was go to the cabinet and come back with a small pressure cuff, like you might use for a child, and slapped the insides of my thighs to get me to spread them further apart.  She wrapped the cuff loosely around my cock and rolled my balls in her hand until my erection had returned in full force, with the head of my cock poking out the top of the cuff.  Then she inflated it, playing with my balls until my cock was pulsing painfully.  I sighed in audible relief when she deflated the cuff, and when I looked down my cock was an angry red and as hard and thick as I could ever remember.   She brought out a small cloth tape measure and quickly measured it from base to tip, around the base and around the head.

     Then she leaned down and wrapped her lips around it, her tongue reaching down to the base and her throat working a nasty massage on the head.  I leaned back on the table and closed my eyes, only to have her pull her mouth off with a loud *pop*.  "Hey," I began, but she put her finger to my lips and shushed me firmly.  "All in good time, John, remember Nurse Terry knows best.  Now turn around and we'll continue with your exam."

     I turned around and leaned with my elbows on the table, and she patted my legs until I had them far enough apart for her.  I listened as she made noises behind me putting the gloves on, snapping them into place, then she pulled the back of the gown up and laid it on my back out of her way.  I flinched when she applied the cold jelly to my anus, then held my breath as she worked her finger inside.  It wasn't any worse than the exam my doctor gave me, invasive but tolerable.

     Then her other hand wrapped itself cold and slick around my cock and started to slide forward and back.  If all my rectals were like this I would never complain!  In no time I was panting, trying to hunch my hips forward into her hand, when she pulled her finger out of my ass and then pushed what must have been three fingers in.  I grunted in discomfort, but her hand on my cock was keeping me just on the edge of coming and I didn't want that to stop.  She pulled her fingers out and shoved them back in, and it wasn't until I felt something prodding my stomach from inside and her stomach slapped against my back that I realized it wasn't fingers at all, but by then she'd pushed me over the edge and I erupted against the end of the exam table, panting like a dog in heat with a bigger orgasm than I'd had in a long time.

     I closed my eyes for a couple of moments to catch my breath, and she finally slid the strap-on out of my ass and patted me on my rear cheeks, saying  "Don't go to sleep on me, honey, Nurse Terry isn't finished with you yet!"  I stood there, slumped on the table with my ass throbbing, while I heard the sounds of running water behind me, then a warm washcloth was applied between my legs and she efficiently cleaned off the traces of cum and jelly, stopping at the end to run her fingernail teasingly around my still-stretched bottom.

     "Okay, hon, time for you to get up on the table, on your back please!"  When I turned around to sit up on the table, my eyes opened twice as wide.  Theresa had taken off her uniform and was puttering about in hose and shoes, a fine well-muscled bottom poking out at me.  She turned around, full breasts bouncing, short-cropped brown pubic hair neatly trimmed, and smiled knowingly at the look on my face.  "Come on, now, be a good boy and lie back, and hold your knees to your chest while I take your temperature."  I barely noticed the thermometer after what she'd already done to my bottom, but when she finally took the thermometer out, my erection had returned.

     I let my legs flop down, and Theresa climbed up on the table with her thighs straddling mine.  She leaned forward and dangled her breasts in my face.  "Okay, hon, I know you've been wanting these... go for it!"  I wasted no time in reaching up to cup and massage her globes, rubbing my thumbs over her nipples as her eyes lidded and she licked her lips.  She leaned down farther and to one side, allowing me to get one wide nipple into my mouth where I sucked it feeling it swell and harden.  Then she moved and presented her other breast for the same treatment, all the time sitting on my cock and rocking her bottom from side to side until I was hard again.

     "Come on, stud, let's find out what my niece sees in you!"  With that Theresa reached back and gripped my cock while she settled down onto it.  She was hot and wet, and guided me inside her quickly until her bottom cheeks were firmly pressed against my thighs.  Then she held my hands to her breasts and started a rocking motion with her hips, which quickly became an up-and-down pistoning on my cock.  Her earlier treatment had taken my edge off, so even though I was hard as a rock I wasn't feeling any urgency to come, and I was enjoying the sight of the deep red flush that was spreading from her neck down between her breasts.  Her mouth was open soundlessly, and her breathing was ragged as she let go of my hands and grabbed the exam table on either side of me for balance.  "Oh... oh yeah... all RIGGHHHTTTTT!" she screamed, and as she came her vagina twirled and sucked on my cock until I suddenly had to slam my hips up to meet hers ending in a mutual explosion that left us both panting and exhausted on the table.

     Two orgasms in one session was more than Erin and I generally managed, and I was limp in more ways than one when Theresa slid off me, took a damp warm washcloth and proceeded to give me a thorough cleanup.  Even her tender attention between my legs couldn't arouse more than a weak wriggle.  "Time's up, honey.  I guess you really did need Nurse Terry's special treatment!  Tell you what... next time my niece goes out of town, you be sure to keep *this* in the family where it belongs!"  Her hand patted my cock fondly as she said that, then her fingers teased their way down a little lower.  "And John... next time if you're a very good boy, maybe I'll let you do the exam on me!"

/ END /


Bunco Squad

Keys: [file:bnco] [date:2000-05-17] [words:2527] [codes:mF, inc]

Abstract: A young man is very interested to find out how his mother spends her Tuesday nights

Bunco Squad

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2000, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Once a week, usually on Tuesday night, my mom went out for the evening and my Aunt Bess stayed in the house.  Aunt Bess was Mom's little sister, which still put her about twenty years older than I was.  My Dad died when I was ten, and my aunt lived with us for a year and a half while Mom got our household affairs in order and got herself a job.  After that it was just Mom and me, except on Tuesday nights.  I asked Mom what the deal was, and she explained it was called Bunco and was a wives game using dice.  I never really got any better description of it.  Anyway, this had been going on for almost seven years.  Mom would leave around seven and get back somewhere near midnight.  When I was younger I'd be sound asleep by the time she got home; later on she'd poke her head in my door and wish me good night if I was still awake.

     Over the years, Bess and I got to be good buddies; she helped me with my homework and it was nice to get a break from Mom once a week.  I cornered my aunt once trying to get a scoop on Mom's Tuesday nights, whining the way a twelve-year-old can.  Bess pointed out that it was very hard to be a single parent and that I shouldn't begrudge my mother her one opportunity a week to unwind and keep her sanity.  The way she explained it made me feel like a right ungrateful little snot, and I didn't think about raising the issue again.

     Time passed; Mom got a promotion and had to go out of town occasionally, at which times Aunt Bess would come stay at the house.  I turned sixteen and spent one wild Saturday with the captain of the girls' volleyball team, whom I later found out made a ritual of deflowering virgins.  Aunt Bess dated an auto salesman and started wearing more revealing clothes, then broke up with him but kept the wardrobe.  She was also home when I came home from the volleyball captain, and only needed one look at me to figure out what had happened, at which point she gave me the low-down on the birds, bees, condoms and STDs.

     Toward the end of my junior year I was coming home one Tuesday from a late study session, and heard loud voices when I opened the front door.  Mom and Aunt Bess were having an argument somewhere in the back of the house.  "I tell you, F---, you're going to have to do something soon.  He's going to be dating soon, you know, and then it'll be out of your control.  Don't forget about that volleyball incident."  I was only half eavesdropping until that last comment, then I got real alert but my mother's voice was too soft to carry well so I didn't hear her response.  My aunt quieted down as well, so I shrugged it off and headed for the kitchen to grab a bite.  When I got there I found my mom and aunt, both looking somewhat put out with each other, but they each put a smile on their face and gave me a big hug before Mom left for her Bunco game.  I tried to engage Aunt Bess in conversation later over a game of Uno, but she was distracted and not terribly responsive.  At least I won six and a half bucks off her the way she was playing.

     The earlier conversation had reawakened my curiosity about Tuesday nights, and I pretended to go to sleep after the ten o'clock news.  When Mom got in, I kept my eyes closed as she opened and shut my door, and stayed quiet until I heard Aunt Bess drive off.  Then I got out of bed and went silently across to Mom's side of the house.  I could hear her moving around in her room, then the beeps of her making a phone call.  I put my ear to the door and managed to barely catch her side of the conversation: "...but I'm so close ... he's only... no, I'm still wearing it... yes, I know... okay..."

     There were a few undecipherable sounds, then something that sounded like a slap.  Then another, then ten more in a steady rhythm.  The next sound was of the bed frame squeaking as if someone was bouncing rapidly on it, followed by a strange mewing sound.  If I hadn't known it was just mom and me in the house, I'd almost have thought she had someone in there with her.  I was both repelled and aroused by the thought of my mother on her bed, legs spread for some guy.  I suddenly realized that the sounds had stopped and I was standing right outside my mother's bedroom door with an erection in my shorts, and quietly scooted back to my bedroom to take care of that problem.  I made up my mind right then that I'd find out what the deal was on her Tuesday night outings.

     I'd gone through a fairly intensive science experiment phase in junior high, and I still had a lot of my equipment.  Over the next week I managed to cobble together a transponder and a detecting rig.  It wouldn't range well, but our town wasn't big enough that I shouldn't be able to track her car.    During the week I found myself looking at Mom in a whole new light.  I hadn't particularly noticed before, but she kept herself in good shape for a woman in her mid-forties.  Her business suits, while professionally cut, did nothing to hide her long strong legs or disguise the curves under the jacket.  She had a full mane of brunette hair that came down just below her shoulders and really framed her face nicely.  Aunt Bess had looked pretty hot when she was dating the auto guy, but I now realized that Mom looked hot even without such an obvious wardrobe.

     The following Tuesday I "remembered" in the morning to tell Mom that I had a study group at Ken's and that we were planning to go out for pizza or something afterward.  When I got home after school, I gave Aunt Bess a quick kiss and hug and we had a quiet dinner until Mom left.  I picked up my schoolbooks and left about five minutes later.  I had the detecting rig hooked up to the cigarette lighter for power, and when I started up the car I heard the transponder signal, wobbly but clear.

     I drove halfway across town hearing the signal strengthen and fade, then turned ninety degrees and drove up and down, managing to get what I hoped was a fairly decent estimate of her location within, say, about fifteen blocks square.  It took me an hour of slow driving, trying not to look like a suspicious character, until I topped a rise in one neighborhood and saw her car parked in the garage of a two-story house.  I was lucky to see it, as my detecting rig wasn't sensitive enough to handle close work, and not all of the streetlights on that stretch of road were working.

     I parked about a block further down the street, and walked back ducking in and out of the shadows until I got to the two-story house.  I worked my way between the bushes and the brick exterior, getting thorn cuts for my efforts but not hearing anything at the side windows.  Around the back of the house I found a promising spot, a thin window low to the ground, where apparently the house had a basement.  I got on my hands and knees among the strong-smelling flowers and listened at the window, but couldn't quite distinguish much in the muffled sounds other than the hubbub of female conversation and a light clattering noise.  I yawned, and pressed my ear to the window but still could only catch fragments of words that seemed to fade away...

     I woke up in darkness, my head fuzzy.  A few things slowly made their way into my consciousness -- I was lying on something soft, my arms and legs were held outward from my body, and I could feel the air conditioning playing on my bare skin all over.  I started to yell, or at least say something, but right at that moment a warm wet tongue slid into my ear.  Moist breath caressed the side of my neck, and my body reacted the way all teenagers do.  All of a sudden, talking didn't seem like a major priority for me.  The tongue and lips moved down the front of my neck, and spent some time on my rudimentary nipples, sending little flashes of sensation straight from there to my now throbbing but untouched cock.  I was biting my lip by this time, and when the unknown mouth suddenly dove down on my erection I let out a yelp and exploded, lifting my hips up as far off the floor (or bed, or whatever) as my restraints would let me.  Fingers played around my testicles and the mouth swallowed until I was drained, limp, and panting from exhaustion.

     My mom's voice said "Don't worry, you'll have more fun the second time around."

     I nearly sprained something trying to jump up and run, but the restraints were very secure.  I felt the comforting touch of my mother's hand along my forehead, soothing me as she had done so many times when I was little.  But of course, I wasn't little, I was practically a grown man now, and being naked in front of my mother was just way different than it had been when I was little.  Still, I managed to calm down as her palm stroked my temple and she said, "I've got a story to tell you, dear, so please relax and listen."

     "Your father, bless his heart, wasn't terribly good with money.  I didn't know this until after he died, when I found out we were over our heads in debt.  I found a job with your aunt's help, but that only took care of covering the mortgage, food and clothing; it didn't take care of the back bills, and it looked like I would have to sell our house."

     "Then your aunt came to me with a proposal.  You probably don't know this, because we've kept you pretty sheltered, but your aunt is a very sexual woman, always has been going back to when she and I were growing up.  Anyway, she belonged to a kind of sex club in town, and she got the group to offer me a, well, arrangement.  If I would put myself at their disposal once a week, they would take over our past debts and arrange to get them paid off in installments."

     I squirmed and started to protest, but Mom laid her hand on my mouth and quieted me.  "I know, dear, but remember I was looking at having to sell our house, move to a different neighborhood, you would have had to change schools.  And besides, this was my sister..."  Mom drew a long breath and continued.  "Sometimes the entire club gets together, but usually on Tuesday night I go to someone's house; maybe a man, maybe a woman.  I get a phone call in the morning telling me where and what to wear.  Sometimes we just play cards or watch television.  Sometimes I give them a manicure or bath.  Sometimes... well, you're a senior in high school so you can probably imagine."

     I could indeed imagine, and the images of my mother with strange men and women were urging my erection to full mast despite myself.

     "So, dear, you have a choice to make since you followed me here.  As I see it, you have three options.  You could get up and go home, and promise not to follow me again.  I can assure you that Aunt Bess will be more than happy to enforce that.  She thinks you're cute but need some discipline, and I can't say that she's always wrong about that."

     I wasn't sure whether I liked the thought of Aunt Bess giving me discipline or not.

     "Or, you can stay here for the evening.  There are two other women here, and although you'd have to keep the blindfold on I'm sure you could make yourself useful.  I promise you'd be well rewarded for your energy and enthusiasm; they've both told me how much they would enjoy having an unspoiled young man to play with."

     "Finally, and this would be entirely up to you, Aunt Bess and I could propose you for the group.  You're old enough to make your own decisions, and you might find the company and the experience somewhat more broadening than going to the drive-in with that girl from your history class.  I know I'd be flattered to have you join me, I mean us."

     I thought about it, and finally agreed to stay with the blindfold for now and think about the group later.  Right after I said that, I felt smooth hands and fingers running over my arms and legs, unfastening my bindings.  I was a man of my word; in the next several hours I didn't come close to trying to take off my blindfold, even though it meant I had no idea whose breast I was suckling on, nor who was riding me to her own orgasm.  When the evening was over, I got a six-handed sponge bath that would have had me raring to go if I'd had the least bit of strength left in my poor aching worn-out groin.

     Mom left the room, telling me I could get dressed and come out when I was ready.  I did that, and when I opened the door she was waiting for me, dressed demurely and holding her purse.  "Mom..." I started, but she shushed me, saying "I know, there'll be time to talk later.  Right now we have to get you home, young man.  It is, after all, a school night!"  She gave me a ride to where I had my car parked, and followed me home from there.

     When we got home, Aunt Bess was waiting up for us.  First she gave me a big hug and a decidedly non-Aunt kiss on the lips, then she gave my Mom a big hug and the same kind of kiss.  My eyes got big, and it occurred to me that the rest of my senior year might just be very interesting.

     Later that night, after I'd brushed my teeth and gotten into bed, Mom opened the door to my room just as she always did.  "Good night, hon," she said.  I held her from going, saying "Mom, I've got one question though.  You've been doing this for something like seven years now.   Just how bad off were we when Dad died?"

     I heard my mother chuckle in the darkness.  "Oh, that.  Well, to tell you the truth, son, I paid off the last of those debts two years ago.  Sleep well, dear!"

/ END /

Endnote: Published in Consent Magazine, Issue #22,


Midnight Swim

Keys: [file:swim] [date:2000-05-18] [words:1298] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A young man and his girlfriend find secluded company at summer camp

Midnight Swim

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2000, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Five o'clock. Time to sweep the last customers out of the store, souvenirs in hand, and call it a day. By the time Nate and I finished straightening the shelves, sweeping the floors and balancing the registers it was just after 5:30. I left him to lock up and I headed off to the men's dorm, stopping by the refectory to get some fruit and rolls. At my room I changed into my swim trunks, threw a baggy pair of shorts over that and tossed a towel into my bag with the munchies. The weather was humid and close, so an early swim for two seemed indicated. But when I checked the calendar I saw that Sandi was scheduled for the Bolling jazz suite, so I gave her a mental delay of game penalty and grabbed a tape player and some tapes as well.

     I wandered over to the concert shell and found a seat in the big middle. A couple of 12-year-olds were playing a saxophone reduction of the Gershwin preludes, notable more for the audacity of the concept than the execution, and I took a few minutes to scan the program. Sandi's group was third on the program, then the Vivaldi concerto for four violins and the last movement of Schubert's Trout quintet.

     After the Gershwin came a woodwind quintet arrangement of the Candide overture, better realized even if I've heard that overture a thousand times. The audience applauded as the piano and trap set were rolled out on stage, and the trio took their places. The flutist sent the first strains of cool jazz floating out into the muggy August air. I enjoyed watching her play -- the way she got into the rhythm, her upper body swaying with the music. Her legs were long and strong-looking, cleanly defined thanks to the camp shorts she was wearing, and the stiff cloth of her shirt only hinted tantalizingly at the curves beneath. I can't say much about the pianist, some guy sporting a Van Dyck beard. Then, of course there was Sandi. It's always a joy to watch her at work. Think Tito Puente, only younger and with curves that move delightfully as she shifts and bounces from one drum to another.

     This was a fun piece at any rate; you could see the audience smiling and getting into it. Claude Bolling wrote four jazz suites, but I've always liked the one for flute and jazz piano the best. I took a bathroom break when it was over, and returned to my seat for the Vivaldi. Two of the violinists were college-age girls and the other two looked like high school seniors in jean shorts and crop tops; I was enjoying the visual aspect of the performance as much as the musicianship. Sandi slipped into the seat next to me midway through the second movement and we gossiped quietly until the performance was over.

     The concert closed with the Trout quintet. As the melodic strains of Schubert rolled into the woodland behind the concert shell, I leaned over and kissed her soft lips lightly. "Enjoy the performance?," she asked. "Always -- and I liked the music too," I joked. She poked me in the ribs, then held my hand on her leg as we listened to the music. I felt the warmth of her bare skin under my palm, and squeezed her a couple of times, lightly.

     After the concert, we made our way across the quad past the now-quiet art building. Sandi stopped to peer into one glazed window; there was a long-standing rumor that some of the art students had unapproved "private" modeling sessions after hours. The room was dark, though, and we continued on down toward the woods with her arm laced through mine.

     There's an inlet off the lake, and a secluded place we found last year that is just right for swimming in the late summer. Sandi pulled a beach towel out of her backpack and I pulled out my cache of munchies, and we settled down for a byte to eat. When we finished, the sun was well down and the moon was above the horizon. Out of nowhere, Sandi spoke up. "You enjoyed the view at the concert, didn't you?" I didn't connect with what she was talking about, until her hand slid out of my palm and onto my leg, insinuating itself under the leg of my shorts. "A couple of those violinists were jailbait, hon, in case you didn't notice."  Her fingers had found the crease where my leg meets my thigh, and my camp shorts started feeling tight on me.  "I didn't think so," she went on.  And with that she leaned over and kissed me.

     Kissing Sandi is like eating a full six-course Italian meal.  It takes your entire attention and focus, and involves your whole body.  It felt like hours later when her lips left mine, and I watched as she unbuttoned her camp blouse and pulled it off, her white bra gleaming in the soft moonlight.  "You're overdressed for swimming," she pointed out as she headed toward the water's edge.  By the time I got my wits together and got undressed, she was already treading water in the shallows.  "This is a public area, you know," I told her.  "Not after sundown," she replied as I got into the still-warm water and swum out to meet her.  I stood up in the shallow water and we kissed, ankles playing against calves, her breasts warm against my chest.  We swam for a bit in the sheltered cove, and then I found the Pirate's Chair.  That was our name for an underwater outcropping of rock, just at the right depth for one person to sit on.  I took the seat and urged Sandi into my lap, where we kissed with urgently dueling tongues while she swiveled around to find my erection.  She straddled me and held me in her hand as she lowered herself down, until we were no longer two but one.

     We held there for a timeless moment, our breathing perfectly synchronized, and then she lifted her hips and sank back down on me in a rhythm older than any heard in the concert hall.  Her nipples tickled my chest as the water supported her breasts, and I held her hips tightly as my passion rose to meet hers.  When I exploded, barely keeping my position in the Pirate's Chair, she came right along with me and we splashed quietly together in the leaf-mottled light.

     When her breathing and mine were back to normal, and she pulled her face back from mine, I reached up to brush a damp strand of hair from her face.  "You're beautiful, you know that?"  She smiled back at me and chuckled, "I bet you say that to all the mermaids you make love to."  She shivered as a breeze whipped across the surface of the water, and I realized it was way past lights-out.  We made our way with giggles and familiar intimate touches out of the water, finding our various pieces of clothing and eventually getting the towel out of my bag so we'd look presentable when we made it to our respective cabins.

     Sure enough, the camp was dark and still when we made it back through the wooded path.  It was a good thing they didn't have bed checks in the college-age dorms.  I took her in my arms at the door to her cabin, holding her gently against me just listening to her breathe.  She gave me a peck on my forehead, and quietly opened her door just enough to slip inside.

     I went back to my own room, the moon and her scent keeping me company.  There's nothing like a summer night!

/ END /


Exercise Benefits

Keys: [file:mand] [date:2000-11-19] [words:6521] [codes:FMF, mc]

Abstract: A man's boss asks him to help a colleague work on her weight and image problems; she has ulterior motives

Exercise Benefits

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2000, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Shanna was a colleague and friend of mine, a nice girl, short and a bit on the busty side.  She was also noticeably sensitive about her weight.  Truth be told, she wasn't terribly overweight -- I thought she was an attractive handful and had entertained thoughts of asking her out, but I didn't want to put a strain on our work relationship.  I occasionally threw her a mildly flirtatious line, and she'd blush, and that would be the end of it.

     Then Clara came into our circle, and things became very different.

     Clara was one of those tall athletic women who exude confidence from every pore.  A brunette with striking green eyes, she proved to have an incisive mind and became the go-to person in our workgroup for difficult projects.  It wasn't long until she became the team leader by force of her own abilities.  I found her intimidating as hell, and Shanna also seemed put off by her.  Clara took a shine to me, however.  After a few days I decided reluctantly it wasn't from any sexual attraction but from her recognition of the quality of my work.  Within a couple of weeks, our group was once again working as a smooth unit.

     About a month and a half later, Clara ran into me at my favorite little restaurant during our lunch break.  "Ron, I've got a little proposition for you," she began.  I lifted my eyebrows out of polite interest.  "I know you're good friends with Shanna, and I know that she's a little sensitive about her weight.  I think I can help her, but I know she's never really warmed to me.  I figured, since you seem to be her friend..."  She left the sentence unfinished, the blanks being pretty obvious.  I turned it over in my mind, but couldn't figure out what the angle was.  "Okay, Clara, I'll bite.  What's your interest in Shanna?"

     Clara gave me a look that said I was smarter than that.  "Let's just say that I like my team to work well together in all facets, and I'll be happier when I have Shanna fitting in properly.  Besides, I understand you've got some useful talents for this project when it comes to persuasion."

     Way back at one of the monthly happy hours I had let slip that I'd spent some time studying hypnosis.  Clara must have been there, and must have been more sober than the rest of us, because the plan she put in front of me at the restaurant sounded completely workable.  She would provide me with some specialized women's exercise gear, and I would combine that with my talents to convince Shanna to try it and also improve her own self-image.  I must have looked unconvinced, though, because Clara pouted at me -- a sensual look I'd never seen her use in the office -- and suggested that we could discuss it over dinner if I had doubts or reservations.  The look she was giving me hit me right in the unprotected groin, and I found myself saying yes before I knew my mouth was open.

     That afternoon, after Shanna made one of her occasional self-deprecating comments, I made an oblique reference to some new developments I'd read about in fitness programs based on self-image boosting.  She looked interested, and I left it at that.

     I met Clara at eight at the door of her upscale apartment.  She was dressed in a slinky number you'd never see at our office and had just the faintest breath of a fruity perfume on.  I drove us to the restaurant she had selected, an intimate Thai place with dark booths and spicy food.  Several courses later, we were old friends and I took her back to her place for coffee.  When we got inside, she pinned me back against her door and gave me a come-hither kiss that brooked no argument.  I slid one hand down her back, cupping her nicely responsive ass in acceptance, and we made it by fits and starts to her bed shedding clothes all the way.  Her hands were cool and devilish around my cock, her nipples were sweet and very responsive, and by midnight I was lying limp (in more than one sense) on the bed while she went to the bathroom, coming back with a washcloth to clean me up.  Before I left, she gave me an oddly weighted exercise belt, some assorted attachments and controls, nutritional supplements, and instructions on their use.

     *** *** ***

     The following week, after a few more veiled hints from my side, Shanna approached me and asked about the fitness program I'd mentioned.  I told her that I had an evaluation set at my place that might work for her.  We discussed it and agreed that I should bring it to her house to show her how to use it, setting a time over the weekend.

     When I got to Shanna's house, she greeted me in her workout clothes -- a unitard of a teal color that set off her ash-blonde hair nicely and also showed off her legs to good advantage.  I had all my things in a large gym bag, and she led me to her workout room, a high-ceilinged affair.  That surprised me, but not after I saw the trampoline.  Shanna had good equipment, although some of it looked barely used.  I opened the bag and pulled out several things -- the exercise belt, a bottle of liquid, a tape player, a couple of tapes, and Clara's gear.

     "The belt works on a magnetic effect," I told her.  "You'll get used to the way the weight shifts after a half hour or so.  The bottle's a combination of electrolytes and boosters; I'll hang around to make sure you're not one of the people who are sensitive to it."  I adjusted the fit of the belt around her hips, and poured her first glass from the bottle.  She sniffed it and commented, "smells like lemonade".

     She started her warmup with knee bends and jogging in place.  I was surprised watching her to find that she was mainly large-boned; there didn't really seem to be a lot of fat on her.  I did enjoy the way her breasts bounced despite the best efforts of her sports bra, and I wished I'd worn business slacks instead of loose workout shorts.  I turned on the tape player, then apologized to her for the quality; there was a barely audible garbled hiss that couldn't quite be adjusted away.  It took her a bit of time to adjust to the belt; the weights in back were settling in at the base of her spine, and the front had a tendency to bounce a bit below her navel.  Every time I saw her getting sweaty, I offered her the bottle to drink from.

     After twenty minutes I called to her to take a break, but she didn't seem to hear me.  I turned the tape off and she reacted as if someone had prodded her with a hot poker.  She turned on me, a wild look in her eyes, and protested, "Why did you do that?"  She was huffing and puffing, and her areolae showed dark through the sweaty unitard.  I pointed out that she needed to rest for a bit, and handed her the bottle.  She took a long drink, and then just stood there with a glazed look on her face.

     "Shanna?"  I called her name twice before her eyes came into focus.  "I think you should use the exercise bike next," I suggested.  "Okay," she said in a vague sort of manner, and headed over to climb onto the bike.  I watched as she got up to a comfortable twenty miles an hour, then turned the knob on Clara's control box to its lowest setting.  I heard Shanna let out a loud hiss, and her legs started pumping double time on the pedals while she began rocking forward and back on the bicycle seat.  I remembered about this time to turn the tape player back on.

     When I turned back, I was totally unprepared for the sight that greeted me.  Shanna, knuckles white on the handgrips, was pushing fifty miles an hour on the bike readouts, hunching on the bike seat with a maniacal intensity, grunting on each forward thrust, breasts bouncing and testing the strength of her outfit.  I let her go like that for ten more minutes, by the end of which she had tears of frustration dripping down her cheeks.  I signaled her to stop, and surreptitiously turned the belt control down and off as she slowed down.  When I brought her the bottle, she drained it in one long swallow and dropped it to the carpet, sliding off the bike and staggering against me.

     I found myself supporting a busty, sweaty woman who was quivering in every muscle.  She made a mewing noise in her throat, shook herself, and shot one hand down inside my pants to slither against my cock and firmly grip my balls.  "Shanna..." I started, but she cut me off quickly.  "Don't say anything, Ron, I saw you watching me and I need your cock.  Right now."  She was unzipping my pants even as she said this, and pulled them down along with my briefs to let my cock pop loose.  Her eyes took on that glazed look again as she reached down and unsnapped the crotch of her outfit, kneeling away from me and lifting her hips in the air.  "Now, dammit!"

     Who was I to argue?  I grabbed her hips with one hand and my cock with the other, and found her opening already sopping wet.  There was almost no resistance as I sank in balls deep, and she shoved her ass back at me in the same rhythm.  There was nothing planned about this; it was primal, demanding, primitive.  I was just starting to reach my edge when she screamed, dug her fingers into the carpet, and came like crazy nearly knocking me backward.  I leaned forward into her and managed to stay inside her as I had my own explosion, then held on until she finally quit pulsing and shaking, by which time my legs needed a rest as well.

     I slid out of her, cum dribbling down the back of her legs, and sat down on the floor catching my breath.  Shanna rolled onto her side and stayed there quietly for several minutes, then pulled herself to her feet.  "Ron, I'm sorry... I don't know what came over me.  I've got to take a shower, then you can, um," she blushed a lovely deep pink both above and below her disheveled garment, "take one too."

     I straightened up the workout area while she showered, putting the belt, gear and tape player back in the bag.  While I was bent over getting things in their place, something made me turn around and I saw Shanna in the doorway, watching me with an enigmatic look on her face.  "The shower's free, Ron, and I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready to go."  I picked up my shorts and hiked off to get myself cleaned up.

     When I left the house, Shanna gave me a very hot kiss, then backed away almost shyly.  I left with sore balls and seriously mixed feelings.

     *** *** ***

     Over the next couple of weeks Shanna's self-confidence seemed to pick up, and it slowly became obvious that she had slimmed down a bit.  Shanna and I went out a couple of times --  once to the movies, once dancing.  Both were fun and neither led to any other activities.  She was friendlier and kind of flirty, but nothing more.  Once a week I'd trade out her old workout tape for the next one.  She told me she'd tried putting the tapes through her stereo system and got the same kind of faint background warble, so the problem must have been in the tapes themselves.  Meanwhile, I was also seeing Clara outside of our work relationship, always at her place.  She had convinced me that I could lose a few pounds, so I was doing some aerobics with her workout tapes -- not using the special belt, of course -- then Clara would usually join me in her big shower and we'd take things from there before needing to use the shower for its proper purpose.

     About a month after Shanna started her exercise regimen, Clara came into my office and said it was time for her to check personally on Shanna's progress.  I pointed out that Shanna was obviously doing pretty well, and that she still seemed to be intimidated by Clara, but Clara just looked at me with a peculiarly piercing stare, and repeated herself. "It's exercise time, Ron."  I shook my head to clear a bit of dizziness, and when Clara reminded me that she needed to check on Shanna's regimen I agreed to arrange it.

     Shanna was more amenable to the idea of having Clara see her exercise than I'd expected, especially once I explained that some of the specialized gear had actually come from Clara.  She still seemed nervous, more so when I told her that we'd need to meet at Clara's house instead of Shanna's, but after all Clara was our boss.

     We met at Clara's and had a glass of wine to make the occasion seem less formal.  Shanna took her things into Clara's bedroom to change into her workout clothes; I was already wearing my usual light shorts and t-shirt.  When Shanna came out, even Clara gave an admiring whistle.  Shanna blushed hotly, but did a little pirouette for us anyway, making her full breasts jiggle.  She was already wearing the special exercise belt, which seemed to be riding a bit lower on her hips than when she first started the program.

     Clara took us into her exercise room.  It was well equipped -- bike, gymnastics pads, ballet barre on one of the mirrored walls, vaulting horse, and weight bench. I busied myself setting up the tape player and Clara gave Shanna a glass to drink.  Shanna started on the bike (which I knew from personal observation was her favorite routine) and quickly raised a light sweat from her exertions.  I found myself watching the pumping of her legs, which had its own relaxing rhythm.  Next thing I knew, Clara was helping Shanna down from the bike, giving her another glass to drink, and walking her over to the ballet barre.  She helped Shanna lift her leg to hook her foot over the barre.

     Clara helped Shanna stretch her leg, tracing the line of muscles from the upper back of the thigh down past the calf to the foot.  With each long motion Shanna's leg stretched out a little further.  Shanna's eyes were half lidded, and her breathing was rapid and shallow.  From my viewpoint, her nipples looked to be straining mightily against the top of her outfit.  It occurred to me that I couldn't actually see where Clara's hand was.  About this time Shanna moaned, almost as if in pain, and Clara helped get her leg down and assisted her in sliding to the floor.  I got up to go see what I could do to help, but Clara waved me off.  "We all know you're an eager beaver, Ron, but I think Shanna would like to keep this just between us girls right now... so..."  She came across the room and reached around me, pressing her own ample chest into my face.  I felt her wrapping something around my wrists, and when she stood back I leaned comfortably against the wall without finding any particular reason to complain.

     Clara poured another glass and called to Shanna, "Come, drink this."  Shanna looked like she was struggling with the idea, then managed to bring herself up to her knees and crawl across the floor to take the proffered glass.  Hot and thirsty after her strenuous workout, she took a fast initial gulp from the glass.  She turned aside and made a face, though, as this time the drink was much more bitter.  Clara took her by the scruff of the neck, and held Shanna in one place as she poured the liquid into her mouth.  A good deal spilled onto Shanna's top, making the thin material practically transparent and revealing, but the rest made it down her throat.

     Shanna slumped to the floor, wiping her mouth, as Clara turned away from her and walked hungrily toward me.  She pulled off her exercise top as she walked across the room, freeing the full globes of her pink-tipped breasts.  She sat down on my lap and leaned forward, batting the sides of those lovely breasts against my face.  I opened my mouth to capture one of the inviting nipples, but she pulled herself back semi-playfully.  Finally she thrust one nipple into my mouth, and I suckled on it like a drowning man to water.  As I sucked, she rocked forward and back on my lap, capturing my cock between her legs and my workout shorts until the head was poking out one leg.  Clara jumped up, laughing, and traced a line down the underside of my cock with her strong nails, then went back to Shanna leaving me with my legs spread in a state of frustration.

     This time, as Clara tweaked one of Shanna's nipples to get her attention, Shanna opened her mouth to drink without complaint.  The taste was different this time, and the young girl eagerly finished the entire glass.  Clara helped her up, and Shanna leaned against the older woman for support.  Clara adjusted the exercise belt, attaching a thin wire from the front piece between Shanna's legs to the back piece.  That done, she and Shanna went over to the rowing machine.  Clara helped Shanna get started, and Shanna was soon pumping like a racing sculler, the muscles across her back rippling visibly through her unitard.  Between the usual exercise high and the effects of the cocktail Clara gave her, Shanna was getting very hot -- in all senses.  Her breasts were swollen and her nipples poked needily against their constraining fabric.  My mouth watered, wishing I could taste them right now.

     Clara, ever helpful, sat down behind Shanna and reached around to gently massage both breasts.  Her palms knowingly encircled the sensitive nipples, and her breath was warm in Shanna's ear whispering soft liquid suggestions, images and thoughts that Shanna didn't even recognize hearing.  Not then...  Shanna didn't make a single objection as Clara pulled the top of her exercise outfit down, freeing her breasts.  Indeed, the young woman relished the feeling of cool air on her sweaty chest.  Clara's knowing fingers played over the responsive flesh, making the nipples stand out prominently pink and puffy against paler brown areolae.  Clara hefted each breast in turn as Shanna worked the rowing oars, whimpering but not objecting.  "Thirsty?" The inquiry brought a nod of assent from the panting girl, and Clara fetched her another bottle, then stroked her back as she slowed down and stopped her rowing.

     When the next drink was downed, Clara assisted Shanna up and over to the weight bench, guiding her to lie down on it.  Shanna's breasts slid to lie on either side of her chest.  Clara shucked off the rest of her outfit, exposing her bare vagina with dark red flared lips glistening.  She straddled Shanna's face, her ass winking at me, and used the weight bench arms to support herself.  "Lick me well, my little pussy cat, and drink your reward!"  Clara lowered herself down, and I watched my co-worker's hair dangle and brush from side to side with the energetic movements of her head.

     After a bit, Clara's body shuddered and she ground herself hard onto Shanna's face.  I could hear muffled mewing sounds coming from Shanna, and the eroticism of this sight was really getting to me.  I started rocking from side to side, trying to at least get some stimulation from rubbing against the inside of my shorts.

     Clara got up leaving Shanna sprawled supine on the bench, her face damp and glistening.  She went across the room and came back with another glass and a slightly curved vibrator.  Supporting Shanna's back, she worked the girl up to a sitting position and poured the drink into her, some of it splashing stickily across her outthrust breasts.  Dazed, Shanna followed Clara's lead and sat down against the wall with her legs spread wide.  Taking advantage of the opening, Clara flicked the vibrator to a low setting and drew it down between Shanna's swollen labia.  "Oohhhhh..." came from Shanna's throat as the older woman maneuvered the device knowingly up and down until even in her half-drugged state Shanna was opening her legs wider from need.

     At that point the older woman teasingly pulled the device back, bringing a moan of loss from Shanna.  Between the vibrator, the exercise belt and the effects of the drinks, Shanna was quivering with unreleased desire, her total focus on the wonderful feelings going through her body.  Clara smiled and came back over to me, nudging my tumescent cock with her foot and bringing it to life.  She leaned over me, her breasts brushing against my chest hair, and whispered in my ear, "You want a piece of that, don't you?  Well, I'll give you a little treat, but you'll remember this -- she's my playtoy, and I decide when she gets to play!"

     She held her hand under my chin and I followed her up and over to the wall where Shanna was sitting, her legs still splayed with need.  Clara rolled her over and urged her into a kneeling position, her ass sticking into the air, nipples rubbing against the carpet of the floor.  I heard Clara's voice, as if from a distance, "Kiss her, Ron, right where she's winking at you."  I found myself also on hands and knees, and leaned forward to bury my face between the soft resilient cheeks of Shanna's bottom, my tongue flicking out to swipe lewdly across her flared rosebud.  I felt as much as heard her response, since she pressed herself back against my face and wiggled against my tongue.  Clara was saying something, but my ears couldn't quite make it out.  Something else was odd.  Every time I stuck my tongue out, I felt an answering caress moving up my ass and out my cock, making it throb in sync.  I lapped away, enjoying the sensation, not even minding as I realized that Clara must have been fucking me from behind.

     "Use your fingers, Ron," I heard suddenly, and moved my hand around to find Shanna's wide-open pussy.  I traced her slippery folds as she moved against my face with more and more energy.  Finally, Clara spoke again.  "Shanna, you may come on the count of three.  One... Two... Three!"  The last vowel was barely out of her mouth before Shanna was cumming, thrusting back against me, keening like a lost soul, one hand swiping mine out of the way as she found her own most sensitive spots and flogged them unmercifully.

     Clara pulled me roughly away from Shanna then, rolling me onto my back.  My cock was throbbing with need, and there was an unfamiliar full sensation in my own ass, but I couldn't do anything other than watch as Clara turned a knob on the device in her hand and elicited another loud groan from Shanna.  Clara tapped the girl on the shoulder and Shanna lifted her head to find another glass of liquid awaiting her.  Shanna took the drink thirstily, and looked down with eyes suddenly hungry and feral at me.  "Yes, that does look good to you, doesn't it?" Clara said to her.  Shanna's belt was visibly vibrating, and Clara seemed to be doing something with her hand behind Shanna's back.  "Lick it," Clara suggested, and Shanna hesitated barely a moment before sinking back down to her knees and approaching me, her mouth parted.  My own musk was heady in my coworker's nostrils as she took me, enfolding my cock and massaging it with her tongue.  I wanted to cum, but I couldn't find the trigger.  "You like that, my little one?  You'll like mine a lot better," I heard.

     Clara appeared behind Shanna, a large strap-on waving in front of her.  I could see it, but Shanna couldn't.  It was thick, dark, and mean-looking.  There were real-looking balls hanging beneath it.  If Shanna hadn't been trying to deep-throat me, I would have shriveled in embarrassment at the comparison.  I could tell when Clara teased Shanna between the legs with it; her mouth went a little bit crazy on my cock.   "Look, Shanna..."  Shanna lifted her head from my crotch, leaving my cock dripping with her saliva and eliciting a loud groan of frustration from me, and looked up at the strap-on.  "Are you thirsty, dear?"  The belt around Shanna's waist hummed a bit stronger.  Shanna replied, her eyes focused on Clara's artificial cock, "Yes...very thirsty...please please give me more to drink!"

     "Open your lips," and Shanna did as Clara fed her the thick phallus, already slick from Shanna's own juices.  "You like the taste, don't you dear?"  Shanna pleaded in response, her words muffled around the shaft, "'s wonderful.  May I have more...lots more!"  Clara moved her hips in and out, stepping back to make Shanna follow until her breasts were dangling down along either side of my cock, her nipples brushing through my pubic hair.  Shanna worked her mouth hard, her swollen nipples batting against my throbbing cock.  I couldn't help begging, "Please, Clara, please..." She told me to go ahead, and I gratefully grabbed Shanna's breasts and clasped them around my cock.  Between her sweat and my pre-cum, it was almost as slick and warm as being inside her.

     Clara was panting audibly, sawing the phallus between Shanna's lips, and said "Be a good girl, Shanna, don't spill any!"  Shanna mumbled something that might have been "Any what?" before Clara reached down and squeezed the balls dangling from her strap-on.  Thick musky liquid came out into Shanna's mouth, and obediently she swallowed and then swallowed again, so much was coming.  It tasted something like the contents of her last bottle, albeit thicker.  The way Shanna was moving around above me gave the last bit of stimulation my cock could take, and I came myself, my cum shooting up between her breasts and dripping down over my hands, cock and balls.

     Clara squeezed a second time, then again.  "MMMffff, mffff..."  Shanna's words were incoherent as Clara kept the phallus moving and Shanna tried desperately to suck it clean, finally reduced to licking every inch of it, even to the real-looking and now slack balls dangling between Clara's legs.  Clara spoke in my direction, "Hands down, Ron!"  My arms fell to my sides, and I watched as Shanna kneeled above me with her eyes still focused on Clara's strap-on.  "Stand up, Shanna!" Clara ordered.  Shanna got clumsily to her feet, straddling me, her engorged pussy lips drawing my eyes upward.  Clara reached out and plucked at the younger girl's nipples until they were standing out firm and needful, then turned away only to come back with two small jeweled nipple clamps.  With great delicacy she tugged on each nipple in turn, pulling it out and fastening the little device to it.  Shanna's eyes glazed over and she swayed unsteadily at the sensation, until Clara had to grab her arm to give her balance.  "You look so delicious," Clara murmured throatily, "I think I'm going to call you my little Cupcake.  Can you say that?  Say Cupcake."

     Shanna said, softly, "... cupcake ...".

     "Good girl," Clara smiled, and bent down to lick Shanna's breasts, running the flat of her tongue up and over each swollen nipple.  Shanna staggered again, but Clara had her firmly in her grasp.  "That's right, you like that name.  That's your special name, just for you and me.  Whenever you hear me call you Cupcake, you'll remember this feeling..." Clara twisted a knob and the belt came fully alive, vibrating both front and rear until Shanna felt as if a massive vibrator was impaled through her middle.  Clara flipped the knob the other direction, and continued as if nothing had happened, "and you'll be ready to see me, in fact you'll be anxious to see me because you know that only I can give you the feelings that you need.  What's your special name?"

     "Cupcake," Shanna moaned.  Clara twisted the knob.  "I didn't hear you -- what is your name?"

     "Cupcake!" Shanna panted, her hands moving unconsciously to her nipples and twisting them, adding further fuel to the fire burning inside her.

     "Then come, cupcake, come for your sweet Clara!"  With that Clara turned the belt completely off, but Shanna was too far gone to notice.  She fell to her knees, then rolled onto her back and lay splay-legged on the floor, her head between my feet, one hand on her breasts and the other between her legs, grunting and heaving her hips, intense animal noises coming from her throat.

     Clara looked at the out-of-control girl on the floor, and an evil smile crossed her face.  She squatted down by my head and whispered something I couldn't quite recognize into my ear, then moved to Shanna and did the same thing.  Then she removed the clamps from Shanna's nipples, walked over to the wall to flip an unobtrusive switch, and left the room.

     A little bit later, as Shanna's whimpering and frenzied finger-lashing slowed down, I managed to find the energy to pull myself up and crawl over to Shanna's outstretched legs.  She lifted her hand out of my way, and grabbed my hair as I kissed and licked her to another wrenching orgasm, then gave her a tongue bath to clean her up -- sweat, cum and all -- from her breasts to her feet.

     I got up quietly, absently removing a couple of stray hairs from my tongue, shook my head to clear it and looked around for my clothes.  Behind me, Shanna was doing the same.  There was no sign of Clara as we both silently got dressed and let ourselves out of her house, bound for our respective homes and dreams.

     As the front door of Clara's house closed, a tiny light in the exercise room went out and a soft "click" could be heard.

     *** *** ***

     The next day at the office, I noticed that Shanna was wearing a tighter blouse than usual; it was a light shade of peach, and practically translucent -- I could almost make out the darkened shapes of her nipples through it.  The previous night's events had faded from my mind; I must have used Clara's equipment more than I intended because my body felt so sore.   Shanna wouldn't meet my eyes for some reason.

     Clara called Shanna into her office, and closed the door behind them.  I went about the usual paperwork and handled an assortment of customer calls.  After fifteen or twenty minutes, Clara buzzed me on the intercom to bring them some coffee.  I got two mugs, grumbling about it not being in my job description.  When I took the drinks into Clara's office, Clara was at her desk and Shanna was sitting on the floor by the filing cabinet rummaging through the lowest drawer.  I handed each their drinks, Shanna reaching up for hers without getting up from the floor.  She looks harried; her face was flushed and she was rocking back and forth, worrying her lower lip.  I got a good look down the front of her blouse; her nipples seemed to be standing out even more then when she came into the office.

     As I headed to the door, Clara called towards me.  "Oh Ron," she said, catching my eyes firmly when I turned to face her, "you'll make sure we're undisturbed, and then come in without knocking in exactly fifteen minutes, right?"  I stared at her blankly, then mumbles, "undisturbed... fifteen minutes... right," before shaking the fuzziness out of my head and closing the door behind me.

     Behind the closed door, Clara purred.  "Better put that cup down before you spill it, Cupcake, then you can come over here."  Shanna set the cup down on the floor, then got up on shaky legs to walk gingerly back to Clara's desk.  She stood by the desk as Clara ran her hand around the curves of the young girl's ass through her skirt.  "We don't need this any more," she commented, and lowered the zipper to let Shanna's skirt drop to the floor.  Then her hand slid up along the inside of Shanna's legs, coming to rest on the exposed end of the plug filling the girl's bottom.  There were no panties to block her access; they had long since been stored in one of Clara's desk drawers.  Clara wiggled the plug, and Shanna moaned softly.  "Did my little Cupcake enjoy that?  Did she like fucking her little bottom while her friend was handing her coffee?  Would she like more of that?"  All during the questioning, Clara's fingers moved the plug around, in and out in tiny motions keeping Shanna in a state of distraction.

     Shanna finally gasped, "Ohhh, yes Miss Clara, your Cupcake did enjoy it!"

     Clara moved the plug in and out with a bit more force now, slower, deliberately.  "You didn't finish answering the question, Cupcake.  Do you want more of that?"

     Shanna grabbed the edge of Clara's desk, bending slightly and pushing her bottom back toward her teasing boss.  "Oh yes please, Miss Clara, I'm so hot, please fuck my bottom!"  A look of single-minded delight comes across Clara's face, as she continued to move the plug in and out.  "But not with Stubby here, no, Cupcake?  You really want your Miss Clara's cock inside you, don't you?"

     Shanna, writhing close to a delicious orgasm, didn't really care.  But she heard the soothing voice of Miss Clara say so, and Shanna knew now that Miss Clara knows best.  She stuttered, "Yes Miss Clara, please fuck me with your cock!"  Clara grinned and said, "Just the answer I like to hear from my little Cupcake.  Don't touch yourself just yet, dear."  At that Clara jerked the plug out of Shanna's bottom in one quick motion.  Shanna groaned and bent over double, her chest and face landing on Clara's desk papers as her bottom writhed in loss.  She split her legs wider without even thinking about it, and her toes curled painfully inside her shoes.

     Clara meanwhile rose from her seat, removed her wraparound skirt, and pulled the strap-on out of her bag.  She slid into it, making sure the raised bump settled over her clit, and squeezed the contents of a small tube onto the shaft, spreading the slickness around with one hand.  Preparations finished, Clara moved around to the side of her desk, fascinated with the way the globes of Shanna's ass jiggled, delighting in the way the girl whimpered, "Please, Miss Clara, oh please fuck me..."  With one hand on the phallus and the other on Shanna's right hip, Clara stepped up and pressed the cock into Shanna's ass, not stopping until her belly was next to the girl's backside and the fake balls were nudging against Shanna's vagina.  "Ohhhhhhh..." Shanna moaned almost loud enough to be heard through the solid office door.  Clara pulled herself backward, surprised at how tightly Shanna's ass gripped the cock, then thrust her hips forward again.  The penetration was easier now, and Clara was soon humping rhythmically against Shanna, the stimulator rubbing her own clit deliciously as she worked up to her own orgasm.

     "Okay, Cupcake, rub yourself for Clara, tell me all about it."  Shanna cried out in relief as her fingers stroked between her legs and her body erupted in spasms of joy.  As I came through the door, Shanna yelled "Oh Miss Clara, i love your cock, oh i'm coming, i love you Miss Clara!"  I gaped open-mouthed at the scene, the door closing unattended behind me.  Clara caught my eye in triumph as she had her own orgasm, slamming the artificial cock again and again into the crying writhing girl on the desk.

     I leaned back against the door, my sudden erection noticeably tenting out the front of my slacks.  Clara reached out to grab Shanna by the back of her hair and pulled her up to a standing position with Clara's cock still buried inside her quivering rear.  "Shanna's made a bit of a mess of herself, Ron, and I think you should help her clean up.  Get out of those clothes, and then come give us a hand."  I didn't even make a pretense of questioning the bizarre scene, but undressed quickly folding my clothes into a neat pile by the door.  My cock was throbbing darkly as I marched toward the two lust-inducing women.  Shanna was standing slack-jawed, rolling her hips back against Clara, who continued, "Okay Ron, the first thing you need to do is unfasten her blouse.  Can't you see the poor girl's aching for some attention?"

     Indeed, when I unbuttoned Shanna's blouse she thrust her braless breasts immediately into my hands.  I bent my knees to get my face to the right level for kissing each of them, my cock swinging and bumping against her tense legs.  Clara whispered something I couldn't catch, and Shanna grabbed the back of my head and held me against her breasts as she keened and came, a long rolling orgasm.  When she finally let go of me and I was able to catch my breath, Clara was standing beside me with her strap-on dripping and glistening.  She leaned toward my ear and reached for my cock, and I don't really remember what happened next.

     *** *** ***

     Things around the office settled into a new routine.  Clara got the official promotion to team leader, and she and Shanna resolved whatever differences they used to have; in fact, Shanna seems to spend as much time behind closed doors with Clara as she does at her own desk.  Sometimes Clara asks me to help them in special projects, although I can't quite remember the details on any of them.

     Meanwhile, Shanna and I see each other occasionally when she's not being asked to work late.  She's lost a bit more weight over the last few months, and really became quite a fox.  Not only that, but she's really opened up sexually.  Over the last holidays she went somewhere and came back with nipple rings!  She loves rolling my cock between her breasts while my face is buried between her legs, and seems to take special joy in keeping me on the edge until after she's finished cumming.  She says I ought to have a nickname, that Ron is just too formal, and that she's going to ask Clara to suggest one.

     Why would she ask Clara, I wonder...

/ END /

Endnote: Written for Sweet Sugar.


Her Basement

Keys: [file:bsmt] [date:2001-01-30] [words:3130] [codes:FM]

Abstract: His neighbor is keeping something in the basement; sometimes you shouldn't indulge your curiosity

Her Basement

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2001, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     The animal in the basement was whimpering again.

     My next-door neighbor kept some sort of animal, I thought perhaps a dog, in her basement.  For the last month I would be awakened at odd hours by a whimpering sound coming from there.  I hadn't actually seen the dog, but then I worked during the day.  I really intended to talk to her about the noise, but I'd never introduced myself and this didn't seem to be the right way to do it.

     Then my company got bought out by a foreign outfit, and we all found ourselves on a three-week unexpected paid vacation while they "reviewed options for local personnel".  I wasn't too worried, since good database administrators with web experience are hard to come by.  Still, I now found myself at loose ends at 8 in the morning instead of hitting the road with the rest of the work crowd.

     I decided this made for a good opportunity, and so a little after 9:30 I found myself, neatly dressed in slacks and shirt, ringing the doorbell of my neighbor's house.  After a few minutes, as I was about to give up, the door opened and a rather attractive-looking matron dressed in a nondescript front-button housecoat, her hair done up in a neat bun, looked at me inquiringly.  "Yes?" she asked.

     I introduced myself, and her attitude became noticeably warmer.  "Oh yes, of course.  Well, I'm Helen; won't you come in?  I was just fixing tea, if you'll have some."  I followed her in and took a look around the house.  Nice, neatly decorated, nothing particularly striking about it.  We wandered toward the back of the house and into the kitchen, where a tea kettle was whistling.  She continued, "Aren't you generally at work during the day?  I've been here some time and your house is always so quiet."  I explained about my work situation, and since she had now mentioned the subject of quiet, I had my opportunity.  I asked her about the pet in the basement.

     There was an odd, strained silence, and an indecipherable look came across her face.  "Pet?  I don't have any pets."

     I explained about the sounds I had heard during the night, and she shook her head.  "The night air carries sounds a good distance; I'm sorry about your being awoken, but I really don't know what you were hearing."  I think she could tell I wasn't completely convinced, but I thanked her all the same for straightening me out.

     We continued our tea and chatted about the neighborhood, city politics, how we came to be here.  Somewhere between the second and third pot I learned that her husband had died some years back, so she had moved here to get away from the old memories.  I sympathized as best as I could, having never gotten past the serious dating stage myself.  That got my mind sidetracked, and I took a second look at her face, realizing that her eyes really were quite striking.

     "... woolgathering?"  I shook myself, realizing that I hadn't been paying attention to what she was saying.  "I'm sorry," I replied, "something you said just sent my mind on a tangent."  She smiled accepting my apology, and repeated herself.  "I was remarking that it's really quite important to know one's neighbors, even in the best of neighborhoods.  Sometimes you need a hand around the house, and you never know just who the person next door will turn out to be."  I nodded at that; then put my hands up against my temples to steady my head.

     "Is something wrong?" she asked with some concern.

     I mumbled something about the tea being too strong, I thought.  She offered to let me lie down on her couch if I needed, but I declined.  "It's okay, I've taken up so much of your morning already.  I'll just be toddling on back..."  I tried standing up, and my headache got seriously worse.  I stumbled, and she took my arm in a surprisingly strong grip.  "No, no I must insist," she said overriding my objections.  "You're in no condition right now."  I followed her meekly to the drawing room, and she helped me lie back on the couch.  "I'll just leave the lights off, now, and you can come find me when you're feeling better."

     I thanked her weakly, and let my eyes close.  The room was pleasantly cool, and I heard her footsteps clicking faintly away...

     I opened my eyes once, thinking I was hearing voices, but the room was blurry and it felt so much better just to lie back on the couch...  Eventually I felt a hand on my cheek, and opened my eyes to see her face inspecting me, those large brown eyes focused on mine.  "Are you feeling better now?"  I sat up tentatively, and my head stayed fastened to my shoulders.  "I think so."  I stood up, and everything seemed to be more or less normal.  "Thank you," I said with some embarrassment, "I don't know quite what came over me.  I must be coming down with something."  She shrugged her shoulders, and suggested that I might also have been sensitive to something in the herbal tea.

     She led me to the front door, and shook my hand warmly as I took my leave.  "Do drop in again," she added with a smile, "it's so nice to know someone who's home during the day."  I thanked her again, and headed back to my own house, where I noticed with some surprise I'd spent the entire morning over there.  I took two aspirin and took a long nap, waking late in the afternoon and feeling much better.

     I went out to dinner that evening and caught a movie, and got a good night's sleep, undisturbed by any sounds from my neighbor's basement, or wherever they had been coming from.

     *** *** ***

     I spent the next day in the back yard, fixing the gutters and cleaning out some accumulated debris.  At one point I thought I was being watched, but I looked around and decided I just wasn't dealing well with not being at work.  I did more shopping than usual, seeing no reason to blow my budget on eating out when I was just going to be home most of the day.  I fixed a few casseroles and fried up some chicken breasts so I'd have something convenient whenever I got hungry, then celebrated by going out to dinner.  Hey, I never claimed to be consistent.

     About three in the morning I woke up, alert.  The sounds were there again; vague, animal noises.  I went to my window and opened it, listening.  It still sounded like it was coming from her basement.

     Coming to a decision, I got dressed in dark clothes and quietly went out my back door.  Outside of the usual traffic noises, nothing was audible.  I went around the side of my house to the front edge of the mutual fence, looked around to verify that nobody was around, and crept around the side of her house to the spot near her back patio where I could see the top of a window sunk into the ground.  On closer inspection, I could tell it had been painted from the inside, but age had cracked the paint and there were faint traces of light coming through.

     About that time I heard the sound again.  It was definitely a whimpering, like a dog trying to get through a closed door.  Up close, I could now hear something like a voice, although no words were distinguishable.  Then there was silence again, and after a few minutes I decided discretion was calling for me to get back home.  I turned at the edge of the fence, and looked at her house, but there was no sign of activity other than the faintest bit of illumination limning the basement window.

     I lay awake, listening, for fifteen more minutes, but nothing else disturbed the night and I finally fell back to sleep.

     *** *** ***

     The next morning I got a phone call from Helen.  "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm having a problem with my cable, and I don't want to call out the service unless I have to, they take so long.  Would you by any chance know anything about it?"  I told her that I wasn't a cable TV specialist, but that I'd done my time tracing connection problems with computers and that I'd be glad to give it a look-see.

     When her door opened and I saw Helen again, I took a step back in surprise.  The drab housecoat in which she had first greeted me was gone; instead she was dressed in a well-cut silk blouse and a nicely contrasting suede skirt, one which demonstrated that she had legs to be proud of.  She was still wearing her hair in that teacher-style bun, though.  I pulled myself back together and took her proffered hand, entering the house as she held the door open.  She led me to the back bedroom where the troublesome television set was located, and stayed as I got down and rummaged around the back looking at the connections.  Eventually I was able to find a spot where part of the cable had been frayed and had shorted to the ground sheath.  Maybe five minutes later, I was standing up wiping some sweat off my forehead and telling her "Okay, if that works you won't have to call the cable guys."

     She turned the television on, bringing forth a loud blast of static and fuzz, then she hit the channel button and we got a legitimate picture from CNN, followed in quick order by a country music video, an old Sixties cartoon (and I won't embarrass myself by admitting which one), a dimly lit dungeon scene with a scantily-dressed woman in shackles against the wall, a soap opera in Spanish, and the weather channel.

     "Seems to be working," she said finally with a pleased tone.  "Thank you so much, I really hate to impose like this, let me do something for you.  How about a home-cooked dinner?"

      I tried to demur, but we went into the kitchen and had some juice drinks together, her suede skirt moving enticingly as she leaned over the sink, and before I knew it I was agreeing to come by her house at eight.

     The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, other than an increasing sense of unease on my part.  I couldn't decide whether I was reading signals from Helen, or just reacting to not having been on a date in over three months.  I could just imagine myself saying something inappropriate and finding myself out on my ear.  After lunch I suddenly decided that I needed to get a haircut, and after that I went through my closet to find a slacks and shirt combination that was halfway dressy but not showy, and took a much longer shower than usual.

     At eight promptly, I rang Helen's doorbell and waited.  My wait was rewarded this time, and I was glad I'd decided to improve my appearance.  Helen had let her hair down in a glorious cascade around her shoulders, she was wearing some sort of makeup that emphasized her already striking eyes, and the light blue dress she was wearing put the lie to my first impression of her as "matronly".  It wasn't blatant by any means, but it clung to her in spots and left the imagination free to wander in others.

     I'll admit my imagination was wandering during dinner.  I'm not sure what we talked about, but the food was good and the wine set it off nicely.  Too much wine, perhaps, because I offered to help clear the dishes but found myself getting dizzy when I tried to stand up.  Helen helped me back into my seat, and took the plate from in front of me.  "Take it easy, there," she told me, "I'll just be a few minutes downstairs taking care of some things, then we can have dessert."

     The room was definitely off kilter, so I was glad to take that advice.  I heard her open a door, followed by the sound of footsteps clicking more and more faintly.  Minutes passed, and I slowly realized it had been some time without her coming back.

     I pushed myself up onto none-too-steady feet, and went toward the kitchen to see what had happened.  I saw a pie ready for cutting, but not Helen.  I opened a door which turned out to be a walk-in pantry, with another door at its back.  I opened that hesitantly.  "Helen?" I called, but got no reply.  I could see the stairs dimly outlined from the pantry light, and took slow careful steps downward into the gloom of the basement.  My balance was none too good, and my own footsteps seemed to echo oddly.  Finally, the stairs ended and I assured myself I was on solid ground.  I felt around for a light switch.

     What my palm landed on instead was a firm, warm, hard-nippled breast.

     While I was still reacting to that, something soft was held over my mouth and nose and everything around me faded out.

     *** *** ***

     My shoulders hurt.

     That was the first thing I noticed.  Shortly after that, my body told me that it was feeling chill air flowing in places that shouldn't be exposed to the air.  I opened my eyes blearily.  I was standing against a cold wall, naked, my wrists above my head and slightly behind me.  I tugged on them; something was holding them up.  I tried to move my feet; something was keeping my ankles spread out similarly.

     The next thing that occurred to me was that there was light now; a dim, murky light.  Familiar... then a picture came to my mind.  The dungeon scene on Helen's television set.  But if I was the one in the shackles here, then who...?

     A throat was cleared, and I looked to my left.  It took me several moments to recognize the woman standing there as Helen.  For one thing, she was nude.  Gloriously nude, full breasts, broad hips, a neatly trimmed triangle, long legs.  Technically I suppose she wasn't totally nude, but her heels only emphasized the rest of her appearance.  She stood in command of the room, with a look that brooked no questions.  Kneeling at her feet was another woman, younger, also nude, with a dark collar around her neck and something filling her mouth.

     Helen spoke up.  "About time you came to.  I must say, I didn't expect you to make it all the way downstairs.  No, save the complaints and protests; I'm going to talk and you're going to listen."  She pointed to the girl at her feet.  "This is Jennifer.  Jennifer and I have something in common -- my former husband.  It turns out he was cheating on me, and had the poor taste to have a heart attack while they were going at it.  Poor Jennifer here lost her head and called the first number she found in his wallet -- which was mine."

     The girl shook her head and a whimpering sound came out around the thing in her mouth.  Helen prodded the girl from behind with the toe of her shoe, and the sounds ceased.  Helen continued, "I brought Jennifer with me when I moved here.  Since she took my husband from me, she owes me a lot.  And I'll admit, she has her uses.  Her mouth, for example, is very talented."

     Helen bent down and unfastened a strap, and pulled a penis-shaped gag out of the girl's mouth.  "Jennifer here is going to keep you entertained for a while.  I looked at your shoes when you were working on my television set.  I found it so interesting that they matched the shoeprints I found that morning in the ground outside the little basement window."

     Jennifer was crawling toward me on her hands and knees while Helen was speaking, and the top of her head brushed upward against my balls, followed by her cheek, then her lips.  She took me into her mouth, and I groaned at the sensation.  Helen was still talking:  "I really don't want to have to move again; it took me some time to find a house with a usable basement, and I don't let Jennifer out of the house for obvious reasons."

     She was right about the girl's talent; I don't think I ever had a blow job as slow, exquisite, and teasing as this one.  I didn't wonder that Helen's husband had keeled over.  I tried to thrust my hips forward, but Jennifer just moved back in rhythm with me and continued her slow, teasing pace.

     "So when you started raising a fuss about noises in the basement, what was I to do?  Other than have a long session with Jennifer here about being quiet at night.  We had to give you a bigger cock to suck on after that, didn't we Jen?"  Jennifer shuddered and swallowed, and that almost pushed me over the edge, but she squeezed my cock at the base and held me until the moment passed.

     I was going crazy with lust, my legs hurt from straining, and my cock felt like it would burst.  I wanted nothing more than to slam myself into Jennifer's mouth and cum until I was empty, but she kept me just a whisper away from that release.  Helen now sounded as if she were speaking from everywhere in the room, and my world was shrinking to the lips around my cock and the voice in my ears.  "I decided that the only way to deal with you was to have you join our little family.  I can certainly use a handyman around here.  Behave, and you'll find out that I've got more talents than our little Jennifer here, and any number of creative ways to use them.  Who knows, maybe you can even spend some nights in your own bed.  Otherwise..."

     My breathing had taken on a frantic panting quality, and my groin was throbbing with unreleased semen needing to come out.

     "I'm going upstairs to have a nice bath and watch some television.  I think you know the channel.  Jennifer has strict instructions not to let you cum, and she's gotten very good at following instructions.  When I come back downstairs, you can tell me if you'd like to follow my lead."

     She turned and walked away, her ass flexing as she moved up the stairs.

     Jennifer continued her ministrations, speeding up and slowing down as if she knew my body better than I did myself.

     The animal in the basement was whimpering again.

     I was the one whimpering.

/ END /


Change of Focus

Keys: [file:chgf] [date:2001-12-25] [words:8353] [codes:mc various]

Abstract: A creative writing seminar gives new meaning to "getting in touch with your inner self"

Change of Focus

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2001, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "There once was a girl from Nantucket / whose clit was so big she could..."

     "Nawww..." Jack said, and viciously crumpled the piece of notepaper before flinging it across his dorm room.  "I'm never going to pass this flippin' writing course!"

     His roommate, a one-time scholarship student now in his sixth year and third major, intercepted the paper missile and unfolded it.  He shook his head sadly.  "That's pretty weak, even for you."

     "Tell me something I don't know, Einstein.  How did you manage to get through this course anyway, Ken?  I thought you hated writing."

     "I do, man.  Can't stand it."  A light gleamed hidden in the other man's eye.  "Maybe that's your problem -- you're too focused on the task and the mechanics.  You know the story of the Foo bird?"

     Jack winced and rolled his eyes.  "I don't want to hear this..." he warned, but to no avail as his roommate began.  "The Foo bird lives in the far reaches of the island of Madagascar, and is the only known example of a species intent on its own extinction.  This happens because the Foo bird believes that something is trying to climb into its bottom, and in a single-minded attempt to find the intruder the Foo bird flies faster and faster in ever-diminishing concentric circles until it vanishes into its own anus."

     At this point Jack attempted to smother his roommate with a pillow.

     Some minutes later, when tempers had cooled, Ken picked up the conversation as if nothing untoward had happened.  "Your main problem is that you're too focused.  When you're looking at the crankshaft, you can't get the feel of driving the car.  You need to relax your brain and come around the back side of the idea in creative writing.  Think like an artist, not like the next partner at Dewey, Cheatem and Howe."

     Jack shook his head and flopped back onto his bunk.  "You're going from making no sense to nonsense.  What do you mean, come around the back side of the idea?  And anyway, I'm nothing if not relaxed after spending the weekend with Sherry -- I don't think I have a stiff bone in my entire body."  Sherry was Jack's girlfriend, a fox from one of the better sororities who had taken a liking to Jack and seemed intent on working her way through the entire Kama Sutra with him.

     Ken nodded sagely.  "Exactly my point.  You're using up all your 'chi' on that girl."  He leered, "Not that I'd turn her down for a minute, my friend.  You've got good taste there.  But you need creative energy for creative writing, and she's leaving you drained not only physically but psychically.  It's no wonder you can't get anything down on paper."  He belched, which undercut his effort to sound professorial.

     Jack shook his head in bewildered disagreement.  "You're saying I have to give up my sex life just to pass a stupid class?  Man, with advice like that it's no wonder I'm your eighth roommate in less than six years."

     Ken sighed, "Oh, you youngsters... I never said you had to give up Sherry.  You just have to find a way to recharge your batteries, and keep your brain from focusing so much on the ugly mechanics of writing.  Now I happen to know of an approach that might work, if you're really interested.  But it would require you giving up one of your precious weekends with that lithe sex goddess."

     "Hell," Jack responded, "if you can guarantee me getting through this class I'd even set you up with Sherry for the weekend."

     Ken chuckled.  "Don't go writing any checks you don't want to cash..."

     *** *** ***

     A couple of days later, Jack was kicking back in the student commons, sipping at his beer and watching the Cubs, when a woman came up to him.  "Hi," she said breathlessly, "You're Jack Falken, aren't you?  I'm your new tutor, Christine, Christine Keeler, but everyone just calls me Chris."

     Jack looked up without anything clicking other than his hormones.  She was tall, brunette, with a nicely-filled midriff-baring blouse over low-slung denim jeans.  Intelligent, too, as she apparently recognized the blank look in his eyes and continued without waiting for him to respond.  "Your application to the creative energy weekend seminar was conditionally accepted, and I'm to be your initial tutor, at least until you've gotten through the orientation and have your feet firmly on the ground."

     "Conditional?"  Jack didn't remember anything about a seminar, unless this was the thing Ken had been talking about.  And he wasn't sure about that word "conditional".  Meanwhile, Chris was bubbling along at full speed.  "Anyway, I need to do an in-person assessment of your suitability to our program and your willingness to work.  Can you arrange to meet me for dinner tonight or tomorrow night?"

     She paused, which gave Jack a chance to try and catch his breath.  All this was going too fast, but after all, he did have to pass that class, and for a tutor she was certainly easy on the eyes.  He was supposed to go out to the movies with Sherry this coming weekend, but she probably wouldn't be upset over one cancellation.

     *** *** ***

     They met the next evening at a dark little Italian restaurant not far from the campus.  Jack put more effort than usual into his appearance, which made him slightly late getting to dinner.  Chris was already seated, and he hid his disappointment at finding her in a simple and demure blue dress.  Their dinner conversation touched on his career goals, classes, extracurricular interests, and why he thought he had difficulty writing.  Several times during dinner Jack tried to find out more about Chris, but each time she deftly turned the inquiry back to him.  As Jack was finishing the last of his veal, he commented that he didn't seem to have problems in his other classes, subjects like accounting, history and pre-law.  It was only in the "creative" writing tasks that he ran into a blank wall.  That brought a smile to Chris's face.  "That's quite good," she said encouragingly, "when you recognize that yourself it usually means we can unlock your creative juices -- with some hard work and a bit of a mental realignment."

     Chris put her napkin down and rose gracefully from her chair.  "Let's skip dessert, shall we?  I think you're going to be a good candidate for the seminar, and I've got all the paperwork back at my place.  I've got to run to the little girl's room -- when I get back, why don't you just follow me and we'll get you all set for the weekend."    She brushed his arm as she rose; her fingers felt cool against his wrist, and he felt an odd thrill run up his arm.  Jack flagged the waiter for the check, and by the time Chris came back to the table he was ready to leave.

     Outside in the parking lot, Jack discovered that her dress was by no means as demure as it had appeared with her seated.  The skirt hung teasingly well above the knee, and he almost tripped over the curb for not watching his own step.  She drove a sleek-looking Lexus, and he followed her into an unfamiliar and disreputable part of town.  The neighborhood gave Jack had some concerns about safety, as well as being able to find his way back.  But when he locked his car and followed her into her apartment his concerns vanished.  The apartment was upscale and classy, and Chris pointed him to the couch and coffee table while she went to get something for them to drink.

     Jack sat down and started to look at the densely filled papers, distracted momentarily by the sight of Chris's long legs as she headed for the kitchen.  She returned with two glasses, and they toasted to education, then to writing, then to creative energy.  Chris sat next to him on the couch, her leg pressed against his, and helped him wade through the legalese in the first stack of papers.  Another round of drinks, and this time when she sat down her skirt rode up to show a tantalizing glimpse of thighs and shadows.  Another round of papers, an another round of drinks later, Jack was congratulating himself on determining that his tutor wasn't wearing a bra, and he was more focused on trying to figure out whether she was wearing panties than on reading the papers she handed him.

     Finally the last of the papers was signed and countersigned.  "Good boy!" she purred, and hugged Jack tightly.  A flush of warmth suffused his body, and he missed what she said as she stood up.  Her finger caught him under the chin.  "Woolgathering, were we?  I thought we might celebrate our new relationship properly!"  Jack wobbled to his feet, suppressing a yawn, and followed her toward the back reaches of the apartment.

     *** *** ***

     "Well, well, well... the sleeper awakes!"  That was Ken's voice.  Why was he hearing Ken's voice?

     Jack opened his eyes.  He was in his own bed.  He shook his head experimentally; nothing fell out and he didn't have a headache.  Last night's events were just too fuzzy to recall in any detail.  "What time did I get in, anyway," he asked his roommate.

     Ken laughed.  "Four in the morning, my friend, and I had to threaten you with violence to keep you from singing Barry Manilow songs for more than thirty seconds."

     Ken directed Jack's attention to a large manila envelope on the breakfast table, which turned out to hold Jack's instructions for the weekend.  The list was short: meet the group Friday at 4pm by the campus store, bring toiletries, necessary medications, comfortable footwear, loose fitting sweatpants, necessary underwear and three shirts.  He looked a second time, then checked in the envelope as a thought occurred to him.  No, there wasn't anything mentioned about money.  Come to think of it, from what little Jack could recall of the previous evening the topic of payment had never come up.  He asked Ken, who mumbled something about arts groups and literacy grants.

     There was one strange item in the instructions.  Participants were directed to wear clothing designed for comfort, and they specifically barred briefs for men and athletic bras or pantyhose for women.  Jack bristled at the restriction; he liked the way briefs showed off his assets.  Oh well, a little shopping trip wouldn't hurt him.

     Thinking about briefs brought the previous night back to Jack's mind.  His tutor had not, as it turned out, been wearing panties.  A sudden rush of blood into his groin reminded him he needed to call Sherry.   He rearranged his shorts and reached for the phone.  She wasn't terribly put out about his canceling their weekend movie, although she expressed some surprise at his reason.  "A writing seminar? Jack, it's unlike you to be so... studious."  She emphasized the "oo" sound in "studious", holding it long enough for Jack to picture the way her lips were pursed as she giggled and hung up.

     Was Ken staring at him?  He turned around suspiciously, but his roommate was merely sitting in his chair, smiling faintly, headphones over his ears and a thick book opened in his lap.  The lack of sleep, Jack thought, must be playing tricks on him.  Anyway, between the confused images of last night and his conversation with Sherry, he needed a cold shower.

     *** *** ***

     Friday afternoon found Jack standing nervously by the bookstore, his gear in a backpack (including the newly purchased boxer shorts).  By the time 4pm rolled around, there were a half dozen students gathered, two other men and three women, none of them anxious to break the common silence.  At the stroke of four an SUV arrived with Chris driving and an athletic-looking man in the front passenger seat.  She introduced him as Greg, another tutor, and they quickly got everyone into the vehicle with the guys in the back seat and the girls in the middle.  They started off, the radio playing some foreign sounding music mixed with white noise and fading oddly in and out.

     Jack dozed for a good deal of the drive, as did his fellow passengers.  They left the city behind and entered an area with tall trees as the afternoon gave way to dusk.  When the van finally came to a halt, everyone piled out to stretch their legs, and Jack realized he had no idea where they were.  Trees, bushes, an open area with a large grill and several long tables were visible nearby.  At one side was a wooden cabin of recent construction, and the sound of a river echoed in the air.  "Pretty," said one of the girls.  "Pretty bleak" grumbled one of the guys.  Chris and Greg wasted no time in chivvying them into a line outside the wooden cabin for "check-in and team assignment".  There were already a number of people in the line, evidently from the three other vans parked nearby.

     Inside the cabin, when it was Jack's turn, he was greeted by an older couple who introduced themselves as Carl and Maria Weber, "sort of den parents at Camp Get-in-Touch".  They went through his bag, checked his newly-bought boxer shorts, and confiscated his CD player and dress belt, telling him he would get those back at the end of the session.  They also asked him a few questions to corroborate a medical form that he didn't remember filling out.  Finally, both welcomed Jack to the seminar and expressed their hope that he would find the experience insightful and mind-opening.  Carl shook his hand, and Maria gave him a very thorough welcoming hug before they sent him out of the cabin.

     Conversation was scant among the group as they waited for everyone to get through check-in.  What little talk there was revealed that they spanned the range from freshman to senior, and all had coursework problems of one sort or another.  Eventually the last of their group came through the cabin, and Chris and Greg joined them holding clipboards.  Chris spoke up, "Okay gang, I've got Jack, Martha and Tom, and Greg will have Sally, Nate and Shavonne.  My group follow me and we'll get you set up in our cabin."

     The brunette set out into the woods, and Jack and his new cabinmates followed uncertainly while eying each other speculatively.  Martha was a statuesque redhead who radiated confidence and took the walk with long hip-rolling strides.  Jack found himself wondering what she could possibly need from the seminar.  Tom, on the other hand, was a thin bookish type with glasses and looked the type to need help at most everything.  Their cabin, when they arrived, was a low-slung affair with an undecorated wood floor and spare furniture, the only note of comfort being the four large beds, two against opposite walls.  "Where's the bathroom," whined Tom.  Chris waved a hand toward the cabin door.  "Those are outside; you'll get that in the main camp tour and orientation.  We'll go there in a few minutes, but right now just grab a bed and put your things on it."  Tom slunk across to the farthest bed on the right, muttering under his breath about privacy.  Jack took a bed on the left wall to avoid Tom, and Martha took the bed nearest the door, sitting down and bouncing experimentally.  "Nice mattress," was her only comment.  Chris seemed to find the appraisal humorous.  "By the time you get to bed, you'll appreciate it.  Okay, folks, it's a short weekend and you've all got a lot to do.  Let's go!"

     The camp extended much farther than the greeting area promised.  The grounds included a swimming pool, frontage on the river, a well-groomed soccer field, several camp-simple restrooms (which Tom gratefully availed himself of), and a roomy combination meeting hall and covered dining area.  There they found some thirty other students gathered, and everyone found seats while the Webers and the counselors took the front table.

     Carl Weber came to the podium.  "Welcome, folks.  We're glad you could join us for this weekend retreat.  All of you are having problems in focus, one way or another, and we're going to give you some tools to help you accomplish what you want in life.  Or at least in school."  He chuckled at that, and his audience did likewise.

     "You've all had the camp tour and gotten your cabin assignments, so we'll have a hike and some warm-up exercises before dinner.  The Romans had a saying, "mens sana in corpore sano", a sound mind in a sound body, and we adhere to that philosophy here.  During the weekend you'll probably experience a number of activities that are new to you, from breathing exercises to different ways to experience your surroundings.  Pay attention to your counselors, and feel free to ask questions, but remember that this can only work for you if you're prepared to have an open mind and work hard.  Remember, we're all here for the same thing -- to help you be all you can!"

     And with that the meeting was dismissed.  The groups separated in various directions through the woods to the various clearings scattered around the grounds.  Chris quickly rounded up her group, and Greg's group joined them for what turned into a strenuous five-mile hike through the woods.  Even Martha looked winded by the time they returned to the camp.  They followed their leaders to the meeting hall, where dinner was already waiting.  The food was spare but tasty, heavy on the vegetables and fiber, surprisingly filling, and apparently the seminar was to be meat-free.

     After dinner the groups retired to their various cabins.  Chris gave them all ten minutes to bask in the after-effects of their meal, and then had the three cabinmates sit on the floor in the middle of the cabin.  "This is an introduction to meditation," she told them as she slid a CD into a small stereo.  Muted sounds of sitar and tabla echoed in the room.  Chris circled around and between them, slipping a soft blindfold around each student's head.  Jack smiled as she put his on; he could tell she was wearing that same perfume from when he had met her over dinner.  The next half hour was a somewhat fuzzy lesson in floating, focusing, hearing the music and not hearing the music.  "Meditation," Chris said at one point, "is about focusing and losing focus simultaneously.  It's like the old joke about being told not to think about an elephant.  The only way to succeed is to allow the elephant into you so that you can get past it."  At least half of this was gobbledygook to Jack, but he was trying to keep an open mind.

     "I'm going to give each of you a focus phrase now.  The next time you do meditation practice, I want you to repeat your phrase until the words lose their meaning and just surround you with sound.  Tom, you're 'Scent of Green Papaya'.  Martha, you're 'Sliding on Silk'.  Jack, you're 'Hot Apple Pie'.  Now I want each of you to repeat your phrase, and keep on until you forget I'm here."

     This, thought Jack, is just plain silly.  Still and all, he went along with the gag, and a strange thing happened.  First, he did forget about Chris and the other students; it began to seem as if he were alone, floating in the universe, a babble of meaningless syllables echoing in his head.  Then, as sudden and sharp as a flashbulb, he saw meaning everywhere.  He could picture the Earth and planets orbiting the Sun.  He saw the beauty in the whorls of his fingerprints.  He understood women.  The tax code made sense... well, almost.  He felt a touch on the back of his neck, and sensed a familiar perfume.  Somehow, he realized, Chris knew that he'd gotten it.  He felt oddly proud at the accomplishment, as a student praised by his teacher.

     After a time, Chris went around the room removing the blindfolds.  Jack and the other two each stood up and shook their heads to regain their bearings.  A low gong sounded in the camp, and Chris nodded her head.  "Time to get ready for bed; we've got lights-out and one last exercise, then you'll be up early in the morning!"  Somewhat subdued by their own individual experiences, the three roommates quietly went through their things, hiked to the restroom facility for tooth brushing and other needs, and returned to the cabin.  Tom had taken his pajamas and changed in the restroom since there wasn't any private area in the cabin.  Jack, on the other hand, planned to sleep in his sweatpants and shower in the morning.

     And then there was Martha.  She stood up by her bed and turned her back to the others, then smoothly pulled off her t-shirt showing a broad expanse of evenly tanned bra-less backside.  Bending over the bed, she slid her panties down her long legs and waited just long enough to make it obvious that she knew everyone was looking at her before pulling a thin nightgown over her head.  Jack clucked his tongue admiringly then rolled over and was asleep by the time his head hit the pillow.

     Somewhere in the middle of the night, or at least so it seemed, something cold and wet woke Jack by running along his spine.  "Ice cube?" he grumbled in the dark.  "Good boy," came the melodic sound of Chris's voice, "let's see how we're all doing!"  A moment later, Jack heard Tom whine "Ow... emery board? And why on my ear?"  There was silence for a long while.  Suddenly a piercing shriek tore through the cabin from the direction of Martha's bed.  Chris could be heard in the echoes, quietly commenting "Yes, but what did it *feel* like?"  Martha's response was low, intense, and unintelligible to the two men.

     Chris continued to make the rounds of the room with odd items pressed to unexpected places, occasioning puzzlement from Jack and at least one embarrassed squeal from Tom.  Finally, she pronounced herself satisfied with the results and told them to go back to sleep.

     Jack slept, but not well.  His dreams were mostly unformed and unsettling.  The cabin seemed too warm, even after he finally gave in to necessity and stripped down to bare skin on the sheets.  Images of apple pies floated in his head, and the sensation of riding a horse.  Toward morning, though, things took a turn for the better.  He found himself in a glade near the camp, and Chris was sitting next to him.  She moved into his arms, his head spinning with her perfume.  Holding his head with both hands, she kissed him deeply; her tongue seemed impossibly long, teasing along the roof of his mouth and pressing against the back of his throat.  Meanwhile her fingers were dancing along the back of his neck, little pleasurable jolts of electricity hopping down his spine and centering in his groin.  Then suddenly she was no longer in his lap, but sitting behind him with her legs wrapped around his and her nipples hard little points in his back.  Her fingernails were teasing his own rudimentary nipples; he wanted to move but her legs held his down.  Someone gave him a glass of milk, and he drank as fast as he could but it still spilled, running down his chest...

     *** *** ***

     Morning came far too soon.  Jack's nose was stuffy, and he had a horrid case of morning mouth, complete with thick tongue.  The outdoor air didn't seem to be agreeing with him.  Worse, when he got out of bed his gut gave one premonitory twinge and he realized he desperately needed to get to the bathroom.  He streaked for the cabin door, forgetting his lack of clothes, and made barefoot tracks through the dew-covered grass until he got to the facility.  He said a silent prayer of thanks at finding it vacant, and took only enough time to lock the door behind him before leaping the last few feet to the toilet.

     About ten minutes later, he pressed the flush lever one last time and staggered to the sink to wash his haggard face.  Something at dinner must have violently disagreed with him.  Worse, his bottom was throbbing; the attack must have triggered a case of hemorrhoids.  Just what he needed to start the day.

     After he cleaned up the bathroom, he walked, bowlegged and suddenly aware of his nudity, back to the cabin.  The other students were gone to breakfast, but Chris was still there.  She took a look at his face and asked with concern, "Jack, what happened?"  Despite his embarrassment he gave her the whole story.  With a no-nonsense tone in her voice, she gave him directions to see the nurse.  "And don't worry, I'll let your morning session instructor know you'll be a bit late."

     Jack put on a clean pair of boxers and sweat pants, and headed across the campsite.

     The nurse turned out to be Maria, the woman who ran the campsite with her husband.  She listened to Jack with a soothing and sympathetic manner, and then asked him politely to bend over the exam table and drop his pants.  He did so, with the usual unsettled feeling a man has when hearing the snap of latex gloves behind him.  Her touch was surprisingly delicate as she applied a cream to the irritated area.  Next she put a cool hand in the middle of his back, murmured "please stay as still as possible," and slid a finger fully inside him.  Jack quickly developed an erection.  Every time Maria moved her finger, Jack felt another pulse of blood run through his swollen cock.  The examination continued until he finally had to close his eyes and surrender to the inevitable; his ass bit down tightly on Maria's finger as his balls spasmed and squirted their sticky load between his belly and the table. He could feel his face flush hot with embarrassment, but Maria merely waited for his bottom to unclench before continuing.

     Finally, she withdrew her finger and Jack heard the telltale 'snick' of the latex glove popping off her hand.  "That must have been a bad one this morning," she said with some empathy, "You need to put this ointment on three times a day for a couple of days and you'll be fine.  I'll get you started."   Jack felt her slide the glob of cream between his cheeks and work it inside the tight ring of his sphincter.  It burned a little, but that passed quickly and turned into a more general warmth, hard to ignore but not unpleasant.

     He stood there, getting used to the sensation, as Maria went to the washbasin to clean herself up, then returned and handed Jack a damp washcloth and the tube of ointment.  "I'm sure you'd like a little privacy to clean up," she said, smiling.  Jack nodded thankfully, waiting until the door was closed to stand up and clean the drying semen off his stomach and cock.  He got dressed, took the ointment, and went quickly out of the exam room and back to camp.

     *** *** ***

     His morning class was yoga and aerobics, and he found the group stretching in a dell near the river.  In the absence of formal exercise clothes, everyone had stripped down to either underwear or nothing at all.  Jack joined them in a series of deep knee bends; he was distracted by the effect those had on his medicated bottom until he got into the spirit of the workout.  After a while he had worked up a sweat to match his fellow students, and the instructor led them to the river for floating exercises.  This consisted of floating on your back and trying to stay in one place relative to the riverbank using the least amount of energy.  Jack found it surprisingly easy.  In fact, he almost fell asleep twice during the practice.

     Next on the schedule was lunch.  Jack would have liked a shower first, but the instructor had thoughtfully brought towels so nobody had to get their clothes wet.  In the dining area, Jack decided to take the prudent course and restrict himself to soup.  Conversation today was much quieter than it had been the previous evening.  Everyone seemed to be only halfway attentive to the meal, as if their attention was distracted by something inside that only they could see.

     The afternoon class was creative imagery in another meadow.  The students were mixed from different cabins, and his partners in this exercise were a thin blonde named Becky, an athletic-looking Hispanic who answered to Orlando, and a well-padded redhead who called herself "Jade, as in Jewelry".  Carl, the camp's den father, was their instructor and he quickly got the session under way.

     "I want you all to sit or lie down comfortably, and cover your eyes with these handkerchiefs," he explained, "then we'll do some free association."  Jack folded his legs Indian-fashion while the others found their own preferred position.  When all of them were ready, Carl called out "Fruit!"  Becky came up with "Pineapple", Jack said "Banana" for no particular reason, and Orlando added "Melons".  Jack looked from Orlando to Jade, and decided the other guy's mind wasn't completely on the task at hand.  Jade's response was "Mango", and next Carl prompted with "Vegetable" which drew suggestions of Broccoli, Cucumber, Carrot and Squash.  Several more exchanges in this mode followed, leaving Jack completely bemused as to what they could be accomplishing.

     After what seemed like a short time, but turned out to be nearly an hour, Carl pronounced himself satisfied and sent the students off for a quick break.  Jack took the opportunity to apply the second dose of the ointment that Maria had given him.  He shifted his feet restlessly as the cream sent the same burst of heat through his insides, then went off to continue his day.  The last afternoon session was led by Chris, who led Jack and a dozen others hiking through the camp and into the woods, finally arriving in a softly grass-cushioned bower.  "Sensory awareness," she said as everyone got comfortable, "is about feeling, not about intellect.  Everyone please remove your clothes and find a place to lie down.  Don't worry," she chuckled seeing some anxious looks, "we run a bug-free campsite here."

     There was a rush of bustling activity, collisions and apologies until everybody got settled.  "Feel the grass beneath you, not just as a carpet, but as individual blades, each with its own edge against your skin.  Find the places where the ground still has the damp coolness of dew.  Let your arms and hands float by your side; let your mind relax while the sensations come in."

     Jack was having a hard time following the instructions.  For one thing, his head was on a hard spot in the ground.  For another, despite what Chris had said he was sure he felt something crawling up his balls.  He wriggled to try and dislodge whatever it was, but succeeded only in moving himself so that his asscheeks were snuggled up against a tree root.  He didn't want to be the only one complaining, though, so he did his best to relax.  The afternoon sun and breeze were certainly comforting, and after a bit he found that he could indeed pick out individual blades of grass against his back and legs.  He could even tell which of his chest hairs was being stirred by the wind.  His eyes lidded over, and he let the warmth of the sun cover him like a blanket.  Stray puffs of air played tag from his head to his toes, and back up between his legs.  The grass beneath him shifted and twitched like a living rug.

     The next thing he knew, Chris was chucking him under the chin.  "Hey there," she said smiling, "I don't think sleeping qualifies as awareness!"  Jack looked around and saw the other students already up, around and mostly dressed.  He blushed and pulled himself quickly to his feet as the group got ready to head back to main camp for the evening.  Chris explained that they'd have a bit of time to clean up before dinner, and that after dinner there would be a full camp meeting for demonstrations and awards.

     As the group hiked back, Jack wondered what kind of awards could be given out.  He hadn't seen anything in his classes that resembled a test.  He eventually gave it up as a waste of energy, and joined in the lines for the cleanup facilities.

     Dinner was -- no surprise -- pasta and vegetables.  Jack wondered if there was supposed to be a connection between avoiding meat and being creative.  After the meal, Carl and Maria gave a brief speech about the weekend being successful and reminded the cabin leaders that the recognition ceremony would start promptly in an hour.  When they got back to the cabin, Jack was tired and took a quick nap.  His other cabin companions likewise seemed to want to reserve their energy.  Only Chris seemed excited, watching them with an "I know a secret" look on her face.

     *** *** ***

     The haunting, bone-chilling sound of an oboe playing an Eastern melody floated through the air.  Chris gathered up her charges and accompanied them through the dusky twilight across the campgrounds to an open-air amphitheatre.  Jack and the others took up places on the hillside and waited to see what the big build-up was about, while Chris headed elsewhere.  Down at the base of the hill was a small table with two chairs, some papers and trophies, a pitcher of water, a basket of fruit, a boom box, a standing microphone, a video camera, and an upright wooden frame resembling a reinforced doorframe.

     There wasn't much time to wonder about that, however, as Carl and Maria entered the field of view, followed by Chris, Greg and the other cabin leaders.  They were all wearing something like academic gowns, and would have fit in well at a college ceremony.  Carl stepped to the microphone and began the proceedings, thanking everyone for their hard work and participation.  After that, Maria took the stage and flipped a switch on the boom box.  As the odd melodies echoed off the surrounding trees, she announced recognition of seminar participants for such obviously gag prizes as most return visits to the salad bar, fastest 100-meter sprint to the restroom (Jack was very glad not to find himself the winner there), and longest time balancing on one foot.

     After the "winners" had come down, claimed their certificates, and headed back up the hill, Carl once again took over the mike.  "Every time we run this seminar, some of our attendees surprise both us and themselves by demonstrating great talents in a few specialized areas.  You were all accepted here with two things in mind; what we could do for you, and what you could do for others.  We're all very proud that three of you have earned the unanimous recognition of our teaching staff for outstanding achievement in both areas of focus.  Would someone escort Orlando out here?"

     At this point the Hispanic from Jack's free association exercise came out, accompanied by a petite counselor from one of the other cabins, both of them in the academic gowns.  As the music played, the counselor unzipped the front of her gown showing that she was nude beneath.  She turned to Orlando and stood between him and the audience to remove his gown, then stepped aside.  A soft gasp came from the gathered crowd.  Orlando's body had been oiled until it gleamed in the soft lights, and he sported a massive cock in full rampant erection.  A few of the observers whistled in appreciation.  The counselor ran her hand under his balls and up the shaft; her hand could barely wrap around the head.

     Maria pulled a chair up, and she and the counselor guided Orlando into the chair with his legs spread on either side.  With barely a trace of hesitance, the counselor climbed up into his lap.  Orlando held his cock in place while the other girl positioned herself, and finally, she began inching downward.  The music faded, and for moments the only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the audible panting of the counselor.

     Finally, and not without murmurs of disbelief from the audience, the small woman was fully impaled, her bottom resting between the bigger man's legs.  With unexpected grace, Orlando now stood up, his passenger wrapping her legs around his back as she held onto him.  Standing in front of the audience, he sank quickly to his knees, drawing a muffled squeak from his passenger, then rose back up.  He repeated the calisthenics, each time with more alacrity, as his passenger writhed against him and bucked up and down.  Finally she shrieked out in erotic ecstasy and dug her nails across his back leaving long red trails.  As she did so, Orlando stood up straight and tall, and the muscles of his legs went taut and starkly outlined.  His ass clenched visibly, and the girl atop him gave out one last choked gasp before collapsing limply in his arms.

     Maria and the other counselor came out again, and each held the still-shaking girl by shoulder and hip, sliding her off the big man as his cock popped free, shining with their mingled juices and only half-soft.  There was some soft applause and a few whistles from the audience.

     As the first group left the center area, Greg from the other cabin led a nude and blindfolded Martha into view.  Jack blinked twice; the change in Martha from the woman who had blithely shown off her nude body in his cabin was striking.  This Martha's body had been oiled in the same way that Orlando's had, and showed in its entire ripe splendor from the strong calf muscles to the proudly erect nipples.  Greg fastened her wrists to cuffs at the upper corners of the doorframe, and her ankles to matching ones at the base.

     As Greg left, another counselor came out from the shadows.  This woman was dressed in the academic gown, and carried a small bag with her.  She reached out to pinch one brown-tipped nipple, drawing a long sigh from Martha.  Smiling, the woman began pinching Martha's nipples and rolling the ball of her thumb against them.  Martha responded by arching her back and pressing her breasts forward to the teasing hands.

     The other woman stepped back, drawing a pout from her bound target, and knelt to pull a small nine-tailed cat from her bag.  She moved around behind Martha, and all watching were able to tell when the little implement made its first impact.  Martha's mouth opened wide, but no sound came forth. For some minutes, the woman alternately stroked and whipped the leather implement across Martha's backside as Martha's face showed both the anticipation and the impact.

     Finally, the woman dropped the cat and stood behind Martha, sliding her arms around the hanging girl on either side.  She moved her hands sinuously down across bare belly to the girl's inner thighs, pulling her legs apart as a spotlight came into focus.  Martha's pudenda were obscenely swollen, dark red, visibly dripping.  The woman waved a hand and two of the counselors came over to release Martha from the frame.  They laid her down, feet toward the audience, legs splayed widely.  The woman squatted over Martha's face and lowered herself down slowly, balancing on one hand while her other hand pinched and tugged at Martha's nipples.

     The air of quiet intensity in the audience was palpable.  All eyes were on the two women, one rubbing her cunt hard against the other's face, the other lying spread-eagled, hips hunching fervently upward into empty air.  The woman on Martha's face came, crying out into the night as her body stiffened.  When her eyes opened again, she dramatically licked her index finger, reached outward, and flicked Martha's clit just once.  The reaction was explosive; Martha nearly threw the other woman off her face as she bucked and writhed in the throes of a massive orgasm.

     Eventually Martha collapsed, limp and sweat-slick, and the other counselors came from either side to assist her out of sight.

     Now, Carl and Maria took center stage again to announce the presentation of the session's special recognition, the camper who made the most unexpected progress.  Heads in the audience could be seen turning this way and that, wondering who this unknown person was.  Jack had the same thought, when Chris showed up and took him by the hand.  Shocked, Jack followed her without hesitation.  She led him silently down through the audience to the center of the glade, and stripped him of his clothing, all the time stroking his shoulders and settling him as she would a nervous filly.  "Close your eyes, Jack, and float with me..."

     His eyes closed, then opened again unfocused.  His muscles relaxed, and he stood calmly as the unknowing center of attention.  "Feel the Earth Mother enter into you," Chris prompted, and his cock jerked by steps to its full glory.  Her scent surrounded him, and in his mind he was back in those hazy dreams.  Chris spoke, her words taking on the singsong quality of ritual, and her hand slipped down between his bottom cheeks.  The rush of blood to his phallus made his knees half-buckle, so that Chris and another counselor had to help him stand upright.

     As they held him in place, Carl joined them and with quiet dignity slipped his robe from his shoulders.  For a man his age, he was in excellent shape.  Carl lay down on the ground between Jack's feet, and Chris and the other counselor held the dazed man by the arms and sides easing him downward until he made contact with the older man's upright cock.

     Jack felt the touch at his bottom, and he spread his legs in an unconscious but well-trained reaction, his anus widening and snapping against the entering tip.  Jack hunched down, his mouth gaping open, and worked his way further by fractions of an inch, bobbing and twisting like an Indian fakir until he was seated in the older man's lap, his bottom filled and his breath coming in quick panting gasps.

     Jack's mind floated in an erotic haze, Chris's perfume still deep in his mind, the feel of her finger exploring his bottom as he parted his legs further.  A warm breath passed over his lips, and once more he was in the lust-fevered dream as that long erotic kiss pinned him in place, her tongue probing the reaches of his palate...

     The watching audience could not know that Jack was yearning for his lover's tongue; what they saw was Orlando, his cock still gleaming from his earlier encounter, placing the tip at Jack's lips.  Jack reached lovingly around the Hispanic man's upper legs to caress the other man's ass, pulling his cock inside Jack's mouth.  Jack's body moved in a hundred different directions, and the two other men followed his lead in a dance with only one possible conclusion, a mutual explosion from above and below, matched by the thick slow spurting of semen from Jack's untouched cock as the audience burst into spontaneous applause.

     Maria, Chris and a few other counselors joined the three men on the stage as the audience left by ones, twos and threes to their cabins.  In only a brief time, the glade was once again empty save for the indentations in the grass and a musky scent permeating the air.

     *** *** ***

     Jack was in the glade again, only he knew now that he was dreaming.  Still, it was a pleasant dream and he had no desire to wake up.  He was swimming, and the water around him was alive.  It kissed his skin as he moved through it, it grabbed and dragged at his cock, it suckled at his toes.

     Chris's perfume washed over him, and he felt her cool hands once again slide down his back and into the space between his rear cheeks.  Her fingers applied cream to his stretched hole, and he lifted his ass up to spread his knees automatically.  A puff of warm breath teased the proffered entrance, but his instructor had other activities in mind.  She cupped his rapidly filling shaft in her hand, and helped him turn over onto his back.  As Jack lay there, half awake and half in the erotic dream that had consumed him, Chris straddled his hips and slid onto his cock then rode him slowly for what seemed like an hour.  Eventually they both came, and she collapsed on top of him with her full breasts bouncing against his chest.

     *** *** ***

     Sunday morning started with the shrill trumpet sound of Reveille echoing through the camp.  Chris zipped through the cabin slapping the tired students on their respective rumps.  "Time to get up, kids.  Polar bear swim, then we hit the running path!"  Thankfully she was only kidding about the morning swim, but five minutes later they were joining the other campers in a 20-minute jog around the camp, beside the river, and finally to the meal hall.

     Jack was still tired; he'd been too sleepy last night to remember much of the recognition ceremony, and he still seemed to have cobwebs across his brain.  The morning exercise helped a lot.  Jack looked around as he munched on his pancakes, and noticed that the hall seemed less crowded than the previous day.  He looked more carefully, and sure enough there were fewer people than he remembered.  For one, his cabinmate Martha wasn't there.  Before he could give the matter much thought, though, Carl ascended to the podium for a going-away speech.  Certificates of attendance, duly marked as "suitable for framing", were handed out, and in short order the stragglers finished their food and were chivvied off to their cabins for pack-up and checkout.

     As Jack waited in line for the van to take him back to school, he kept having the oddest sensation that people were looking at him.  Yet whenever he turned around, everyone was engaged in normal conversation.  He shook his head; anxiety about his writing class must be creeping back in.  Shortly afterward, Chris and Greg drove up and took their passengers back on the road.  Just as on the way out, the odd music was playing on the stereo, and Jack took the opportunity to catch up on his sleep.  For some reason he felt dog-tired this morning.

     When he finally got back to his own room, ensconced in familiar surroundings, Jack booted his computer and took a shot at the writing assignment.  To his great surprise, he zipped through it in no time and with hardly any effort.  Three pages later, he had a printout that was undoubtedly the best writing of his college career.  He whistled softly, and decided to give Sherry a call to celebrate.  Before he could do that, though, the back bedroom door opened and Ken came out.  "Hey, roomie," he boomed out, "how did the weekend go?"  Jack couldn't restrain himself; he showed Ken the printout and gushed about how amazing the weekend was.  "And the oddest thing is that I would have sworn all weekend that we weren't doing anything to help my writing.  I tell you, Ken, I owe you a big one for this!"

     Ken's response was a muted chuckle, and the enigmatic comment, "I think I've already been paid."  He reached out and stroked a spot behind Jack's left ear, and whispered something only half-intelligible.  The change in Jack was both sudden and subtle; his face became more placid, his nostrils flared and his breathing deepened.  Ken smiled, and this time it was the smile of the predator.  He unbuckled his belt and slid his pants and briefs to the floor.  "Here you go, Jack, do your thing!"  Jack smiled like a baby looking at candy, and massaged Ken's balls and rising cock.  Pursing his lips, he moved his face forward smoothly to take Ken's length easily while his free hand worked its way between Ken's asscheeks.  It was only a few minutes before Ken pumped a load into Jack's willing mouth, filling it until thick strands leaked out one corner and down onto Jack's knee.

     The sound of slow applause broke the subsequent tableau.  "Damn," said Sherry, "I swear the boy's a natural."  Ken grinned at her nude form, his cock popping free from Jack's mouth.  Sherry had obviously been masturbating furiously while watching the two men; her vulva was swollen and dark red, and her nipples were standing out like firm erasers.  "He's good, all right," Ken agreed, "would you like to try out the other end?"

     "No thanks," Sherry said as she closed the distance between them.  "I'm sure he's trained as well as your other roommates ended up.  Right now I need cock and I need it bad, so you'd better not have given him everything!"  She paused, and turned toward Jack who was kneeling quietly in the middle of the room, his eyes unfocused.  "Go do your homework, sweet Jack, and we'll talk about your trip later."  Sherry grabbed Ken by his cock and practically dragged him back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind them.

     The sound seemed to rouse Jack, who got up from the floor as if nothing untoward had happened.  He went over to his computer and started writing.  The sounds from the back bedroom percolated through to him, and he paused to reflect on what a lucky guy he was.  It sounded like Ken was finally getting lucky too.  Maybe he would set his roommate up with Sherry; that would be a nice thing to do, kind of like paying Ken back for helping Jack pass his writing course.

     Life was good.

/ END /


Her Birthday

Keys: [file:hbdy] [date:2002-10-22] [words:1200] [codes:FF(M)]

Abstract: A woman gets a very surprising birthday party from her colleague

Her Birthday

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2002, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     She sips her tepid coffee and reads the newspaper, trying to decide what to do after the bills are paid and some sort of dinner is prepared.  The house echoes heavily with memories of past birthdays, some bright, some dark, all sharing the presence of other people.  Making a face, she takes a marking pen and circles a movie as the best alternative to a solo evening of television or mingling with anonymous strangers at a bar.

     As she sits up and sighs, the quiet is broken by the abrupt ringing of the telephone.  The voice at the other end is familiar, one of her office colleagues, a friend if not a close friend, for she has not allowed herself the danger of close friends since he left.

     "What are you doing tonight?"  Her normally attractive face creases into a frown, the question an unwanted reminder of the malaise and anomie assailing her.  "I was going to catch that new Adam Sandler movie..." she begins, but her colleague dismisses her plans with unexpected enthusiasm.  "Oh forget *that*, there's always a new Adam Sandler movie.  I'm having a little get-together tonight, and you simply *must* come!"

     The phrase "simply must", echoing as it does the image of blonde debutantes and Junior League members, would normally elicit a polite but firm dismissal.  On the other hand, there *is* always another Adam Sandler movie, and the tone of excitement in the other woman's voice is at least intriguing.  Her attempts to clarify the nature of the get-together are politely but effectively sidestepped, and directions are given with a target of eight o'clock.

     She hangs up the phone, wondering briefly at the unexpected gesture of friendship, then shakes off most of her mood and heads to the study to take care of the household finances.

     Dinner, when the time comes, is a diet tray from the frozen food section of the grocery store.  The microwave, she sometimes thinks, is the recluse's best friend.  Once the table is cleared, the question now arises, what to wear?  The simple housedress that suffices during the day indoors is of course out of the question, even had the invitation specified "come as you are."  Lacking any helpful suggestions, she rummages through her closet and puts together a simple ensemble, comfortable pants with a blue-and-purple shaded pattern blouse, one that neither hides nor accentuates her figure.  She checks her watch; yes, on schedule.  A visit to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and she picks up purse and keys for her first outing in quite some time.

     Her destination is a simple ranch-style home in one of the better-off neighborhoods.  She brings her car to a stop a half-block away from the address, idling, a sudden hesitance about dealing with people in a social setting giving her pause.  But an accepted invitation is a social contract, so she puts the gear back into Drive and pulls up to park.   For a moment she wonders where the other guests have parked, then shrugs and opens her door to stretch her legs.  Clicking the car alarm behind her, she walks up the paved stones to the front door, initial hesitance quickly covered with an assumed facade of pleasant anticipation.

     "Marge, I'm so glad you could make it.  Come in, come in!"  Her hostess flutters around her, pointing out a place to lay her purse, asking after her day, all of the niceties of a standard party greeting.   They leave the entryway and move deeper into the house, arriving at a small dining alcove where a birthday cake, a glass of champagne and two crystal glasses sit beneath dimmed lights.

     Unexpected is an inadequate word.

     She could turn and run home.  She briefly wants to cry.  The touch of her colleague's hand on her back urges her forward, helping her sit down at the table.

     "Surprised?  Well, I have a friend in Personnel, and when I found out that it was your birthday, I said to myself, April, you can't let that nice Marge go without someone remembering her."  A knife appears, two slices of the cake are cut, and the champagne is poured, all without disrupting the flow of words.  "Now I do apologize for not having a whole group here, but I'm afraid it's a little difficult to get a group together from our office, you know how everyone has their other commitments."

     She finds a fork in her hand, and automatically inserts it into the cake.  The piece she brings to her mouth tastes of vanilla and amaretto.  April lifts a glass, and so she must also, hearing a cheery "Happy Birthday" toast.  April eats her slice of cake with the grace of a social director, timing her last bite to finish with Marge.  "Now, dear, for your birthday present!"

     Marge finds volition returning to her, as she begins to demur.  "Oh please, April, this was a lovely surprise, but I couldn't possibly..."

     It is as if she has not even spoken.  April takes her hand in a warm but insistent grip and leads her away from the table, through the elegant living room, and down a hall to a room with a closed door.

     The door is opened...

     "Oh.  My.  God."

     The boy -- no, not a boy, but certainly a young man -- on the bed lays nude, hands tied over his head, a pair of stereo headphones covering his ears and a pair of leather pads covering his eyes.  The hair on his head is fair and full, that on his chest is downy, and further down...

     She blushes, staring at his semi-aroused state.  What can she do?  Her legs are shaky, rooted to the spot.  And her body generates its own messages, nipples brushing against her thin bra, a heat building inside.  It's been so long, after all...

     Somewhere outside she half-hears words, like a radio broadcast in bad weather.  "... woman like you needs ... didn't know until my friend told me ... you've been so nice around the office, not like those other ... longest time to find just the right ..."

     A tug at the back of her neck, and the cool air in the room washes over her suddenly warm neck.  Another tug, and the buttons down the back of her blouse give up their attachments.  Hands slide the garment forward over unresisting arms, and those same hands slide the zipper of her slacks down to push it to the floor.  Her mouth gapes, breath echoing loudly inside her head, eyes looking hungrily between the young man's legs, watching the member pulse on his stomach.  A pat on her bare bottom rouses her to step forward, leaving her clothing behind, stopping just a handsbreadth away from the bed.

     "Go ahead," comes the voice at her ear.   "Touch it."

     She reaches out as if in a dream, laying her hand along its length, feeling the heat and the sudden answering growth.  Her tongue peeks out to dab at her lips, and she knows what she wants.

     As the door behind her draws closed, one last comment enters her consciousness.  "And just wait until you see what he can do with his tongue!"

/ END /


Awaiting My Destiny {poem}

Keys: [file:poem] [date:2002-11-24] [words:127] [codes:poem]

Abstract: (none)

Awaiting My Destiny

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2002

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

Behind that door he readies for my oral confession

His implements arrayed in menacing splendor

Sign of his intent to probe past my utmost resistance

In that room are allowed no secrets, no evasions

My past behaviors have left their evidence

The marks hidden from casual acquaintances

But for him my shame will be stripped bare

Laid open to his inspection, his judgment

Until my guilt and penance is pronounced.

Perhaps for me there never was escape

Since first I gave my body up to him

And let him come inside to work his will

And so I sit, and fret, and rue my sins

Of equal weight commission and omission

Until the door swings open to announce:

"The dentist will see you now."

/ END /


Couch Dance

Keys: [file:dnce] [date:2003-05-25] [words:1114] [codes:MF]

Abstract: When a man goes to a "dance partner" club, the action isn't confined to the dance floor

Couch Dance

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2003, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I walked into the topless bar and almost immediately turned around and walked out. Too crowded, too noisy, too smoky... it wasn't going to be worth it just for $10 table dances. On the way back to my hotel a small building caught my eye with the sign "Gentlemen's Dance Partners".  I figured I could spare five minutes to check out the place. When I went in there was a Latina hostess in an enclosed foyer and a sign -- $10 entry, $20 per hour to the house for the ladies' time and a tip of at least that much for the lady. The music from behind the closed door sounded okay, so I handed her a ten and she opened the door.

     Inside on one side was a pool table and some card tables, and a bar with football on the TV. A glitter ball spun slowly over a small parquet dance floor and several couches lined the walls. An open doorway led into a back room. There were two couples slow-grinding under the glitter ball, a couple of guys with a curvy brunette playing pool, and three women on one of the couches chatting.

     I went over to the couch and my eyes lit on a redhead in a well-filled tube top and short skirt. I introduced myself as a first-timer there, and she agreed to help me feel like one of the family. I held out my hand and she pulled herself up out of the couch, tube top jiggling pleasantly, her head coming just up to my height.

     We went to the foyer window and she stamped a time card, then took my hand and led me through the open doorway to the back area where there were small leather couches -- almost loveseats -- with coffee tables and a bit of dance floor near each. The light was dimmer here, and we settled into one of the couches. We did the usual who-are-you and what-do-you-do chatter until the music changed to a danceable Billy Joel number.

     On the dance floor she got a lot more friendly, melting into my arms and resting her head against my shoulder.  When I casually slid my hand down her back past the waistline, she pressed herself against me and traced circles on my lower spine with her fingernails. By the time the music changed, my hand was familiar with the contours of her bottom, my head was filled with the scent of her hair and my body was buzzing with warm fuzzy feelings.

     We settled into the couch and she leaned into me, my arm wrapping naturally around her and settling alongside what felt like a nicely full and resilient breast. Her lips tickled the side of my neck and one of her hands found its way along the inside of my leg. I was enjoying the hell out of this but wondering just how far we could go in what was basically a public space.  The way the couches were arranged, I couldn't actually see the people in them, just the tops of their heads.  Head, singular in one case, and I wondered where that guy's dance partner was until the head leaned back and I saw it to be a woman's face, eyes tightly closed and mouth open in what had to be an expression of passion fulfilled.

     About that time my companion's hand made its way up to my zipper, and I leaned back in the loveseat as she moved her palm back and forth over my bulge.  She moved her lips to my ear, and with an agonizing slowness licked her way around it and into the center.  In a husky voice she mentioned that I seemed a little tense, and she might be persuaded to help out with that.

     "Persuaded?"  My mind wasn't working terribly quickly through the erotic feelings she was raising in me.  I squeezed her breast and let my hand make its way slowly down her side to cup her bottom, my fingers exploring those curves just as her fingernails outlined the swollen contours of my shaft.  "Not that kind of persuasion, sweetie," she said, "I'm a working girl, after all."   A light finally dawned in my head, but not so urgently that I didn't take my sweet time sliding my hand over her entire bottom on its way to my hip pocket where my wallet was ensconced.  Two minutes later, a pair of Andrew Jacksons had changed allegiance and my hand was nicely tucked under her skirt, discovering that she had dispensed with underwear.

     She deftly unfastened my belt and slid my zipper down, then slipped her cool fingers into my briefs.  It was almost a shock to feel the contrast between them and the heat of my cock.  Without observable effort she threaded my cock out into open air, and wrapped her hand around it.  Her thumb was rolling repeatedly over the top, and my brain was being split into a rainbow between that and the way my fingers felt embedded in her own moist channel.  I leaned back in the couch, rocking my head from side to side as my lips moved soundlessly.

     She produced a handkerchief from somewhere, and the next thing I was conscious of was spurting into her cloth-covered hand, her other hand stroking my balls as she urged me to "Be a good boy, give it all to Mamma".  I managed to hold my vocal response down to a soft moan, and her hands moved until I had nothing left to give.

     I was impressed, to say the least.  But I thought my head would explode when the handkerchief disappeared and she ducked her head down to my lap to give my cock a thorough tongue-washing.  The next thing I knew my pants were zipped up and my dance partner was helping me stand up on shaky legs.  We walked back to the foyer window, and she repunched her time card.  Then she turned to me and gave me a sizzling kiss while her hand played lightly between my legs.  When the kiss ended, she smiled at me and said "I hope you come back soon -- you're a wonderful 'dancer'!"  With that she turned and sashayed toward the TV area.

     The same Latina was on duty when I got to the exit window, and she checked the time and quoted me a number.  I paid it, only slightly disturbed by how much this brief afternoon dalliance had cost me.  I was remembering that other area in back, the one where only the woman's head was visible.  In my mind I was already planning for my next visit.

/ END /

Endnote: An original and shorter version of this was posted in the Erotic Stories and Fantasies mailing list; I no longer have that version.


His Funky Valentine

Keys: [file:hval] [date:2003-08-19] [words:1262] [codes:MF]

Abstract: Just because a man's out of town for Valentine's Day doesn't mean he can't get a treat from his wife

His Funky Valentine

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2003, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Sales, thought Jeff, is hell.

     This insight into the universe came to him on the 8:00 night flight to Chicago, a trip which had forced the cancellation of his annual Valentine's Day date with his wife.  With their dual careers, it was hard enough to get time together for a quiet evening, much less a special occasion.  Nancy was lecturing at an academic seminar and had arranged to be back home in time for Valentine's Day especially for him, so he was in a foul mood about leaving town.

       He arrived at the hotel late, and walked into his room to hear the phone ringing.  He picked up the receiver and was surprised to hear his wife's voice.  "How was your flight, darling?"  He settled down on the bed removing his shoes as they chatted in the way of all married couples.  "Have you opened your suitcase yet," she asked.  He hadn't, and Nancy said she'd wait while he did so.  When he looked through it, he found a small manila envelope neatly tucked under his things.  Inside was a pair of small sheer white panties and a velcro circular strap.  Coming back to the phone in puzzlement, he heard his wife's explanation.  "Honey, I didn't want you to feel totally separated from me tomorrow, Valentine's Day and all, so I put those in for you to wear to work."  Jeff's cock pulsed in his pants at the thought.  "That way you'll have me with you all day long...   Go on, smell them!"  He lifted the thin material to his face, and did indeed smell the faint scent of his wife's musk.

     As an afterthought, he asked about the velcro ring.  "Oh, that's something different I was thinking of.  Tell you what, we can talk about it tomorrow after you finish your meetings."  The rest of the phone call was brief, intense, and definitely no substitute for having his wife in his arms.  Afterward, despite masturbating in the bathroom, Jeff still had an erection as he went to sleep.  The thought of walking around with his wife's panties on was just too kinky to put out of his mind.

     The sales meetings the next day were torture.  The panties were far too small for him to wear; he had to position his cock carefully at an angle so it didn't keep popping up out of the waistband.  The feeling of the material along his shaft kept him in a perpetual state of erection, and he had to walk with particular care since two of the key client contacts were women.  Finally, however, the last of the meetings was over and he was riding in a taxi back to the hotel, a signed contract in his briefcase.  He was looking forward to getting into his hotel room and stripping off his clothes; he'd come close twice during the day to coming in his pants.

     The first thing he had to do, though, was check his email.  Along with the double-handful of missives from the office there was a note from Janet.  He opened that first, and found a brief and cryptic note:  "I know what you want, husband dear, but keep your hands off yourself for now.  I decided I want you to put on the cock ring, and wait for my call.  Love, Nancy."

     Letting his office mail wait unread, Jeff hurried to get out of his business clothes.  He stood, briefly admiring the prominent bulge in his wife's panties, then skinned them down and off as well.  His cock bobbed heavily in the air ahead of him as he went to fetch the velcro strap.  It took only moments to secure it tightly around the base of his shaft.  He debated putting the panties back on, but decided that given his excited state that might be just too much to deal with.  He finished dealing with his mail while sitting splay-legged on the chair at the room's working desk, his cock bobbing upward and making it hard to focus on the niggling requests from the office staff.

     The phone rang just as he closed the last of the emails, and he lifted the receiver to hear his wife's voice saying "Happy Valentine's Day, honey!  Did you enjoy my present?"  Jeff told her in great and loving detail about just how much he enjoyed it, including the intricate contortions he had taken at times so his erection wouldn't be completely apparent.  She urged him to tell her every detail, especially about how his cock felt in her panties.  Her voice sounded progressively more husky as he recalled all the ways the silk had teased and tormented him that day.  He reached down as they talked and started to stroke his cock, her voice and their discussion making him need to cum soon.

     Suddenly there was a knock at the door, followed by a voice calling out "Room Service!"   His wife on the phone asked him what the deal was, and he told her in no uncertain terms what he thought about being interrupted when he hadn't ordered anything.  "Of course you didn't order anything, you lovely idiot!  I called it in for you for our Valentine's dinner!  Go throw a robe on, for pete's sake, I'll hold on."

     Grumbling, Jeff made his way to the bathroom to grab the hotel robe, and opened the door a crack.

     Instead of some anonymous hotel employee, the person outside his door was his own wife Nancy, wearing a full length mink coat, diamond earrings, and glossy black heels.  "But you're..."  Words failed him as he looked back at the hotel phone.  Nancy grinned at him, and pulled a cell phone from one pocket of the coat.  "Aren't you going to invite me in, dear?"  Without waiting for an answer, she strode through the door, pulling it shut behind her.  "Lock that, will you?"

     When Jeff finished throwing the bolt, he turned around to see his wife gloriously nude except for her heels, nipples swollen, one hand toying in the short curls atop her mound.  "Get on that bed," she demanded, and he rushed to comply.  She climbed up on the bed and stood over him, one foot on either side of his waist.  He could see her labia gleaming damply, and his cock jerked and pulsed from the need for her.  With little wasted time, Nancy sunk to her knees, grabbing his stiff cock and rubbing the head against her opening, teasing both of them.  With a moan of pure sex, she gripped him by the root and dropped her weight onto him, stopping only when her thighs slapped against his and his cock was totally embedded inside her.  "Oh gawd..." she mewled, and she came almost immediately, her nails raking across his chest as she quivered and clenched down again and again on his cock, the hot flesh kept swollen and thick inside her by the strip of velcro.

     For his part, Jeff was thrusting his hips upward raggedly, trying to get past that barrier holding his balls in check.  Finally, almost as an afterthought, Nancy reached down and pulled the strap loose.  With a hoarse roar, Jeff lifted his wife up off the bed with the force of his arching hips, his balls convulsing as his pent-up explosion filled her to overflowing, their mingled juices running down between his legs to soak the sheets.

     As he sank back into the bed, his wife rested on top of him, still holding his cock inside her, and breathed into his ear, "Happy Valentine's Day, darling!"

/ END /


Mistress Takes Me Shopping

Keys: [file:shop] [date:2003-08-20] [words:1563] [codes:Fm bdsm]

Abstract: A slave is rewarded with a shopping trip... and perhaps more

Mistress Takes Me Shopping

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2003, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "Today, we have shopping to do," Mistress announces gaily.

     Mistress snaps the leash to my collar and leads me to the car, where she opens the door and gestures me in. I slide into the passenger seat and fasten my seat belt as she closes the door. She gets in the driver's side and leans over to kiss me, her tongue exploring the inside of my mouth with both an insistent demand and an implied promise. I ask where we are going and get a finger placed against my lips for my pains.

     Mistress drives.  As is her habit, she tailgates flagrantly. By the time we pull into the parking lot of the supermarket, my right leg aches from mashing down on a nonexistent brake pedal. She opens the door for me, reaches into my lap and tugs the leash to pull me out of the car. Leading me by the leash, she goes into the store and gets a shopping cart. We go to the produce section, attracting occasional outright stares from the customers who notice the leash and collar.

     She gives me a wide grin, and proceeds to check out the fresh produce. She fondles the pears, hefts and shakes the melons experimentally, and throws one at me. I catch it and place it carefully in the shopping cart. She plucks a grape from the case and places it between my lips. I kiss it while she holds it in her fingers, then suck it into my mouth for a snack. In short order she picks out a bunch of bananas, a half pound of mushrooms, three apples and a bunch of asparagus.

     On the next aisle she points out the flour and sugar, both of which are on a lower shelf. As I lean over to get the bags, she runs her hand possessively over the seat of my pants. I hear snickers from somewhere behind me. We get eggs, playtex gloves, A- and C-cell batteries, two mousetraps, and some cleaning supplies. When we go to check out, she reaches into my pocket to get change for the cashier, flexing her fingers suggestively. My blush does not go unnoticed by the cashier, a young-looking girl with dimples who looks at Mistress and winks conspiratorially.

     I take the two paper bags of groceries and follow the tug of the leash as Mistress walks briskly back to the car. After putting the bags on the floor of the back seat, I once again buckle up in front. Mistress drives us to the lingerie store, where she informs me she has a special purchase to make. When we walk in, the clerk barely gives me a second glance. Mistress has me stand by the door while she goes to the clerk, murmuring quietly. She turns to me and snaps her fingers. When I approach, she unclips my leash and tells me to go to the dressing rooms.

     The clerk follows me in and directs me to the podium in front of the triple mirrors. "Drop the pants," she directs. I look frantically for Mistress, but she is not around. I swallow hard and unfasten my pants, sliding them down in a puddle at my feet. According to Mistress' directions, I am wearing a pair of pouch briefs, and between Her ministrations earlier and my position here, my cock is filling the pouch.

     The woman, looking bored, takes out a cloth tape measure and runs it around my waist, jots a number down, then wraps it around my hips, sliding the tape across the front of my pouch and catching it under the head of my cock.  She writes down another number, then holds one end of the tape just under my navel and slides the other end down between my legs and up through the crease of my ass. She holds it there for a few seconds while I try not to squirm too much, then releases it with a curt "You may go."  I'm blushing at my uncontrolled erection, and I hurry to put my pants back on.

     When I get back out into the shop, Mistress is standing by the cash register and I join her there. She re-attaches my leash as the clerk comes out of the rear of the store with a package. "This should suffice" is the clerk's only comment as Mistress pays for the purchase.

     Once again Mistress attacks the city streets, but I behave --  the whiteness of my knuckles is the only evidence of my concern for our safety. Soon enough we pull into Her driveway, and she unclips the leash before unlocking the car doors. She takes the small package, leaving me to follow with the grocery sacks. I put the groceries away in the kitchen, and from another room I hear her remind me that the dishes need doing. I load the dishwasher and start it, hand wash those few items that can't be machine washed, and go to the living room to present myself.

     Mistress is very particular about this part of my routine. I must disrobe leaving only my shirt on, stand in the middle of the living room facing the sofa, clasp my hands behind my back and hold my legs apart in parade rest. Today she walks around me, slapping my stomach to get me to pull it in a bit tighter, clucking at the condition of my shirt where the backsplash from the kitchen sink caught me. "I must get you a proper apron," she mutters. I straighten my carriage, but my mind is distracted by the package now sitting on the sofa. Mistress sees the direction of my gaze and smiles evilly.

     "Display, Pet". I put my hands on my hips and bend my knees outward into a half-crouch. I hold this position as She plays with my equipment, hefting my balls, flicking her thumbnail against the head of my cock, an enigmatic smile crossing her face as I become erect despite my efforts.

     "Stick out your tongue!"

     I open my mouth and extend my tongue. She slides the shaft of her crop along the surface, swabbing the back of my tongue with the tip of the crop. I swallow hard but don't gag. Mistress is proud of my command of my gag reflex and frequently gives me the chance to demonstrate it.

     "Arms Up!"

     I stand up and raise my arms over my head, lacing the backs of my fingers together. She presses the tip of the crop to my lips and I kiss it, lavishing the same care on the damp leather that I would give to her palm or her sole. She slides the crop into my underarm, making me squirm, then *pop*s me with it. She strokes the stinging spot briefly, then rains quick sharp smacks up the inside of that arm and down the other.

     She stops, and I catch my breath. She moves out of my sight, walking quietly behind me and leaving me facing the plain wallpaper. The crop taps my ass, and I reflexively tense up, then force myself to relax. *Splat*   She catches me on the meat of my left buttock, and I wince at the sharp sting.


     "One, thank you ma'am," I respond. *Splat* "Two, thank you ma'am" as she gives my right buttock a matching stroke. She alternates between sides and paints splotches of pain on either side of my rear crease, waiting every time just long enough for me to relax but not for the previous sting to fully fade. Finally, after twenty-five strokes and thank-yous, she stops.

     I stand, arms quivering above my head, my ass cheeks hot and throbbing. A few tears have made their way down my face.

     "You have earned a present," she says quietly from behind me. "Go over to the sofa and open it."

     I walk to the sofa (moving gingerly for my sore bottom) and take up the package, tearing off the paper and tossing it properly in the nearby wastebasket. Opening the box i find a stretchy lace-trimmed sky blue thong.  Her voice comes from behind me, kindly but no less demanding for that, "Go ahead Pet, put on your present."  The thong is quite narrow in front -- so much so that my balls spill out on either side of it.  At the top it curves around slightly to cup and support my shaft, at least all but the cockhead which is exposed above the top edge.  The back strap nestles between my cheeks, pushing them out slightly to catch the soothing flow of room air.  I turn around to face Her, my cheeks hot as I picture what I must look like, this feminine garment clashing with my defiantly protruding male feature.

     She murmurs her approval, and proceeds to blindfold me and lead me to the wall where hooks are mounted up near the ceiling. First one hand then the other are lifted and put into oft-used cuffs before she steps back from me.  Her fingers tap sharply between my legs, and I quickly slide my feet outward even as i feel my cock pulse and press upward a bit more into the open.  "That's a good boy," she remarks, "they will quite enjoy you, I'm sure."

     I listen with sudden trepidation to the fading sound of her heels going into the other room as the doorbell rings...

/ END /


Ad Ostra

Keys: [file:ostr] [date:2003-08-20] [words:2824] [codes:mFm]

Abstract: Spying on his best friend's mom puts a young man in a delicate position

Ad Ostra

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2003, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     My folks both had to go out of town on respective business conferences, and rather than leave me in the house by myself (even though I'm really old enough to manage) they asked me to find someone to stay with.  I thought of Jeb; while he and I aren't exactly best friends, we've kind of knocked around together since getting into high school.  We're both bookish types, and we both like science fiction, so he seemed like a reasonable guy to ask to bunk with for a week.  I talked with him at school, and he checked with his mother later and called to let me know it would be cool.

     Mrs. Ostra, that's Jeb's mom, is nice.  She's maybe in her mid-forties, a little older than my mother, but still attractive in that way some mature women have.  I don't know what happened to Mr. Ostra, Jeb never talks about him and it didn't seem polite for me to ask.  When my folks dropped me off, she came out to meet them and discuss house rules.  She's pretty strict with Jeb -- he has to be in bed by 9, and he doesn't have free run of the internet the way I do at home.  But she said it would be okay for me to go by my parents' rules while I was staying at her house.

     Jeb and his mom have a nice two-story house, with bedrooms up on the second floor either side of a long hallway.  I wound up in Jeb's sister's room since she was off in college.  It was okay, other than being all in pink, and had a nice bay window overlooking the front yard.  There was a study across the hall with a nice collection of biographies and fiction; that's where they kept the computer for the kids to use.  Jeb's room was right next to mine -- I mean his sister's -- and a shared bathroom connected the two.  Way down at the end of the hall was the master bedroom.  His mom made it clear that her end of the hall was off limits but that I had pretty much the run of the house otherwise.

     Outside of not having my folks around, staying with Jeb and his mom was a lot like being at home.  Get up in the morning, have breakfast, brush teeth, off to school after a big hug and pat from Jeb's mom.  Come home, study, eat dinner, watch some TV if the homework is done, and off to bed.  Jeb had to go to bed about an hour before I did, and his mom pretty much left me alone in the evening.  I used their computer, checked in with my IM friends, and did the normal teenage guy stuff.  The weekend was really fun -- his mother took us both out to the baseball game.  Jeb went out Saturday night on a date, but otherwise we were together just like brothers.

     Monday morning Jeb didn't come down for breakfast.  When I asked his mom about it, she told me he was "indisposed" and wouldn't be attending school.  She gave me a note to give to the attendance office, then gave me the usual big morning hug and pat on the bottom, and sent me on my way.  When I got to school though, the staff was sending everybody back home -- a construction crew had sliced open the water main so the bathrooms were out of order.  I shrugged my shoulders, turned around, and came back to the house.  I came in through the back door and got a glass of milk from the kitchen.

     While I was drinking, I heard what sounded like raised voices coming from upstairs.  Curious, I set my glass down and went through the living room to the stairwell.  I couldn't make out the words, but it sounded like Mrs. Ostra was really angry about something.  I didn't mean to pry, but Jeb was like my best friend, so I padded quietly up the stairs to the landing.  At the top I peeked carefully around the corner; the commotion was coming from the master bedroom.  Slipping my shoes off, I tiptoed down the carpeted hall.  When I got to Jeb's room, the door was open and I noticed that his room was empty and the bed looked freshly made.

     I went on more slowly now as I got close to the end of the hall.  The door on the master bedroom was open a crack, and I had to get right up to the opening before I could make out the conversation.  Mrs. Ostra was really ticked off at Jeb, and just because he had a friend staying in the house didn't mean he was allowed to skip his duties.  He was still part of a family, and he was going to meet those responsibilities.  I didn't know what he had forgotten to do, but it must have been something really important.

     That's when I first heard the slapping sound, followed by a low-pitched moan.  I couldn't believe it -- was Jeb's mom still spanking him at his age?  I had to look.  When I edged the door open a hair more, I still couldn't see anything directly but there was a mirror over the vanity at the rear wall which gave me a view of the room.

     Oh.  My.  Gawd...  Jeb's mother was standing in the middle of the room, stark naked, all long strong legs, long auburn hair down to the middle of her back, and a fine full ass (especially for a woman her age).  When she turned around I saw her breasts.  For-real woman's breasts all right, wide and big with dark nipples and all swinging heavily as she swung her hand around and down.  I heard the slapping sound again, but I couldn't see Jeb from my position.  She was alternating heavy-sounding spanks with biting comments that were still not completely clear -- something about his being the man of the house since his dad left, and something else about a girl and protecting the family's property.

     Right then the phone rang, and I almost jumped out of my skin.  Mrs. Ostra turned aside to answer it, and I finally had a glimpse of Jeb.  At least, it had to be Jeb, although all I could see was two legs dangling down off the foot of the bed, and a rock-hard cock sticking up quivering over a pair of baby-smooth balls.  Big ones, too.  I'd seen Jeb in the school showers at PE class, but I'd never really noticed just how big his equipment was.  I stood there with my mouth hanging open until his mother's conversation finally penetrated into my brain.  "Water main?  And you're just now telling me? No, no, I'm sure he'll be getting back home any time now."

     Oh shit!  I was in for it now... I turned and half-tiptoed half-scampered down the hall, swinging around the corner at the landing and almost falling down the stairs in my rush to get back to the kitchen.  I must have set the world's record for fixing a sandwich so it would look like I'd been innocently downstairs all this time, ripping it in half and burying one half in the trash.  I was busily chewing on the rest of the sandwich when she showed up a few minutes later.  She was wearing a suspicious look and a light weight dressing gown that did nothing to hide the curves of her breasts.  I gave her my best innocent face, trying to keep my eyes above her shoulders.  "Hi, Mrs. O, there was a problem at school and they sent us all home.  I guess Jeb won't miss any classes after all."  I indicated my sandwich and continued, "I was hungry so I fixed myself a snack.  I'm sorry, I guess I should have called up to let you know I was back.  How's Jeb doing, by the way?"

     She just stood in the doorway and regarded me, kind of like you'd look at something peculiar on your dinner plate.  I couldn't help thinking about what I'd seen upstairs; I was getting an erection for sure, but at least the table hid it.  Finally, she spoke.  "You know, Jimmy, you look a little flushed.  Are you sure you're all right?  I wouldn't want two boys getting sick on me at the same time."  She crossed the kitchen to where I was sitting, and stood behind me to feel my forehead with her cool palms.  She was leaning against me, and I could feel the pillowy weight of her breasts cradling the back of my head.  "You're sweating, sweetheart!"  I mumbled something about having jogged back from school, but she wasn't buying it.  She went to the pantry and came back with two blue pills in her hand.  "Take these," she said in a tone that brooked no argument.  They were bitter, but the milk washed away most of the taste.  "Finish your snack and get up to bed, young man.  You don't want to miss any more school, and I don't want to have to call your parents to look after you!"

     She left me alone then, and I managed to finish the sandwich.  Thankfully I made it up to my room without running into her.  I did notice that the door to the master bedroom appeared solidly closed now, and Jeb's room was still empty.  I ran into the bathroom to relieve my erection, and after flushing and washing my hands grabbed a math book and flopped down on the bed, trying to figure out what it all meant.  Obviously there was something going on in Jeb's house that he'd never mentioned to me.

     The math was enough to put me back to sleep with one hand still in my pants pocket, and I woke up a bit later only half alert, hearing Mrs. Ostra calling me.  I poked my head out of the bedroom door, and she was standing in the open doorway of the master bedroom, still wearing that clingy nightgown and beckoning me with her index finger.  "Jimmy, would you mind terribly coming down here?  Jeb and I have something to discuss with you."

     The house seemed awfully quiet as I nervously left my bedroom and walked down the hall.  I glanced down as I passed the landing and noticed my shoes, so there was no doubt that Mrs. Ostra knew I'd been spying on them.  My heart sank -- there weren't words in my vocabulary for how deep the shit was that I must be in.  She stood blocking the doorway until I was right in front of her, then put out one hand against my chest and stopped me in my tracks.  I looked up into her piercing green eyes.

     "Now, Jimmy, I know you've been brought up better than this.  And Jeb assures me you're a good friend and an honest boy."  Her voice sharpened.  "At least until now.  So you and I and Jeb are going to come in and have a heart-to-heart talk, just like mature adults do, and we're going to settle some things before you leave this house."

     At that point I think I would rather have had her call my folks and send me home; I suddenly didn't want to go into that room.  But I didn't have a lot of choice, and after all I'd gotten myself into this in the first place.  So when she backed up a step and waved me in, I gulped and walked through the door.

     I stood there in her bedroom, taking everything in, as I heard the snick of the door lock behind me.  Jeb wasn't on the bed any more; he was standing against the wall stark naked with his legs spread and his head turned down toward the floor.  I couldn't help but check him out -- his cock was dangling softly, even so it was bigger than mine.  Kind of a dark reddish color too, which I didn't remember ever noticing in the gym showers.  Mrs. Ostra slid her hands over my shoulders and I felt her breasts against the back of my head again, only I started when I realized I was feeling skin not fabric.  She moved her arms down my chest and held me in place against her while she began to unbutton my shirt.  "Please don't move, Jimmy," she said, "this will take some time to explain and I don't think you're in a position to argue the point."

     Her fingers deftly unfastened and opened my shirt, pulling it out of my waistband and leaving it open as her hands explored my bare chest.  I was listening to her words, but my eyes were focused on Jeb.  He had lifted his head and his eyes seemed to be following his mother's hands on me.  "I know that Jeb hasn't told you much about his father.  The bastard left us when he was only seven, and since then Jeb and I have had to be very close to keep this family together.  There's nothing that I wouldn't do for my son, and there's nothing that he won't do for me."

     One of her hands was splayed across my stomach, and the other was doing strange things with my male nipples.  I was getting an erection in my pants, and I couldn't place the look in Jeb's eyes but it worried me.  The whole scene was strange, for that matter, but I couldn't bring myself to do anything about it.

     His mother went on, as the hand on my stomach slid down toward the front button of my pants.  "Now Jeb's been behaving like a lot of teenagers, and neglecting some of his duties around the house lately -- duties of a personal nature.  He knows what his usual punishment for that sort of thing is," and Jeb swallowed visibly while his cock suddenly jumped, "but with you in the picture I've come up with an idea that might work better for Jeb... and perhaps for all of us."

     My breath caught in my throat as Mrs. Ostra slid down to her knees behind me, dragging her body against mine as she went, and her hands opened and pulled down my pants leaving me in white cotton briefs with my erection tenting out the front.  She continued as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, even as her hands wound their way sinuously up the sides, fronts and insides of my legs making shivery feelings race through my body focused in my groin.

     "Since Jeb doesn't seem to be willing to handle all of the responsibilities around here, I've suggested that he find someone else to cover for him.  He seemed to think you'd be willing to offer your services."

     Her fingertips toyed along my inner thighs where the legbands of my briefs ended.  I couldn't open my mouth to say anything in response, half wishing she'd pull down my briefs and wrap her soft woman's hands around my virgin cock, half wishing I could run and hide somewhere and never come back.  Jeb moved then, walking bow-legged out from the wall toward the two of us, his cock rising more with each step.  Behind me his mother rose and whispered in my ear, "Just say the word, Jimmy, and you can have a second family whenever you want, just so long as you take care of what we need."

     I stood there with my pants around my ankles as my friend Jeb walked up to me and slid his hand down the front of my briefs.  His hand was slippery with something, and he curled his fingers around my erection, fisting it slowly until I had to close my eyes from the sensation.  "Say yes, Jimmy," he said softly.  "Please say yes."

     Somewhere in the back of my mind there was a voice screaming to get out before it was too late, but it was masked by the sensuous haze of the new sensations enveloping me.  I felt my briefs being lowered and soft hands cupping my bottom, moving into that most private area of my person.  When I opened my eyes, Jeb was looking directly into them and I couldn't look away.  His hand worked with intimate knowledge over my desperately aroused cock while his mother stroked and explored me from behind, and I felt the whole world swirling dizzily around me as my legs went all stiff and my balls clenched, so different from when I did myself, and so intense that I couldn't bring myself to ask just what I'd be expected to do, just give myself to the two bodies sandwiching me as my cock spurted into my friend's slick hand and his mother's arms kept me from falling and my lips uttered the single syllable, "yessss..."

/ END /


Strange Companion

Keys: [file:strg] [date:2003-08-26] [words:582] [codes:MF sf]

Abstract: A couple having a lakeside tete-a-tete are observed and encouraged by an out-of-this-world observer

Strange Companion

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2003, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Elena and Marco lay side by side in the late-summer heat, their bodies bare and glistening both from nature's own humidity and their recent efforts in mutual pleasure.  The wind made the lake's waves ripple and their picnic basket sat empty, the various bits of paper wrap and emptied plates as much a testament to sated hunger as their own naked, resting positions.

     Elena squeezed her lover's cock, softened but still a wonderfully firm weight in her hand, and looked at the sky as her heartbeat came down to normal.  "Look at the clouds, Marquito," she cooed.  "Aren't they pretty? Why that one looks just like the state of Florida!"

     Marco tweaked the nearer of Elena's puffy nipples and yawned.  "Then Castro must be trying to retake our friends, because that cloud looks like it's coming right down on top of us!"

     And indeed it was moving down in a most un-cloudlike fashion, until it surrounded the small bower of privacy where the two lovers had come for their time together.  Up close, the stuff felt like soap bubbles; they both giggled at the sensation.

     From somewhere in the middle of the foggy mass, they heard the sound of a door opening.  Two shapes loomed indistinctly approaching them, but strangely they felt no fear.  Their giddy mood became an all-out fit of laughter as the first of the beings came into clear view.

     The best description might be one's well-endowed maiden aunt, if she were in the habit of sunbathing nude and walking around wearing only a paisley waist pouch and a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses.  Elena's mood darkened slightly as she felt Marco's erection throb at sight of the stranger.

     The woman, for that was how they had to think of the alien, stood over the two of them.  A strange lassitude gripped both Marco and Elena, and they could only lay there as the woman peered at them and softly ran her six-fingered hands over their bodies.  With one hand she penetrated Elena, and with the other she impaled Marco, and both hands set up an alien yet intimately familiar rhythm.

     First Elena, then Marco, cried out in passion as their bodies responded to the stimulation.  From the waist pouch, the woman pulled out an uncovered jar and held it to catch Marco's ropy streams, then she drew forth her fingers from inside Elena to carefully wipe their sticky coatings into the same jar.

     The two lovers stared up sightlessly into the fog, lost in their own separate erotic dreams, as the alien covered the jar and leaned over each one, staring at them through the cat-eyed sunglasses for a time before nodding her head.

     A few moments later... or could it have been an hour...

     Elena and Marco lay side by side in the late-summer heat, their bodies bare and glistening both from nature's own humidity and their recent efforts in mutual pleasure.  The wind made the lake's waves ripple and their picnic basket sat empty, the various bits of paper wrap and emptied plates as much a testament to sated hunger as their own naked, resting positions.

     Elena squeezed her lover's cock, finding it not softened from their lovemaking but rather still full, throbbing in her grip, and if anything larger than she remembered it.  She rose and straddled him, looking at his instrument of pleasure.  "Twice in the afternoon? You do the sweetest things for me, mi corazon!"

     Somewhere in the sky, a stray cloud moved outward.

/ END /

Endnote: This story was written for a vanished Yahoo story group that posed a challenge, to write a story or poem using (1) a lakeside picnic, (2) a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses and (3) a cloud shaped like Florida.  Thanks to carnal_syn for the prod of the imagination.


Poem for 9/11

Keys: [file:p911] [date:2003-08-20] [words:73] [codes:poem]

Abstract: (none)

Poem for 9/11

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2003

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

A Thought For This Date

I worked that day; I could do no more.

I worked that day; I could do no less.

I remember that day;

  When it took strangers to remind me

  That a home is more than a place to live

  That a pledge is more than empty words

  That the whole is more than the sum of its parts

The bell tolls; the bell has always tolled.

Today I remember.

May we always remember.

/ END /


Tidal Waves (Flash Story #1)

Keys: [file:wave] [date:2003-09-14] [words:172] [codes:MF]

Abstract: The effects of music on two people closeted together

Tidal Waves

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2003

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "Not here!"

     She giggles, but quietly.  Her nipples under the white blouse are like hard candies, and her hands so active between my legs bely her words.  Then conversation ceases in a flurry of hot kisses, fumbling fingers, sliding clothes.

     The robes behind me slither against my bare bottom; I shiver and pulse in her hand while she rubs me between her thighs.  Her breathing sounds so loud in this confined space.

     Suddenly I'm inside her, and it's right and it's right now; she digs her fingernails into my bottom and devours my mouth with hers.  Her eyes are shut tight as she grinds her hips against me.  I want to hold back like the men in the movies but it can't be done.


     The full-throated bass chord of the organ sounds, its vibrations amplifying our own as two bodies become one in an irresistible tide of passion that leaves us both emptied and fulfilled.

     On the other side of the wall, the congregation begins a hymn of thanksgiving.

/ END /

Endnote: Composed for the 2003 Erotic Postcard Competition at FishTank; not a winner, but see the winning entries at


Star Struck (Flash Story #2)

Keys: [file:star] [date:2003-09-14] [words:297] [codes:FMM]

Abstract: A woman meets a different kind of illegal alien

Star Struck

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2003

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Her dog scratched and whined at the back door, begging to go out into the hot El Paso night.  She grumbled, sliding out from under the silk sheets, and padded barefoot to the kitchen.  When she opened the door she beheld a nude man, glistening as if from the rain -- except there had been no rain in two weeks.  Behind him stood a second glistening Adonis, and behind him what had to be a spaceship.

     "You are the One," the first one said, the capital letter audible even through his odd Mexican accent.  "We commmme in peeece".  He held her with his eyes as his companion joined them, and the three moved by unspoken agreement into the small house as her dog ran to hide.

     Their hands were slick and hot; her skin tingled as they removed her clothes.  When she was fully naked, they stood before and behind her, their erections stirring her blood.  The one behind pressed into her, but she was calmed by the gaze of those strange golden eyes as the odd accent reassured her, "Relax... we commmme in peeece."

     To her surprise there was no pain, only a fullness that grew and tripled when the one in front entered her.  Their blood pulsed in counterpoint to her own heartbeat and she lost herself in the universal rhythms until her legs gave way and she floated in between them supported by their strong hands.

     The two lowered her gently to the floor, stroking their dark-red erections over her until first one then both sets of buttocks clenched.  She realized as the first hot drops hit her breasts how their accent had misled her, but lay passively as they anointed her, silver streams among the gold, repeating that mantra, "we commmme in peessss...".

/ END /

Endnote: Composed for the 2003 Erotic Postcard Competition at FishTank; see the winning entries at


Under the Bell Curve

Keys: [file:bell] [date:2003-09-22] [words:4641] [codes:MF mc]

Abstract: A college student finds out his girlfriend is susceptible to hypnotism; things work both better and worse than he expects

Under the Bell Curve

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2000, 2003, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I was taking Peg to Rita's Roadhouse for dinner.  Peg was my date for about the fourth or fifth time this semester, and we'd had some pretty good times -- movies, concerts, that sort of thing.  She was a chatty and ebullient brunette, and filled out a sweater nicely.  The most adventurous I'd gotten with her was bringing her to the fraternity house for pick-a-pledge night, but that turned out to be a bad call on my part.  Obnoxious frat boy antics weren't her cup of tea, and one of the gang spilled his bourbon punch on her skirt.  (Her roommate, Janine, was even less thrilled -- it was her skirt.  I wound up paying the dry-cleaning bill.)  Still, Peg didn't quit seeing me, and she did give great hug.  Best of all, she wasn't bored when I talked about my classes.  That's a marvel, because usually when I tell people I'm in statistics their eyes glaze over.

     We were waiting at a stoplight and I was lovingly describing the finer points of avoiding alpha and beta errors using two-tail tests.  Peg was doing her best to appear interested when suddenly she stiffened and shivered all over.  I looked at her, concerned, and asked if she was all right.  "Yes," she said, but her voice was colorless, without a hint of her usual animation.  I continued, asking her what just happened, and her answer blew me away:

     "I hear and obey my command phrase, Teacher.  I wait for instruction."

     Command phrase?  This was too weird for words.  I looked around for a TV show camera crew, but all I saw was the guy behind me waiting impatiently for me to move since the light had changed.  I pulled through the intersection and found a convenient place to park.  Then I bit my lip, took a deep breath and tried a question. "Tell me your command phrase, Peg."

     "You told me *high chi-square*, Teacher.  I wait for instruction."

     This was getting weirder and weirder.  I wondered if she was pulling my leg, but she'd never shown any inclination to practical jokes.  I had this sudden flash of the computer at the end of the movie 2001, singing Bicycle Built for Two.  Well, if Peg were really under some kind of hypnotic programming, then she should follow orders.  Like any good scientist, I had to test my hypothesis.

     "Lift your left hand, Margaret."

     It was spooky -- she raised her left hand and held it in the air near the dashboard.  I bit my lip, tossed around the odds -- like I said, I know statistics -- and put my hand on her leg.

     She didn't move -- didn't even blink an eye.  I slid my hand up her leg to the edge of her panties.  Still no response.  I had to take a minute to get my own reactions under control.  I cupped my hand over the front of her panties; her thighs were warm to the touch and I could feel the rustling of pubic hair under the fabric, but Peg didn't do anything.

     Well, in for a nickel, in for a dollar.  I lifted my hand and cupped her breast.  Wow.  It felt soft and heavy, and when I rubbed my thumb over it I could feel her nipple harden.  Peg didn't even blink.

     I yanked my hand back like it was burnt.  Now I was really freaked out.  I told her to lower her hand, and when it was safely in her lap again I did the mental equivalent of howling at the moon while cowering in fright.  Here I was on a public street, with my date sitting obediently just waiting for me to tell her what to do.  It would have been a wet dream come true if I'd had any idea how far the control went, or how to shut it off... or the real kicker, where it had come from in the first place.

     Peg was still sitting quietly next to me.  I decided to try a shot in the dark.  "Margaret," using my most formal voice, "repeat your commands for me."

     "Yes, Teacher," she said in a very subdued un-Peglike voice.  "My master trigger, when You are with me in person, is 'High chi-square'; if You wish to command me over the phone the full trigger is 'Insignificant results cannot have a high chi-square'.  When You wish to release me the clear phrase is 'Normal Curve, Peg'."

     It was summertime, but I was deathly cold in that car.  I'd thought of a couple of possible pitfalls in this.  Not the least was that I was definitely not the "You" who had given Peg these commands in person.  And if she thought I was that "You" then there wouldn't be any way to find out who the real one was.  "And your memory, Margaret?  What happens to your memory when the clear phrase is used?"

     She responded in the same spooky voice, "I remember only what you have told me to remember, Teacher."

     I paused before the next question.  "And you will follow all of my orders, Margaret?"

     I thought I saw her flinch, but it may have been just the flickering of the outside street lights.  "I hear and obey, Teacher.  I am Your good student."

     Whoever had done this seemed to have all of the bases covered.  I didn't believe it.  Not for one minute.  But I couldn't resist the urge to find out.  We were supposed to be going to the Roadhouse, but it was too likely we'd run into someone who knew Peg there.  Instead I drove to a little Italian place on the other side of downtown.  I'd been there before, and remembered the food was reasonably priced and the lighting was conveniently low.  While I drove, I reminded Peg to use her normal tone of voice and asked her if she liked Italian food.  Her response was less than helpful -- "Whatever you serve, Teacher, I will eat."  I could see there were some rough edges on this hypnosis thing.  I hoped one of them didn't reach back and bite my head off.  I instructed Peg that after we were seated at the restaurant she was to go to the restroom, remove her panties and bring them back to me.  Also, as an afterthought, that I could touch her anywhere without complaint.  That seemed like a good test.

     We parked the car and I cleared my throat before saying "Normal Curve, Peg".  She shook her head and looked confused for a second, then looked around.  "Chet, weren't we going to the Roadhouse?" she asked.  I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and answered her.  "Well, I thought I was getting too predictable with that, and I hear this place is great for Italian."  When we entered the restaurant, I asked for one of the booths and the waitress found us a nice spot somewhat secluded from the general customer traffic.  We sat down and ordered drinks; I had a ginger ale, Peg asked for a daiquiri.  As soon as the waitress left, Peg excused herself to go to the ladies room.

     I waited, nervously twiddling my thumbs while the waitress brought our drinks and left again.  I did have enough presence of mind to pull out a pen, write down the control phrases and stick them in my wallet.  After what seemed like a long time, I saw Peg coming back through the restaurant -- with something clutched in her hand.  I stood up and let her slide into the booth, and she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek before sitting down next to me.  "Sorry it took so long, Chet, you know how we women are," she said pleasantly.  As she spoke, she opened her purse and without looking at it pulled out a pair of powder-blue panties and put them in my hand.  "So," she continued, "did you at least get a good grade from your professor on that project?"

     I slid the panties into my pocket, trying hard to keep a normal look on my face.  It was like her hand and her head weren't connected.  "Yes, though he still counted off for our not having been specific about how we computed the degrees of freedom."  I put my hand on her leg, but her eyes never left mine.  "I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of the class doesn't drop the course after that stunt, though.  What about your week?"

     Peg lifted her drink to her lips and responded.  "Oh, nothing special.  Really, the hardest part of my week was helping Janine get through her first major report.  I guess they don't teach writing skills in the big city the way they did at home."  If I didn't know how much Peg liked her roommate, I'd have thought she was being snide.  While she spoke, I slid my hand far enough up her leg to be sure she had no panties on.  Wow!  Here I was with my hand between Peg's thighs and she was calmly sipping her daiquiri and talking about her roommate as if nothing was happening.  Well, maybe nothing was happening in her mind, but I had a hard-on that wouldn't quit.

     About then the waitress came back and I had to get my hands back above the table to handle the menu and order dinner for us.  When the waitress left, I skimmed my hand back up Peg's leg until my fingers were resting comfortably in her pubic hair.  She continued to talk about her week, and I managed to divide my attention between my activities above and below the table.  When I rocked my hand from side to side, she responded by opening her legs. That gave me enough access to stroke her labia, which quickly got tangibly wet.

     That finally drew the first obvious response from her.  "So with the concert coming up --"  She broke off what she was saying, and her eyes got big, then she closed them and took a deep breath.  I licked my lips, but then I got this mental image of Meg Ryan from When Harry Met Sally -- the scene where she fakes an orgasm in the restaurant.  I didn't know if Peg was a screamer, and this wasn't a good place to find out.  Anyway, I'd pretty much proved that the control on her was real, so I took my hand back, wiped it on my napkin and lowered her skirt where it had gotten pushed up.  When I was satisfied everything looked normal, I triggered her, told her not to notice the absence of her panties for the rest of the evening, then said "Normal Curve, Peg" and mentally held my breath.

     She blinked, twice, and her first comment was "I wonder why the food's taking so long?"  From that point until dinner was over I looked at everything she said or did for double meanings, but there weren't any. As far as anyone could tell, we were just a couple of college kids having a friendly dinner together.  And that's just what we had.  The rest of our dinner was like any of our other dates, except that I had a pair of blue panties in my pocket and an erection that wouldn't go down.

     We both had early classes the next day, so I took her back to her apartment and she invited me as far as her living room. I thanked her for a good time and opened my arms for a hug and kiss.  The kiss was okay -- a warm peck on the lips, and the hug was her usual full-body approach.  I noticed that she smelled spicy, like new-mown grass.  If she noticed my erection, she certainly didn't do anything to encourage it and I didn't feel like pressing my luck.  Besides, Janine was studying in her room, and I wasn't up to trying to deal with two girls at once.

     I went home, jacked off, and spent half of the night thinking about Peg instead of studying for my English Lit exam.  Getting into her pants this way seemed like cheating -- but I decided since I wasn't making any headway otherwise I might as well go for it.

     *** *** ***

     Peg had a wind ensemble concert coming up and the clarinet section had a lot of evening rehearsals scheduled, so I spent the better part of the next two weeks in the library reading about hypnosis.  We set a movie date for the Saturday after the concert.  I wanted to call her in the meantime and do some more tests on her control, but I also wanted to be around her in case something went wrong.  I finally came up with an idea I thought was workable, then spent three days working on how to phrase it correctly.

     Wednesday night I called Peg, ostensibly to wish her luck.  While we were on the phone, I gave her the trigger phrase and told her this: "Margaret, tomorrow night at the concert you will feel every note of the music passing through your body, from the tips of your wiggling toes to the points of your nipples.  Although you will become more and more aroused as the concert progresses, you will not come, nor will you touch yourself in order to increase or relieve your arousal.  After the concert, you will wait for me backstage and when I give you a hug you may finally come, but may not make a sound while doing so."  I had her repeat the instructions, blew her a kiss, remembered to say "Normal Curve, Peg" and hung up.

     The next night I dressed up and went to the concert.  Wind instruments aren't my favorite, but the music was okay, and Peg looked good in her black concert skirt and white silk blouse. I looked carefully as the concert dragged on, but I couldn't tell whether she was showing any effects from my suggestion.

     When the concert ended, I waited a few minutes then wandered around back stage.  I looked around the crowd until I spotted Peg, sitting by the punchbowl.  Her face was flushed and she kept rubbing her hands up and down nervously over her knees.  That looked promising, and I came up on her from behind, tapped her on the shoulder and said "Nice concert, Peg."  She turned around with a gasp, wrapped her arms around me and hugged me hard enough to break some ribs and so close that her crotch was rubbing up against mine.  "Oh, Chet, I'm so glad you came!"  If she wasn't careful with the way she was hugging me, that was going to have a double meaning.  As I put my arms around her, she suddenly shuddered all over, buried her face in my shoulder and pasted herself all over me.  I stroked her back gently as the scent of her hair surrounded me, and focused on not coming in my own pants.

     Eventually her spasms passed, and she stood up shakily a few inches away from me.  "I'm sorry," she mumbled in obvious embarrassment, "I guess I've just been working so hard for this concert. Would you like to come over and visit for a while?"  I had figured to wait for our movie date to go further with her, but she sounded so sexy and vulnerable that I couldn't turn her down.  "Sure thing, hon," I said.  "Are you okay driving or do you want a lift?"

     "I'll be okay, but thanks for asking.  I guess the music really got to me tonight."  She kissed me, quickly but forcefully, and headed off toward the parking lot.  I gave her a ten-minute head start, and then went to get my car.

     *** *** ***

     When I got to Peg's place, her roommate Janine was there.  I didn't really want her around, but I didn't want to seem rude in front of Peg.  Peg gave me a quick but very enthusiastic hug, then went to fix a round of drinks while I sat on the sofa.  There was some kind of drumming CD playing -- tribal chants, grunting, that sort of thing.  Not my taste, but the rhythms certainly got the blood flowing.  When Peg got back with the drinks, I looked around and realized Janine was missing.  "Hey, where'd your roommate go?" I asked.  Peg sat on the sofa next to me, saying "Oh, she had big plans tonight, Chet, you must have missed seeing her leave.  I think she's going to some kind of all-night rave."  I mentally shrugged my shoulders; my opportunity was finally here.  I watched Peg as she sipped her drink; she was moving sexily and unconsciously to the tom-tom rhythm of the drums.  I took another sip myself and triggered her. "*High chi-square*, Margaret."

     She stopped moving, and shivered all over for just a second.  I decided I wanted her undressed, and it seemed like the words were barely out of my mouth before she had put her drink down and started to unbutton her blouse, uncovering her well-filled white bra.  In no time she had shimmied out of her skirt leaving her g-string on, and was sliding the bra cups down showing me that her nipples were perked up already.  She came up to the sofa and started unbuttoning my dress shirt... did I ask her to do that? Maybe I wasn't specific when I told her to undress.  Anyway it was hard to concentrate between her full breasts brushing against my face and the blood-stirring drumming from the stereo.  "Shoes..." I mumbled, and Peg was already kneeling on the floor taking off my shoes and socks, rubbing each of my feet between her breasts, then running her hands lightly up between my legs to lift and fondle my balls.  Wait... what happened to my pants?  Who cared when her tongue was painting hot lines up and down the shaft of my cock.

     "Maybe you'd feel more comfortable lying on the sofa instead of sitting up," she suggested.  That sounded like a good idea, and I shifted positions with one leg on the sofa and one dangling off to give her hand more room to wander under my balls.  She turned around and straddled my face, saying "I've been so hot for you since the concert, Chet, see what you did to me?"  Her labia were all puffy, and her vaginal petals were dark red and flared out.  I wondered what they tasted like, so I stuck out my tongue.  She shivered all over again and settled down pressing herself to my face.  She was oily and kind of tart, but not unpleasant.  She was doing nice things to my cock, playing with it, occasionally taking the head in her mouth, and I explored her with my tongue until she ground herself down hard on my face and shook all over.

     She must have been using some kind of scented body wash -- I recognized the same perfume from the concert, but the drinks must have gotten to me because everything after that was a haze.

     My aching balls when I woke up the next morning weren't hazy at all; I had to walk bowlegged to the shower.  Hypnosis was obviously great stuff, but I really needed to watch my liquor.  As I was getting my books ready for class, I saw a note on my calendar about having dinner Saturday with Peg and Janine.  I scratched my head, wondering why Peg had changed our plans from going to the movies.  I was disappointed, since I really wanted to see how far this control thing went -- and the next time I'd be sure not to drink too much.

     *** *** ***

     Classes Friday were hell, not from the subject matter but from the erection that refused to die.  My mind kept wandering from the professor's voice to the picture of Peg straddling my face, and only luck kept me from having to answer any direct questions.  I had dinner at the fraternity house for a change; the jokes about who had and hadn't gotten any rang hollow now, but I didn't see any reason to let the guys know that boring Chet was now one of the lucky ones.  Saturday was almost as bad; I did my laundry and worked on my computer lab project, but alternated between wishing I was with Peg and wishing Janine would be anywhere else.

     Saturday evening at 7:30 found me at Peg and Janine's door, a small spray of flowers in my hand.  Janine opened the door, and if she noticed my momentary disappointment at not seeing Peg she chose not to comment on it.  "Why Chet, how sweet of you!" she said as she took the flowers and held the door for me.  "I'll put these into a vase -- why don't you go into the living room, I think Peg wanted to talk to you before dinner."

     When I entered the living room, Peg rose from the sofa and came over to give me one of her patented enthusiastic full-body hugs.  I wished that I'd been able to put her under control so that I'd feel safe squeezing her bottom; as it was, I let my hand lie at the base of her spine and she didn't complain at all.  She was wearing that spicy perfume again, I noticed.  "Chet, I've been waiting for you all day," she bubbled, "I've got a little something I want to show you before we eat.  It's kind of a surprise!"

     She ushered me to the sofa and plopped down on my right side; to my surprise, Janine joined us and sat on my left while handing me a glass of iced tea.  Peg grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and flipped it on.  I was shocked to see it was some kind of amateur adult video, with a naked girl's back to the camera as she knelt in front of a guy on a sofa, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling his pants down before giving him one whale of a blowjob.  You could tell by the look on his face... wait a minute...

     I started to jump up from the sofa as I realized that was *my* face, as I watched my sweet Peg swing herself up and spread her legs over my face on the TV screen, one hand on my cock as I eagerly licked her out.  But Janine held me on the left side, Peg held me on the right, and when Peg's hand fluttered down over my crotch I realized that this could be a very good surprise after all.  Besides, I wanted to see what had happened after my own memory of that night gave out.

     On the television, Peg got off the sofa, turned around with her bottom facing the camera, and kissed me -- a long wet deep kiss that I could feel even off the tape.  She wiggled her bottom at the camera; you could see the moisture on her pussy lips between her parted legs.  She sat up on my stomach, her breasts swinging with the rhythm of the drums, and slid sinuously down to my crotch where she proceeded to maneuver herself up and down on the videotaped erection.  I must have been really into it -- my body on the sofa was writhing and humping beneath her and the sofa was squeaking like crazy, although for some reason I wasn't saying anything.  Peg came again, bouncing up and down on my cock like a piledriver, and grunting out "Oh Yes, Oh YES, OHHH YEAAHHHH!"

     The television screen was one thing; real life was something else again.  Both girls had their hands in my lap, one or the other had unzipped me while my eyes were glued to the screen, my legs were spread out over each of the girls' legs.  Their hands were busy inside my shorts, and my cock was threatening to burst.  I almost did lose it when I watched Peg on the TV screen climb off me.  My video erection was standing straight up, larger than I'd ever seen it and colored a dangerous dark red.

     On the screen, Peg giggled.  The Chet on the sofa looked at her with a piteously needy face, and she spoke while giving the camera a half-glance.  "Poor Chet," she said, "Here I've had all this fun and I bet you're just aching to come, aren't you?"  The me on the sofa opened his mouth but nothing came out; he settled for nodding his head vigorously and rocking his hips in little in-and-out motions.  "That's okay," she cooed, "I know all about it."  She knelt by the side of the sofa and kissed her way around my/his nipples and down his/my stomach, finally taking each of his balls in her mouth and swirling her tongue against them.  "I love these," she continued, "and I know Janine's gonna love them just as much!"

     I was trying to reconcile the sweet, demure Peg I knew with the sexual animal on the screen, not to mention keep my eyes focused while one girl twisted and rubbed my cockhead and the other did obscene things under my balls.  On the television, Peg was standing by the sofa with one hand on my thigh.  "Count with me," she cooed.  The version of me on the sofa opened his mouth and rasped out hoarsely along with her:  "one" ... "two" ... "three!"

     At the count of three Peg tapped the sofa-me with one finger on his balls.  Oh how he came, cock spurting and muscles spasming, cum flying everywhere, even up into his hair.  She kept that one finger busy touching one spot and another until his legs lay bonelessly half-on and half-off the sofa and his cock was just barely dribbling from the end.  In the real sofa, I was doing the same thing except that I still had my shorts on, shorts that were now soaked and dripping; the girls had held my legs open so that I couldn't squeeze their hands, and their fingers slid repeatedly over the length of my cum-coated cock.  First Peg, then Janine swirled their hand around inside my sodden cotton then lifted their fingers to my lips.  It seemed the most natural thing in the world to lick their fingers until they were glistening clean.

     Peg leaned in front of me, her eyes shining brightly into mine.  "You know," she told me, "Janine's a psychology major.  I thought you were never going to make a move on me, so I made a deal with her.  She taught me how to hypnotize you."   I felt Janine pulling my pants off; I found enough strength to lift my hips to make that task easier.  Despite the incredible way I'd just exploded, my cock was getting hard again.  "Our deal was that after I got you inside me, she could do whatever she wanted with you."

     I felt lips envelop my cock and a cum-slick finger exploring between my cheeks.  I had questions but the erotic inputs were drowning them all out.  Peg beamed at me, watching the reactions cross my face.  "You know, it's just as well you're the bashful type; this way we get you all to ourselves.  You won't be chasing after any other girls at college now, will you?"

     I started to say yes, I mean no I won't, but her lips met mine then and I heard Janine's voice saying something about taking turns and things got fuzzy again...

/ END /

Endnote: Originally written 2000-05-06; Workshopped at the FishTank:; revised 2003-09-22.


Study Break

Keys: [file:sbrk] [date:2004-09-01] [words:495] [codes:MFM inc]

Abstract: When Dad checks up on what his daughter and boyfriend are studying, he finds himself a participant.  But who is teaching whom?

Study Break

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2004, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Giggles and whispers.  Not what I wanted to hear when my daughter was studying with her current boyfriend.  If my wife hadn't been out of town on business, I'd have rather let her handle it, but that's life.  I fumed outside my daughter's door, then opened it and strode in.

     My worst nightmare was lying open-legged on her bed, her boyfriend's face eagerly moving between her thighs.  I hadn't seen her naked since she was about eight, and the difference between that angelic little girl and the mature woman's body on display held me rooted in place.  Make that aroused woman, as her boyfriend got to his feet giving me an unobstructed view of Sandra, one hand twisting her left nipple and the other rubbing her glistening lightly-downed mons.  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out -- and I was suddenly aware and ashamed of the erection filling my pants.

     I heard the boy's voice softly in my ear; he had stepped behind me while I was in shock.  "She's beautiful, isn't she -- look at how excited she is, you just can't take your eyes off her!"

     And he was right, I couldn't.  Couldn't move my eyes, couldn't utter a word, even as he slid his hands around my hips to unfasten my belt and drop my trousers to the floor.  Sandra rocked her hips and moaned, thrusting her knees out to either side and making her lust-swollen lips flare open between her thighs.  I only halfway felt the brush of room air as my briefs were lowered, the boy's fingers tracing the throbbing vein under my shaft.

     A hand between my buttocks urged me forward.  I knew there was something I should say, something I could do to stop this obscene pageant, but somewhere between his hand pressing my shoulders down and my daughter's plaintive cry of "pleaaaase..." those thoughts were drowned out.  Instead I bent my head and kissed her there, my tongue flickering along her cleft.  Sandra twisted her fingers in my hair and ground herself against my mouth urgently.  Her legs wrapped around my ears as knowing fingers wrapped around my cock, and suddenly I was lost in the moment hearing voices crying out and not knowing or caring whether they were hers, or mine, or his.

     Lying on my back on the carpet afterward, staring at the ceiling, I absently heard the slapping of skin against skin on the bed.  His voice came, "You were right about him, but what about your mom?"  And hers: "Oh please... I cracked her IM logs two months ago, poor Dad's got no idea the kinds of things she and your mom are into.  She'll be on her knees and begging for the privilege.  Ohhhh... yeah, just like that..."

     My cock rose again.  I couldn't let this happen.  Surely there was something I could do.

     The bed started creaking again, and I wrapped my hand around my cock and closed my eyes...

/ END /


Adventures in Home Health Care

Keys: [file:hlth] [date:2004-09-02] [words:6506] [codes:FMF]

Abstract: Kevin's wife has an accident and needs to recuperate at home, but the nurse who tends her has bigger plans

Adventures in Home Health Care

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2004, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Some marriages get stronger as the years go on.

     Mine wasn't one of them.

     It's not that I didn't love my wife, but she has her personality and rough edges, and I've got mine.  Over the years, instead of wearing each other smooth to mesh better, they left each of us with raw spots.  So, here we were with our separate careers, living in separate bedrooms in an upscale two-story in the classy part of town.  I suppose we could have gotten divorced, but that would have required more effort than either of us wanted to put in.

     Which is not an excuse for my behavior... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

     My wife took a bad fall at her office, and when the doctors finished dealing with her she was looking at three months of recovery at home including physical therapy.  I wasn't in a position to take off from my job to tend to her, and I wouldn't have been able to handle the therapy tasks anyway, so we called a medical service and arranged for a full-time nurse.

     Her name was Martha, and she was almost a complete opposite to my wife.  Where my wife was tall, Martha was only five-foot-two.  Janet was a demure redhead, but Martha was a flashy blonde.  Janet came from Boston and sounded it; Martha was apparently from somewhere in the South.  Janet's wardrobe ran to business suits; Martha showed up in a set of nurse's whites featuring a skirt that dared both gravity and common sense yet didn't quite show anything over her white stockings.

     Still, the younger nurse managed to handle her larger patient with cool efficiency, handling the washing chores since my wife couldn't use the shower, helping her in and out of bed, preparing meals for her.  I was more and more impressed by what I saw of her.

     One evening, after my wife had been put up to bed, Martha joined me in the study for a drink.  I knew little about her other than her Southern origin and that she took her job very seriously.  As I sipped my Wild Turkey and she held her bourbon and soda, she asked me out of the blue, "Kevin, just how long is it since you and Janet had sex?"

     When I finished sputtering and had applied a napkin to the whiskey spots, I managed to put together a polite reply.  "Why do you ask?"

     "Well," she continued, "outside of her recent injury she's in good physical shape -- her legs are good, or will be after they finish healing.  Her figure's certainly good, not many women have D-cups at her age without major stretch or sag marks.  She could stand to lose a few pounds, but who couldn't.  But I've been posted in a lot of married couple's homes, and she must have the most ... interesting collection of vibrators and dildos that I've seen in years.  I can only assume that for some reason the two of you aren't intimate, and haven't been for a while."

     My mouth fell open, half from the offhand way in which this stranger was discussing my wife's body and intimate habits and half from the way she crossed her legs, which for the first time gave me more than the briefest glimpse of the tops of her white stockings.

     I was embarrassed that for the last year and a half I hadn't given any thought to what Janet did for sex since she wasn't interested in me any more.  The pictures that came to my mind now of my wife playing a vibrator over her breasts or shoving a dildo in and out of her vagina combined to make me both horny and uncomfortable around Martha.  Her provocative posture didn't help.  I stuttered something about different careers and different schedules, but there was a look in her eyes that said she knew better than that.  "Of course," she said dismissively, and sipped thoughtfully at her glass.

     A few moments passed without comment from either of us, and then she broke the silence with "So, is it you?"

     I shook my head in disbelief.  "I beg your pardon -- is what me?"

     "Are you the reason she doesn't have sex with you any more?  I know that she's physically up to it..."

     I couldn't believe what I was hearing, much less the nerve of this girl.  "Now look here, Martha, I think you're way out of line here!  I'm perfectly..."  I was going to say something more, but she chose that moment to uncross and recross her legs.  The transition made it apparent that she wasn't wearing panties under her skirt.  She took my moment of confusion to get up, pluck my drink from my nerveless hand, and put both of our glasses on the sidebar.  When she returned, she patted my legs together and sat down astride them, facing me.

     "Look, Mr. Spencer," she began, then clucked her tongue and reached forward to unbutton my collar button.  "Or maybe Kevin would be better, don't you think?  I'm in charge of getting your wife back into full health, and in case you've decided to join the Catholic Church, that includes sexually.  Now the way I see it, I have two choices.  I can get you to fill me in on what's going on here, or I can get your wife to tell me."

     She leaned forward, and the front of her uniform shifted fluidly against her curves.  Her scent was cinnamon and vanilla, and she whispered into my ear: "We get *very* close in physical therapy, Kevin... she won't keep any secrets from me!"

     With that, she hopped up lightly from my lap and headed for the study doorway.  "Well, you think about it and let me know who I need to talk to.  I think I'm going to call it a night.  Pleasant dreams!"  She gave what had to be a deliberate wiggle of her bottom as she sauntered out and upstairs.

     I poured another couple of shots of Wild Turkey and tossed them down fast and straight.  It didn't help.  My mind was still awash with images of my wife, naked on the bed, breasts sweaty and bouncing as she pumped a thick dildo in and out of her red-fringed pussy.  I could almost smell her musk on my lips again, even after three years.  But the aroma in my nose wasn't her musk.  It was cinnamon and vanilla, and the face on the woman in my vision wasn't Janet's, it was Martha's.

     I left the study, brushed my teeth, and masturbated to a fast, furious and unsatisfying orgasm before going to bed.  I'm not sure what my dreams were, but I didn't wake up refreshed.

     *** *** ***

     The next night I had to work late and didn't get home until after dinner.  When I got home, my dinner was waiting on the table, and Martha was there stirring her iced tea.  "How's Janet?" I asked.  Martha stared lazily at me, still stirring her glass as she responded.  "Oh, we had a very difficult day; lots of hard work, poor Janet was quite exhausted by dinner time.  Poor thing, she was so out of it I had to undress her for bath and bed."  I grunted, trying to set aside the picture of small Martha man-handling my wife's body (or more likely woman-handling) as I chewed my food.

     "So," she continued after a pause, "have you thought about last night?"  I stopped chewing and looked at her suspiciously, but she maintained the same bland expression as she continued, "about telling me why you and Janet aren't fucking any more?"

     That stopped me in my tracks.  I wanted to slap her face.  I wanted to wash her mouth out with soap.  I had a pulsing erection and wanted to bury it in her mouth.  My face must have been an open book to her, because she started to laugh, not a high giggle like one associates with blondes, but a low masculine chuckle.  "Poor Kevin," she smiled, "he's so horny he can't think straight... did I upset you with my language?  Would you rather I ask about you and your wife being intimate?  But I watched her with that big dildo this morning, and she wasn't being intimate, she was seriously fucking herself."

     Somewhere in this lewd recital I swallowed the last of my food, but I still couldn't figure out how to respond.  All I could do was shake my head in a negative expression.  That didn't stop her.  "It's true, you know -- you don't want to hear it from me but you knew Janet couldn't go completely without sex for that long, didn't you?"  She got up from her seat and walked around the table to me, her words burning their way into my ears.  She stood behind me, her strong fingers massaging my shoulders and her voice oozing like honey.  "Would you like to see the evidence, Kevin?  Do you want to see how your wife has been amusing herself while you've been down the hall?

     I didn't know whether I was angry at Martha or at Janet, I just suddenly wanted this whole bizarre episode to be over.  "Yes," I blurted out, "You'll have to show me, because Janet would never be... would never do that."

     Martha laughed abruptly, a harsh barking sound in the stillness of the dining room.  "You don't think... well why don't you come upstairs and see for yourself then?  She turned and headed for the staircase, and I followed her perforce.  We kept bumping into each other all the way up the stairs, and I started to hush her when we reached the landing so that we didn't wake Janet.  She brushed me off sharply.  "You couldn't get her up with a cattle prod; now quit being such an idiot."

     Upon entering my wife's bedroom, I was immediately struck by the overwhelming pungent smell of sex.  Janet had kicked off the covers and was lying sprawled atop the bed, her body sweaty and one hand tucked between her thighs.  She had definitely put on weight since the accident, but still made an erotic sight nude.  A cock-shaped vibrator was lying between her outspread legs, showing the moist signs of recent use.  I stood there in shock, taking the scene in, while Martha's hand started sliding along my bottom, dipping occasionally between my legs.  "Look at her, Kevin, she's a healthy middle-aged woman and her body's screaming for sex, just not for yours."  Martha's voice was soft but penetrating, and she continued relentlessly stoking the fire building inside me.  "It makes you hard looking at her, doesn't it?  I know it must, it makes me get all hot and wet and want to finger myself to a good hot cum.  Go ahead, Kevin, take out that cock of yours, make yourself hard for your wife."

     I was squirming and grinding my hips, and wanted nothing more than to show my superiority over that fake phallus on the bed.  I quickly unfastened my belt and unzipped my pants, shoving them down along with my briefs.  My cock, released, snapped up against my stomach, and Martha's hand slid between my legs to stroke my balls, urging me forward until my legs were pressed against the bed.  "Go ahead," she whispered, "she's lying there for you Kevin, you don't have to jack off into the toilet tonight, give it to her right now, give your wife all that hot, thick cum!"

     It all made a weird kind of sense, not that I was really thinking coherently.  All I knew was this: there was my wife asleep having gotten herself off, and here was I with swollen needy balls, Martha's fingers playing with my bottom and her voice cooing in the background.  I started stroking my cock, not even bothering to spit for lubrication, feeling the lust wash over me.  My breath came in pants and my vision was blurred, and it seemed only moments until my balls clenched and my legs went taut.  Too soon, Janet would have said had she been awake, but she wasn't and I was coming hard and fast, sending thick sticky white streamers from her legs up her wide belly to her full breasts.  "Yeahhhh," hissed Martha, her tongue dancing against my ear, "that's right, spray your cum all over her big fat tits, look how she loves it even in her sleep!"

     And that was obviously true.  Janet was half-stirring, her eyes still closed, but her fingers had begun slowly stroking her slit.  I had half a thought that I should get out before she woke up, but I was still in the middle of cumming.  My last spurts trailed from the side of her right breast over her right arm.  Panting, my heart pounding, I surveyed my wife in this new light, watching her cum-splattered body shift from side to side as she frigged herself in her sleep.

     A sudden burst of self-loathing finally pulled me from my daze -- what was I doing, taking advantage of my sleeping wife by jerking off on her?  I spun around, and promptly tripped over the briefs which were still around my ankles.  When I managed to get dressed and up off the floor, Martha was standing in my place beside the bed, rubbing my cum into Janet's breasts and crooning into her ear.  I gaped as Janet's hand sped up between her legs, her hips rose six inches into the air, and her whole body stiffened and shook for a space of three or four seconds.  Then she collapsed onto the bed, completely limp.

     Martha stood up, absently sucking on one wet finger, and looked at me with an attitude of surprise.  "What, are you still here?  Go to bed, Kevin, the show's over."  She waved a dismissive hand in my direction and turned back toward Janet's bed.  The look she gave my wife just then was oddly proprietary, but I was too awash in a combination of shame, anger, and post-orgasm lassitude to examine the moment.  I left the room, half-running to the safety of my own bed.  "Tomorrow," I thought before falling into a dreamless stupor, "Tomorrow I've got to put a stop to this!"

     The next morning was Friday, and I sent the office an email that I'd be in late.  That let me stay home long enough to join Janet for breakfast.  It was a quiet affair; my wife was yawning and Martha, who I was beginning to think of as "that woman", was quietly professional.  You'd never know she had been rubbing my sperm into her patient's breasts only last night.  When Martha finally left the table to go upstairs and prepare for the morning physical therapy session, I had my opportunity.  I broached my concerns to Janet, of course not mentioning the activities of the previous evening, but putting my emphasis on the nurse's insolence and unprofessional appearance and demeanor.

     You would have thought I had proposed selling a baby.  Janet went into a frantic tizzy, the thrust of which was that Martha was the only friend and human contact that she had, and we couldn't possibly find an adequate replacement for her.  I sat there in shock, trying to reconcile this needy, clinging woman at the table with the self-sufficient, forceful businesswoman I had married.  Was being cooped up in her enforced convalescence having this profound an effect on her, or had she been sliding off the edge through the months and years of our estrangement with me none the wiser?

     About that time I heard footsteps on the stairs, and the nurse entered the dining room with a strongly disapproving look.  "Please, Mr. Spencer, poor Janet really mustn't be given any more stress today, she has a lot of work to do with her therapy."  I thought I saw a quickly-suppressed shudder cross my wife's face at that comment, but I had gone through some painful physical therapy back in my high school days and attributed the look to dread of the hard work ahead.  I finished my breakfast, kissed my wife on the cheek while Martha stood nearby with crossed arms, and headed out for work.

     One thing was sure; my idea of getting that nurse out of our house was a dead issue.

     *** *** ***

     I knocked off work Friday promptly at five, and got home in plenty of time for dinner.  I looked at my wife with a much more critical eye now, picking up on details that must have escaped my notice before.  She looked tired; there were lines under her eyes and she seemed not quite there.  Shortly after dinner, she announced that she was tired and headed upstairs to bed.  I gave her a hug which she barely acknowledged, and when she went upstairs I headed to the study.

     I waited there, somehow knowing that Martha would be back.  I thought back on the previous evening, squirming in the recollection of how my own lusts had allowed me to treat my sleeping wife as a sex toy with the nurse egging me on.  There would be no repeat of that shameful scene, and I struggled to put those lewd images out of my mind.

     Sure enough, the nurse walked in uninvited and unannounced, walking right by my chair without so much as a good evening, and pouring herself a bourbon and soda.  I waited until she turned to face me, and then commented that I thought Janet looked worn down, and perhaps Martha was pushing her too hard.

     The younger woman's eyes flashed, steel blue piercing the air aimed at me.  "Too hard?" she challenged, "What do you think physical therapy is, a play session?  Your wife needs a lot of work to make sure those bones knit properly and she gets her strength back.  You should try going through her daily workout and then see what you look like at dinner time.  She'd better be working hard!"

     Her tone of voice changed, shifting from righteous indignation to sly innuendo without a break.  "Or would you rather have her weak and needy, like she is now?  You seemed to like her that way last night..."  She set her drink down and sashayed up to me, her self-assurance preceding her like a powerful force.  "Is that it, Kevin, you want to go upstairs and jack off on your wife again?"  All those images which I'd been suppressing at the office came back to me full force, along with a painfully stiff erection.  She looked pointedly at my crotch as she continued, "Yeah, I can see where your mind is.  Tell me, Kevin, did you get off knowing that Janet couldn't stop you from cumming all over her?  What was the biggest turn-on, jacking off on your wife's big fat tits or seeing her cunt all puffy and sloppy wet?  Did you dream about me cleaning all that cum off your wife's naked body and wish it was you?"

     I should have objected to her language -- hell, I should have walked out before this whole obscene conversation got started.  Any such thoughts, though, fractured and vanished when Martha started unbuttoning her blouse right in front of my face.  She wore no bra -- a fact previously concealed by the stiff white uniform material.  While her breasts weren't in the same cup range as my wife's, she had more than a handful and they bounced with emphasis as she spoke.  "Or maybe you really got hot about pulling your cock out with another woman in front of your wife?"  The nurse leaned forward lewdly and swiveled her shoulders left and right, batting her breasts against my face and surrounding me with her perfume.  "Is your cock hard for Janet or for me now, Kevin?  Do you even know the difference?"

     I didn't know -- more to the point, I was so far gone I didn't care.  If this woman had turned around and told me to kiss her ass I would have buried my tongue inside her like a shot.  I was on the edge of coming in my pants, just from the way her voice and words slithered their way into my ear and crawled down my chest, teased my stomach, and settled like hot oil into my groin.

     Martha stood back, and I almost fell forward trying to follow her breasts.  She regarded me with some amusement, commenting, "Well, I guess we answered half of *that* question.  Tell you what, Kevin, you think I'm overworking your wife, let's just find out tomorrow."  I sat on the chair in hyper-aroused frustration, trying to follow the direction of her conversation.  "If you can outlast Janet in the same therapy regimen she gets in the morning, well, I'll help you get your rocks off like you've never done in your life.  You'll think you've died and gone to heaven, or maybe that heaven is cumming to you.  Otherwise..." and at this she held a finger to one corner of her red lips and looked up at the ceiling as if making a decision, a stance which only emphasized the proud upthrust of her breasts.  "Otherwise, I'll give dear Janet an extra-special treat for all her hard work -- and you, my horny friend, will just have to sit there and watch us!"

     All of this sounded just great to me; which shows just how far around the bend I was.  Some piece of reality made its way through my lust-fogged brain, though, and I tried to pin it down.  "But Janet, she would never..."  Just like the previous night, Martha cut me off, only this time with lilting amusement.  "Oh, but of course she would, you silly boy.  Have you forgotten your little conversation with her this morning?  I'm your wife's best friend -- she'll do *anything* as long as I'm there with her!"  And before I could give any thought to the implications of that remark, she bent over, extended one well-manicured hand, and cupped my balls while rolling her thumb across the base of my cockshaft.  That was the last straw for my overheated body, and I felt my face turn hot with embarrassment as my cock spewed and I came stickily and thoroughly in my pants.

     The bare-breasted nurse smiled at her handiwork, then turned to leave the study.  As she did so, she tossed a parting comment over her shoulder.  "Sleep well, Kevin, you and Janet are going to have a real workout in the morning!"

     *** *** ***

     Saturday morning dawned overcast.  Inside the house, I came to breakfast in tee shirt, socks and sneakers, gym shorts, and a jock strap it had taken me over an hour to find.  There was nobody there to greet me; a note in the nurse's neat handwriting said that Janet had taken a light breakfast in her bedroom.  I shrugged and went to fix myself an egg and toast.  And coffee, of course.  Then I went to brush my teeth and headed upstairs to the salon outside Janet's bedroom.  The full trappings of a workout room had been set up there – treadmill, rowing machines, floor mats, medicine ball, stationary bike, weights, and things that I didn't particularly recognize.

     Janet's bedroom door opened, and she came in wearing a sports bra and nylon running shorts.  Martha followed her, looking serious, and addressed us together like a schoolteacher to a pair of unruly students.  "You both know why you're here, and you know the stakes.  Let's get to it."

     She started us on jumping jacks, mostly as a warm-up exercise.  That certainly gave Janet's sports bra a workout.  Then she put Janet on the treadmill at 3mph and 5 degrees, ratcheting up on a program to 5/15.  I'd have gotten a more appreciative look at my wife's legs except that my task was pushups.  Martha alternated between checking on Janet and checking my form, slapping my butt sharply when I raised it too high.  After fifteen minutes, my arms were relieved to hear her call time so I could switch places with Janet.  The treadmill was harder than it looked, but not quite as bad as the one I'd had for my annual physical.  It left my attention free to watch my wife, who was getting frequent corrections from Martha on proper pushup form.  Her legs were already covered with a light sheen of perspiration from the treadmill, and her running shorts stuck to her bottom like skin.

     My legs were pretty shaky by the time I finished, and I was glad to lie on the floor catching my breath as Martha brought us both bottles of water to rehydrate with.  "That was for warm-up," she announced, "now we start keeping score."

     We started with sit-ups.  Each of us sat at facing the base of one of the rowing machines and Martha hooked our feet under the edge as anchors.  She called out count to us, "One ...      and down.  Two ... and down."  It wasn't long before my stomach muscles were complaining.  Janet was looking serious but not as stressed as I felt.  By the time we got to fifty, though, she looked both weary and determined to beat me.  Which she did, as I couldn't make it past 58 and Janet kept going to 65.  Martha went over to tend to Janet first, offering her water, rubbing her shoulders and murmuring something to her.  Then she came to me, helping me sit up to drink the water while she squatted behind me supporting my back.  Her voice came in my ear, "Gee, Kevin, if you're going to do that poorly maybe I should just tie your hands behind your back now and let you watch your wife eat me out for the rest of the morning."  I almost choked on my water, but managed to retain my composure.  The jock strap helped – I was glad I'd found it.

     Next came the rowing machines.  Martha got each of us properly seated and adjusted the footbars to suit us.  She had an easier time with these; they had built-in counters, so she only had to set a timer.  "Full strokes, you two, or they don't count.  Twenty minutes."  Twenty minutes on a rowing machine is *not* easy; before the time was half over Janet was sweating as much as I was.  Martha kept busy checking each of us, taking our pulse and watching our form.  From time to time she'd whisper in Janet's ear – and Janet would suddenly row harder. My vision was getting blurry but I wasn't going to let my wife embarrass me.

     Some timeless period later, I heard Martha's voice call "Time" and I slumped forward panting, my whole body shaking from the after-effects of more physical effort than I'd put forth in years.  "Okay, you two, relax a minute and I'll be right back," she directed.  I looked over at Janet; she seemed as drained as I was, and there was a worried look on her face.  The nurse returned with juice and sweet buns, and we shared a quiet moment replenishing our energy before she took the dishes away.

     "Okay," Martha announced when she returned, "Kevin took the rowing but the two of you are still pretty close.  It's getting hot in here, and I want to see you putting all your effort into this, so it's time to strip down." She looked directly into my eyes as she finished her sentence, "All the way."  I looked at her like she was crazy, but Janet just stood up and calmly pulled off her sports bra letting her breasts hang free, then turned slightly away from me as she pushed her shorts and panties down.  I stood up shakily, took off my tee-shirt, then hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and jock at the same time, bending over to get them down to my feet before remembering my socks and sneakers.  I could smell my own sweat and musk, but stood up straight and asked, "now what?"

     The answer was treadmill and bicycle.  First Janet on the treadmill while I got the bicycle.  She was put on a program to go up to 8 miles per hour and 20 degrees of grade, while I had to get the bike up to 40 mph for as long as I could.  The bike seat was slippery and had a ridge that kept riding up into the crack of my ass, so this was a lot harder than it looked.  Martha was spending a lot of time standing next to Janet, one hand behind my wife while she said something I couldn't hear over the noise of the treadmill.  I noticed with some surprise that my wife's nipples were erect.  Before I knew it a bell on the bike sounded warning that my speed had dropped.  I gritted my teeth and managed to get moving again, but not for long.  Janet meanwhile had already pulled the stop cord on the treadmill and was lying on the floor, legs quivering and chest rising and falling quickly.  I looked away quickly but not before my cock jerked to life, and I got off the bike very carefully before I flopped down on the floor.

     I looked up and there was Martha with a half-smile on her face.  "Not bad," she purred as she squatted next to me.  "Keep that up and you'll get to be the one showing off when we're finished."  Her fingers skimmed over my stomach, making me suck in my breath as my cock jumped, but she merely pulled her hand away.

     Next we traded places, Janet climbing astride the bike while I got onto the treadmill.  I watched Janet's face as the bike seat gave her the same kind of problems I had experienced.  The higher grade was hard on my legs, and it only got harder when Martha joined me.  Her fingers teased my flexing bottom cheeks apart and played with my anus, making my cock swell as it bounced in time with my marching rhythm.  There were too many distractions here, and I worked hard to keep my mind on my aching legs.  I spared my wife a glance; she was pedaling hard, her eyes tightly shut.  I yanked the stop cord just before my legs gave out beneath me, and slid gracelessly off the back of the treadmill as it slowed to a halt.

     Another break for water, and the rowing machines awaited us.  Martha had positioned them so that Janet and I were facing each other as we rowed, and she had attached pads and straps to the footbars so our bare feet wouldn't slip off.  We waited as she snugged the straps around our feet and ankles then reset the counters on the machines.


     My wife and I stared into each other's eyes as we rowed, the challenge a tangible presence in the room.  For a good five minutes the only sounds in the room were our soft grunts of effort and the squeaks of the machines.  Then Janet's eyes got wide; I couldn't imagine why until I smelled Martha's perfume and felt her sliding her hands around me from behind.  "Keep stroking, Kevin," she said as her hands slid down my stomach to grasp my cock and balls.  In moments I was not only pulling back on the rowing bars but trying to lift my ass off the seat to force my erection into her soft hands.  Janet briefly lost her rhythm, then bit her lip and put her whole body into the task of keeping up with me.  Just when I was ready to explode, the nurse left my cock throbbing in midair and crossed over to sit behind Janet, whose face quickly shifted from superiority to dismay.  I watched transfixed as Martha's hands slithered around my wife's waist, dipping between her opened thighs and stroking her insistently.  I could feel the blood pulsing in my cock as I pumped the rowing bars, watching my wife's eyes glaze over in arousal.  Her strokes became less sure as the nurse continued her teasing until my wife's cunt was visibly swollen, dark red and dribbling between her thighs.  Somehow I managed to keep part of my mind on my rowing, knowing that I was pulling ahead of Janet in the competition.

     An alarm rang, and Martha quickly rose from behind my wife to record the numbers from the rowing counters.  "Well, well," she said with a smile on her face, "looks like Kevin's not gone *soft* in his desk job after all!"  She turned to me and looked pointedly at my crotch, where my cock had only lost part of its stiffness.  Then she moved to face Janet, and her voice took on a decidedly nasty tone.  "As for you, Jan-Jan, I'm *terribly* disappointed in your performance.  We both know you can do much better than this!"

     When Martha came back to me, I saw that she had fastened Janet's hands to the rowing bars so my wife was held in an upright position facing me.  There was also something between Janet's legs, I couldn't quite make out what.

     Martha stood between us, facing my wife, as she removed her uniform.  As in the past evenings, there was nothing under it but skin.  Her ass winked at me as she leaned over toward Janet and whispered something, then stepped back and slid her bottom down my chest until her thighs were snugly around my cock.  "See this, Jan-Jan?"  The diminutive of my wife's name sounded horridly mocking coming from the younger woman.  "Remember telling me how much you wanted it?  Well, it's mine now. You could have had it all these months.  You could have had it today if you'd worked harder."  There was sweat on my wife's forehead, and her body was quivering in her bindings.  Martha took my hands and used them to cover her own breasts, just the right size to fill my palms.  My thumbs stroked her nipples as she squeezed her thighs around my cockshaft.  "See this cock, all excited and filled with cum?"  She opened her legs, pinching the underside of my cockhead so it flared and pulsed visibly.  "Say bye-bye to it, Jan-Jan."  And with that, Martha lifted her hips and slid herself down onto my erection.  I took in a deep breath and gasped; her muscle control was exquisite.  I pressed my feet hard against their anchor as Martha rode me, squirming her ass against my groin and sucking me inside allowing no resistance.  Not that I had any resistance.  I looked at Janet, who was staring at us blankly, and realized she must be watching my cock move in and out of the nurse's pussy.  Martha squeezed inside, and my eyes crossed.  "See that, Jan-Jan? Your hubby's getting ready to cum inside me... he feels so big – you remember how big he used to feel inside you, right?"  I tweaked the nurse's nipples as I felt my balls lift and tighten.

     My orgasm came over me like a waterfall, going over the edge in a rush, my hands clutching her breasts as she squeezed and milked me relentlessly until I was spent, leaning against her back, panting.  She lifted herself up until my cock popped out of her with an audible liquid sound.  She waddled across the floor to the other machine, where Janet was waiting open-mouthed.  "That's right, Jan-Jan, you can't have his cock but I'll give you a treat.  You can have his cum!"  My view of my wife was blocked by Martha's backside as she grabbed Janet by the head.  I saw my wife's feet straining against their anchors and heard the nurse let out a husky moan; my sticky cock started to rise again as I imagined Janet's face buried in Martha's cunt, her tongue scooping out my release.

     I watched as Martha's ass muscles suddenly clenched and she ground herself against my wife's face.  She pulled away and I saw my wife, hair disheveled and face glistening with juices.  She hunched forward ineffectually, whining "But Martha...     "

     Martha whirled and slapped Janet across the left nipple.  The sudden violence was shocking, the impact site quickly white, then red, but more shocking was my wife's reaction.  She moaned, a noise of undeniably unabashed lust.  Martha slapped her other breast, then alternated one after the other, all the while lecturing this once-professional woman like a small child.  "Don't *smack* you *smack* take *smack* that *smack* tone *smack* missy! *smack* ... I know how you think, what you like, what your secrets are... look at you, you're trying so hard to hump that vibrator between your legs, too bad you can't quite get up to it."  That explained what I'd seen earlier; apparently the fix had been in for my wife on the rowing machine.  "You want that cock?" She pointed to my recovered erection, still sticky with Martha's juices.  "Nooooo, you're a disobedient girl who's just thinking of her own hungry cunt.  A fat *smack* titted *smack* bad *smack* girl!"

     With that last stroke, Janet keened high in her throat and shook from head to toe, having one of the most amazing orgasms I'd ever seen her have.  Her nipples looked like swollen raisins and her knuckles were white where she gripped the rowing bars.  Martha quickly came over to me and unfastened my footstraps, tugging me to my feet and across to Janet's machine where she positioned my bottom against my wife's face.  "I did promise you you'd cum like nothing before," the nurse snickered, "Bet you never imagined anything like this!"  With that Martha kneeled atop my wife's legs and took my entire length into her mouth, her throat massaging my cockhead.  I groaned, then groaned louder as I felt my wife's tongue press into my ass.  I dug my fingers into Martha's shoulders for balance – my wife had *never* shown the least interest in assplay – then the two tongues worked me in earnest until I had to shut my eyes in the explosion that was my own orgasm, the nurse's talented fingers coaxing every last drop out of my balls.

     When I came to, I was curled on the floor in a fetal position, my aching balls feeling like they'd been turned inside out.  Martha had Janet on the floor and was giving her a sponge bath, all professional now.  I got up to my knees, and the nurse looked up at me dismissively, saying "Hmmph, about time for that.  Go clean yourself up; your wife still has her regular work to do."

     As I walked bowlegged to the door, I heard her voice from behind.  "And Kevin..."  I turned to face her.  She was licking her lips slowly.  "We won't have any more discussions about changing nurses, will we?"

/ END /


Mom's Second Man

Keys: [file:moma] [date:2004-10-31] [words:892] [codes:MFM voy]

Abstract: Bobby's mother remarries, but why is he jealous?

Mom's Second Man

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2004, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Bobby put down his professor's lecture notes, distracted by the squeaking of his mother's bed.  Even six months after the wedding he couldn't get used to another man taking his father's place in there.  It didn't help that Sarah and this Ricardo were such sexual soulmates; the way that man slid his olive-tinged hands over her at breakfast was obscene.

     Not that Bobby could claim the moral high ground; not long before his father left for good, Bobby had drilled a hole in his closet wall that backed up to the master bedroom.  This had taken care of his sex education needs, but it also made him as jealously familiar with his mother's lush body as anyone short of a lover could be.  Now whenever he watched his mother feed Ricardo one of her dusky-tipped nipples and lower her parted thighs onto his cock, Bobby would stroke and soak his stash of towels, lust mixing with envy of the handsome older man.

     He sighed, turning on his stereo to help him focus on his studies.  It wouldn't be so bad, he mused, if his mother's freelance writing paid well enough for him to have a car.  Then at least he could go out with some of his college classmates in the evenings.

     Some months later, when the bedroom activity had slowed down (but not lost any intensity), Ricardo left for a business trip.  Sarah came home that evening carrying a box in a plain paper bag, a package Bobby recognized as the cover for the adult videotapes she had taken to renting when his father first left.  She commented during dinner that he seemed distracted, but Bobby mumbled something about midterms and that seemed to satisfy her.

     After dinner, when his mother went to her bedroom, Bobby went to his room and stripped down to take his position in the closet.  Soon enough she appeared wearing bra and panties, and sat on the end of the bed holding the TV remote.  Something was different, though.  It took Bobby a few minutes to realize the TV set was in a different place, so his mother was now facing him.

     Sarah spread her legs and slipped one hand into the waistband of her panties in a well-practiced motion.  Bobby's hand matched that motion, and both of their hands slid up and down as he listened to the moans and mumbles coming indistinctly from the tape.  It must have been a hot one because Sarah squirmed, her face and chest flushed and her knuckles visible through her panties.  She shook her head then reached up and unfastened her bra, tossing it to one side.  Her nipples were already swollen and dark, and Bobby watched in rapt arousal as his mother pinched and tugged at them, shaking her head from one side to the other until she locked her legs together, moaned loudly, and fell back on the bed shuddering in an obvious orgasm.  The sight was too erotic for Bobby to control himself, and he came at the same time, pumping until he collapsed back into the chair.

     As he caught his breath, a dry, accented voice came from behind him.  "Smells like teen spirit to me!"

     Bobby, mindful that his mother was just the other side of the wall, suppressed a scream of surprise as he jumped up from his chair and whirled around, his cock flopping stickily against his leg.  His stepfather stood in the closet doorway with an appraising look.  "I think we're overdue for one of those father-son chats, don't you agree?"  Ricardo leaned against the doorframe and continued, "Especially since I discovered that nicely-concealed hole in the wall."

     Bobby started to protest but his stepfather waved him to silence.  "I feel we can be adults about this, yes?  Your mother, as you have obviously seen, is a very sexual woman."  Ricardo licked his lips while Bobby squirmed, feeling his cock rise at recalled images.  "Very sexual.  And while we do very well in that department, there are some things she wants... but I'm getting ahead of myself."

     The older man gestured to the chair.  "Sit, sit... if I remember this tape, things should be very interesting in there by now."  Bobby slowly took his chair again, acutely aware of his stepfather's eyes on him.  When he looked into the bedroom, his mother was lying at the end of the bed, her legs spread fully wide as she sliced four fingers urgently in and out of her pussy.  The puffy flesh of her inner thighs glistened with her juices.  Bobby's cock rose as he watched his mother's passion; company or not he had to start stroking.  Ricardo slid his long fingers over Bobby's shoulders, and murmured into his ears, "Go on... you want to... SHE wants you to..."

     The soft voice in his ears, the fingers sliding down his chest, his mother's voice mewling through the wall in raw need, all brought Bobby over the edge faster and harder than before.  He spurted up into the air, past his chest, even up to his chin.  Ricardo reached around and massaged the sticky globs into Bobby's rudimentary nipples, his hands strong but gentle.  Shivers ran down Bobby's back as his stepfather murmured, "You know, they say the family that plays together stays together..."

/ END /

Endnote: Workshopped at the FishTank:


Blues in the Night

Keys: [file:blue] [date:2004-11-17] [words:2605] [codes:MF]

Abstract: Fred gets lucky on a football bet, will he get lucky again later in the evening?

Blues in the Night

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2004, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     The bar where Fred sat was crowded and dingy, but it had a television.  On the screen, the Cowboys kicker shanked what would have been the winning field goal; a mixture of groans and cheers echoed in the crowded bar.  The brunette sitting on Fred's left cursed and slammed her beer down, splashing his left cuff.

     "Oh hell, I'm sorry!" she spluttered, trying to dab at his sleeve with a napkin.  "Look, I'll pay for the cleaning bill..."

     "That's okay," Fred reassured her, gently removing her hand from his wrist.  "I guess you were rooting for the Cowboys, huh?"  The woman grunted, muttering something unintelligible and downing the last of her beer.  Fred didn't mind; the bet he'd just won would pay for plenty of shirts.

     Fred hadn't particularly noticed his neighbor before, but now took the time to give her a once-over.  Peach blouse, small earrings, the start of crows' feet -- she had the look of someone who'd been around the block a few times.  On the other hand, she had a pretty face through her anger, and Fred felt like sharing his good fortune.

     "Tell you what," he said, and when she didn't respond he tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention.  "Tell you what, you can make it up to me by being my guest for dinner -- that is, if you can recommend a good place."

     She looked at him suspiciously, then blinked and smiled -- surprising him with alert blue eyes and seeming to lose at least ten years from her face.  "Don't mind if I do," she replied, extending her hand.  "My name's Sharon -- what's your line?"

     Fred was surprised at the strength of her grip.  "Fred Sanders; I'm in town for the pipeline convention."  Sharon withdrew her hand and slid off her barstool, picking up her purse.  She was taller standing than had been apparent, and Fred continued while he broke a hundred and left the bartender a tip, "I'd have been at the hotel bar tonight, but they were only showing the home team's game.  I found this place to see the game, but it doesn't look like the menu's worth staying for."  He chuckled at his own wit, while Sharon smiled appreciatively.

     She ticked off the options on her fingers as Fred put his wallet back in his pants pocket.  "Well, there's a good Italian place a couple of blocks over, and Chinese and Mexican near there as well as a Moroccan place with real belly dancers."  She gave him an appraising look and continued, "Of course, the best place to eat in this town is on the east side, barbeque to die for and authentic Dixie swamp blues.  But that's a drive from here, I'd have to give you directions and we all know how men are about directions!"  Her voice and face gave him mixed signals -- part humor, part challenge.

     Fred decided to let the insult to his gender slide.  Barbeque and blues sounded good to him, and since Sharon's car was closer than his hotel garage they agreed to let her do the driving.  She set a brisk pace as they walked to the car, and Fred admired her legs as her skirt swirled about her knees.  He was soon glad that Sharon was in charge, as the route went through several parts of town that weren't at all to Fred's liking.  Her radio was tuned to a local channel playing music that seemed almost familiar, bluesy but more raw and energetic than anything he had heard back home.

     The sign at their destination said "Hank's Rib Shack", and its run-down exterior made the sports bar look high-class in comparison.  The food inside, however, made the drive more than worthwhile.  As did the company -- Sharon turned out to be a school teacher and a lively conversationalist, listening with equal interest to his stories about drilling clients.  The band was loud but tolerable, and after her second beer Sharon dragged Fred onto the small dance floor where they bumped and ground their way enjoyably through some slow blues numbers.

     Time just flew by, and when Fred looked at his watch he couldn't believe it was almost midnight.  He had two client presentations to run in the morning, and a laughing woman at his table who bore no relation to the one who'd been swearing at the television earlier in the evening.  It took some convincing, but Fred managed to get Sharon out of the building and into the car.

     That left him with a different problem -- they were in Sharon's car, in an unfamiliar part of town, and she was in no shape to drive.  Fred even had to fasten the passenger seat belt, reaching across her partly-unbuttoned blouse to get the buckle.  She smelled of beer, barbecue and perfume, and wriggled against him as he tightened the belt.  She was coherent enough to give him directions back to the hotel district, and by the time his hotel was in view he had made up his mind to put her up for the night.  His company had booked a suite, so Sharon could take the bed and he could sleep on the living room sofa.

     It was with some embarrassment that Fred made his way through the hotel lobby, with Sharon leaning on his shoulder and breaking into random attacks of the giggles.  She pulled herself together in the elevator long enough to thank Fred demurely for keeping her off the road.  Then she kissed him -- not a chaste polite thank-you, but a moist full-lipped body-pressing kiss that left Fred wondering how much of a gentleman he really wanted to be.

     The elevator doors opened, and Sharon held Fred's hand as she went with him down the hallway.  When he reached into his wallet to get the room card, she leaned against the wall, one leg extended with the tip of her shoe drawing circles in the carpet.  The lock released and he pulled the door open, gesturing for Sharon to precede him.  "Thank you, kind sir," she said as she passed him.  Her words were just slightly slurred.  Fred carefully locked and bolted the door while Sharon took a look around the suite.  "Quite a place you have, Fred, just what did you say you do for these pipeline folks?"

     "I'm a systems analyst and conversion specialist," he repeated as he moved into the living area.  "I'm in charge of making sure our gear fits their needs."

     "And do you often fit your gear into their needs?"  She giggled, then broke into uncontrolled laughter at the look on Fred's face.  "Oh relax honey, you let yourself in for that one."

     Fred let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding, and smiled at the truth of her comment.  He had fed her quite a straight line.  "Okay," he said after he chuckled, "let's get you set up.  The bathroom's out here, so if you'll kindly take care of that first you can have the bedroom for the night.  I've got early meetings tomorrow, so I hope you don't mind but you'll have to be awake and out by eight."

     Sharon appeared surprised, then pleased, and headed for the bathroom.  Fred hung up her jacket and went into the bedroom to turn down the cover and retrieve some of his papers.  He heard the sound of the toilet flushing, and soon Sharon stepped into the bedroom.  She yawned as she set her purse down by the bedside and smiled at him.

     "Fred, I just want to tell you how delightful it is to be with a gentleman.  I'm sorry I had too much tonight, and you're being so nice letting me crash here.  I just wish I could make it up to you."  She yawned again and sat down on the side of the bed, smiling at Fred.

     In other circumstances Fred might have taken that as an invitation, but Sharon seemed to be feeling the effects of the evening and he needed his sleep.  Anyway, he'd already gotten lucky once with the football game, so he stood up and smiled back at her.  "Think nothing of it, Sharon; I just wouldn't have felt right worrying about you driving home at this hour."  With that he turned and headed toward the bedroom door.

     When he passed the doorframe and turned to close the door, Sharon was sprawled half on and half off the bed, softly snoring.  He sighed and went back into the bedroom to the bed.  First he lifted Sharon to a sitting position and carefully unbuttoned her blouse, revealing a flesh-tinted bra that clung to the curves of her breasts.  She wriggled and sighed as he removed the blouse; when he went to hang it carefully over the back of the desk chair, she flopped backward onto the pillow, her skirt flipping up to show a strip of blue between her thighs.  Returning to the bed, he unzipped the skirt and slid it down her warm legs, leaving the dark blue panties in place.  Her feet curled and she murmured, "Oh John, yes," as he tugged at the sheet and maneuvered her body onto the mattress.  He smiled ruefully; at least someone was having nice dreams.  He draped the sheet over her and turned off the bedroom light.

     Fred pulled the door behind him, then undressed for his own makeshift bed.  The room was cool enough to be comfortable, but not so cold that he would need a blanket.  He had a small headache and a not-so-small erection.  In the bathroom, he brushed and flossed, then pushed his briefs down to tend to his other needs.  His cock stood out heavily, and he had to force his mind onto monthly sales projections before his groin relaxed enough to finish his business.

     Afterward, realizing the alarm clock was in the bedroom, he called the front desk for a wake-up call, stretched out on the sofa and covered his midsection with a towel for modesty.  He twisted and turned until he found a position that let him drift off. 

     Something woke him in the middle of the night... sounds from the bedroom.  He got up, wrapping the towel around his waist, and knocked gently on the door.  Getting no response, he pushed it open quietly.  Sharon was lying on the bed, her head propped up on the pillows and the sheet pulled down.  The flickering colors from the television screen played over her face and bare breasts, nice-sized handfuls with large dark areolas.  Her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell regularly; one hand was resting on her stomach, the other hidden beneath the sheet.

     On the small screen, a woman bearing a vague resemblance to Sharon was twisting her nipples and moaning as another woman knelt between her legs, asscheeks flaring at the camera.  Any annoyance at the extra hotel charge was set aside by the sudden surge of blood to his cock, swelling inside his briefs and pressing outward against the towel.  He switched the set off, but the images remained active in his mind.  When he got back to the sofa and eventually to sleep, his dreams were active and erotic.

     The woman in his dreams raked her fingernails over his nipples, and his hips rocked under the wet slice of her pussy.  The rough material of the sofa cushion scraped against his bare bottom... bare bottom?  Fred's eyes blinked open and he looked upward into Sharon's amused gaze.  She was sliding herself backward and forward over the length of his cock, with an extra wiggle over the sensitive head.  "Gee, you're a sound sleeper," she purred, "and such a gentleman, too!  I really expected you to join me in bed earlier, but the sofa works for me."

     Any response Fred might have mustered was silenced by her mouth descending hungrily onto his.  Her fingers slithered around the crown of his cock and he felt the slick caress of lubricated latex.  Satisfied, she pressed his tip inside her and settled her weight down onto his thighs.  Her muscles swallowed his length and squeezed tightly -- very tightly indeed.  She broke off the kiss and sat atop him, playing with his balls, feeling them swell.  "Oh yeah, Fred, don't tease me, you don't know how long it's been since I was with a man!"  The rising tide of urgency within Fred kept him from putting words together.  He certainly wasn't of porn movie size, but it was obvious that Sharon found his dimensions to her satisfaction and that knowledge stoked his own arousal.  Sharon's hips writhed clutching him deep inside her and her fingers stroked and teased, darting into his most private sensitive spots.  Soon enough, yet too soon, he found himself lost in the moment, his legs gone stiff and his body arching, lifting her into the air with the lust-driven force of his orgasm magnified by the rolling massage of her internal spasms round him.

     Sharon sat above him triumphantly with an open-mouthed look of bliss on her face, her breasts jiggling in the half-light percolating through the windowshades.  Her own spasms brought out everything Fred had to give, and even the full furniture cushions weren't enough to keep their passion from beating out an audible rhythm on the hotel room floor.

     Sated, the two collapsed together, bodies intertwined and stretched out fully on the sofa.  Sharon's fingers teased gently at Fred's left ear as he sank into a post-coital slumber.


     Fred shook his head blearily, looking up at the ceiling and trying to figure out where the phone was and who was calling him.  When he finally stumbled over to the living room desk and heard the automated voice wish him "Good Morning,' some of his brain began working again.

     Sharon was gone.  If it weren't for the definite scent of sex in the air, Fred might have thought he had dreamt the previous night.  He headed into the bathroom and started cleaning up, shaking his head in bemusement.  Bemusement got left at the station, however, when he got out of the shower and couldn't find any of his underwear.

     A thorough search of the room showed two things missing -- all of his underwear, and all of the bills in his wallet save for two singles.  Just enough for a beer at the sports bar.  He sat on the sofa, bewilderment and anger mixing uncomfortably, when his eyes lit on a small flash of blue in between the cushions.  It was Sharon's panties, and there was a note inside them.

     "Hi, Fred.  I meant what I said about you being a gentleman... but since you wound up getting into my pants I figured you wouldn't mind if I got into yours!  Enjoy the panties! -- S."

     Fred looked at the blue fabric in his hand.  He lifted it to his face -- it still bore her scent.  His cock rose at the memory, and he slapped it absently.  It wouldn't help, of course.  He grinned, then he laughed out loud at the situation.  If this were in a movie, he'd probably be rolling in the aisles; the joke just happened to be on him.  At last, he slid the feminine garment up his legs, so that he could finish getting dressed.  It was small, of course, and the material slid teasingly against his cock with his every motion.  He wondered what his customers would think if they knew the source of his good humor today.

/ END /


Tears In Her Eyes

Keys: [file:tear] [date:2005-05-15] [words:297] [codes:F]

Abstract: A girl watches a bus leave and loses herself in memories

Tears in Her Eyes

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2005

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     HAHHHNK!!  The Number 27 bus pulled up to the commuter stop, diesel fumes accompanying the noise of its brakes.  The woman on the bench winced and put a hand to her face, fingers returning wet.  The man sitting next to her noticed, and offered her a tissue.  "The fumes get to me as well," he sympathized.

     He was right, but he was wrong.


     It was a small town bus station, the kind that used to hold the nation together.  She and Billy had just come out of the maintenance closet, sweaty and unkempt, when the noon bus rolled in, air shimmering ahead of its shiny front grille.  Brakes squealed, and exhaust filled the building.  That's when Billy popped his surprise.

     "I'm goin' to the city!" he told her excitedly.  "Got me a good offer, more'n anything I'd get around here."  Her face reacted, and he held her close, chiding her.  "Now don't you go lookin' like that, hon.  Coupla years and I'll be set, you'll see.  We're gonna go places!"  He kissed her then, and his hand squeezed her bottom, but gently, and all the more painful for that.

     Bereft of responses, the girl pressed herself against the window, watched Billy get on the bus, waited until its only remnant was an oil spot on the concrete. 

     "City Council said they'd get those new low-emission buses, but it's just politicians as usual.  Say, you need help with those groceries?"

     The woman stood, sunlight picking out the highlights in her grey hair, and declined.  "No thanks, I was just resting on the bench."  She paused, and added as if apologizing, "The bus doesn't go my way any more."

     The commuters boarded the bus, and it roared and puffed on its way, leaving her memories in its wake.

/ END /

Endnote: Composed for the 2005 Fragrant Flash Story Competition at FishTank; see the winning entries at


Solo Serve

Keys: [file:solo] [date:2005-05-18] [words:299] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A tennis game results in an unusual prize for the victor.

Solo Serve

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2005, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "Hah!  You pay for lunch this week!"

     Her voice ripples in good-humor over the tennis court, and he picks up his bag for their trek to the gender-separate locker rooms.  He watches her backside as they walk; tennis shorts glued to her bottom, legs both shapely and well-muscled.  She tosses her towel at him as she opens the women's door, saying, "Catch you on the other side!"

     Inside the men's area, he sits on a bench and kicks off his shoes.  His nose wrinkles as his feet announce their need for a shower.  He picks up the towel, but on impulse draws it across his forehead first.  The towel smells of sweat, but also of something sweeter.  He pulls it down over his face, breathing in her scents -- sweat, body lotion, musk.  Tennis forgotten, he's back in her bed with her thighs tight around his ears while she plays a different game with his balls.  Memory brings need to his groin, drawing his attention back to reality.  He strips off his sports clothing, cock bounding upward, and rubs the rough cloth between his legs before heading to the showers.

     For a change he's the only occupant, and he takes full advantage.  His mind drifts back to the feel of her against him, and his soap-slick hand mimics her attentions until he explodes against the tile wall.  Finishing his shower, he dries off with a club towel and puts on his business clothes.

     Outside the door she waits, elegant as usual.  He snaps the towel from behind his back, tossing it through the air, but she lifts her hand smoothly to catch it as if she anticipated him.  She draws the towel past her nose on its way to her gym bag, and her eyes twinkle promising a rematch.

/ END /

Endnote: Composed for the 2005 Fragrant Flash Story Competition at FishTank; see the winning entries at


Sensory Underload

Keys: [file:sens] [date:2005-05-20] [words:134] [codes:M fet]

Abstract: Women aren't the only ones in women's closets

Sensory Underload

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2005, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Silently Billy padded into the bedroom.  He opened the closet door; it was just as he remembered it.  The strong odor of mothballs, mixed with the tempering scent of lavender and the acrid tang of plastic dry-cleaner bags.

     The hamper was where he expected it, and he sank his arms deep into its contents.  One hand emerged clutching a pair of lace-trimmed panties and he crushed them into his face, his other hand covering his groin with a lover's delicacy.  His excitement grew as he breathed, his mind traveling back in time.

     The culminating moment approached, his body shook all over in the confines of the small space.  He closed his eyes, abandoning himself to the moment.

     Then suddenly, a shrill voice sliced through his supposed solitude, shattering his near-bliss.  "Oh jeeze, Bill, twenty years of therapy and you're still at it.  Ma!  My husband's in your closet again!"  His wife walked away, her muttering clearly audible, "Once a perve, always a perve..."

/ END /

Endnote: Composed for the 2005 Fragrant Flash Story Competition at FishTank; see the winning entries at



Keys: [file:trst] [date:2006-03-02] [words:280] [codes:MFM]

Abstract: A fraternity member is the recipient of a very unusual request from one of his brethren


by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "She *trusts* you."

     My fraternity brother Greg had just given me the *strangest* request I could imagine.  He said his girlfriend wanted to be spanked and she wanted *me* to do it.

     Now I'm not overly handsome and he'd never taken particular note of me before, so this seemed odd.  But a brother is a brother, so I found myself Friday night sitting in Greg's apartment, having a rum and coke and waiting for his girlfriend Elena to tell us she was ready.  In a little bit she called out, and Greg ushered me into the back room.  Elena was in there, naked, bent over a sofa with her feet wide apart, her brown bottom cheeks glistening with oil or lotion.  I could see *everything* from the dark winking rosebud to the swollen pussylips dangling between her spread thighs.  I started to back up but Greg was right behind me.  "Go on," he urged me, "she *trusts* you."

     I moved forward, conscious of the erection trapped in my slacks.  I flexed my hand, then slapped her right cheek tentatively.  "Harder, *please*," she said.  My next slap had more meat and sensation to it, and I soon found myself in a regular rhythm, alternating cheeks until Elena was twisting and rocking and my palms hurt.

     My pants were around my ankles; when did that happen?  Greg had one hand around my cock, thumbing the vein under the shaft, his other hand on my bottom pushing me toward Elena's flared rosebud.

     The sensation inside her squirming ass was incredible; I moaned louder than Elena did.  I felt Greg's finger slide into my bottom while I came.  He was murmuring, "she likes *company*".

/ END /

Endnote: Composed for the 2006 deirdre Festival at the newsgroup



Keys: [file:surp] [date:2006-03-02] [words:619] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A couple meet after a years-long separation


by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     It had been years since I saw John.  Now, sitting across two steaming lattes, I was struck by how little he had changed in appearance.  To think -- shy John, a filmmaker!  Training films, but even so.  He gave me his business card -- company name, phone, email address -- and we agreed to stay in touch more often.

     His building was a bland concrete structure in the industrial district.  The company name wasn't on the door, but when I showed the receptionist his card she nodded, almost approvingly.  "I thought I'd surprise John," I whispered conspiratorially.

     "We can arrange *that*," she said, and waved me to a side door which she buzzed open for me.  Past that door was chaos.  People with clipboards, hand-held cameras, rolling racks of *lingerie*.  I stood with my mouth open until a harried-looking businesswoman approached me.  "And you are...?"  I told her I was there for John, and she nodded knowingly.  "Of course you are.  They all are.  Well, come along, we're behind schedule today."  She set a quick pace and I didn't get to ask what her comment meant.

     She led me into a dressing room.  "Shower *there*, gowns *there*, don't take forever."  The shower was spartan but the body wash was luxurious and made my skin tingle all over; I had to remind myself not to dawdle.  When I got out and looked at the short clingy gowns I had to giggle – John would certainly be *surprised*.

     As if waiting outside the door, the take-charge woman came back in and led me through a maze of bustling activity.  Nobody seemed to take notice of a barefoot woman with wet hair in a clinging shortie robe.  She opened another door and ushered me into a semidark room where she positioned me lying on my stomach on a kind of low cushioned chaise.  The head end was lower than the foot, and I could feel the back of the silk sliding up to the bottoms of my cheeks.  I felt *decadent*.

     I started to ask a question, but the woman shushed me.  "You'll spoil the *surprise*."  That made sense.

     She left, and the room was quiet -- although I had an odd sense of motion behind the walls.  The silence was broken by the sound of the door opening and closing, then a long appreciative whistle.  I knew that whistle from long years past.  I wondered if he liked what he was seeing, then gentle hands flipped the gown up and a limber tongue fluttered between my thighs and I knew he did.  His tongue snaked up between my cheeks, a naughtiness I couldn't quite resist.  I may have moaned.  Fingers slid between my wetness and the chaise as the tongue rolled against my bottom.  I *know* I moaned.

     His tongue vanished, and I started to push myself back against the void but was stopped by the quick slice of warm flesh into my bottom, filling and stretching me as he leaned forward to lie atop me.  His weight made my pussy and mons rub needfully against the chaise, and I felt his erection pulsing.  I couldn't stay silent.  "Oh, John!" I cried out.

     Everything stopped except the slow unceasing pulse of his cock inside my bottom.  "Julia?"  That pulse became a sudden rush, and I knew a man coming inside my ass for the first time.  He collapsed atop me, hugging me tight and rocking his hips into me.  His movements made my pelvis grind against the chaise; I felt my own peak rushing at me.  "Kiss me," I pleaded.

     His voice scolded me gently.  "You're my sister – we shouldn't even be doing *this*."  But his cock didn't stop moving.  I *came*.

/ END /

Endnote: Composed for the 2006 deirdre Festival at the newsgroup



Keys: [file:prom] [date:2006-03-03] [words:256] [codes:MF voy]

Abstract: A young man spies on his prom date and learns much more than he thought possible.


by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     My prom date had vanished.  One of the girls at the punch bowl said "Didn't I see her go down toward the library with..." but her friend pinched her or something.  There was giggling, but I didn't care.  I followed the dark halls until I heard noises from the teachers lounge.

     The door wasn't fully closed.  I heard whispery noises and could see the gleam of moonlight off pale pink skin.  She was holding his erection, breathing on it.  Jealousy and anger made me rigid; I reached hesitantly for my zipper, tugged it down.

     A woman's voice behind me, "Go ahead -- *they* won't notice".  I turned in shock -- it was a chaperone, not just any chaperone, but my date's *mother*.  She gave me an enigmatic look and continued, "Here, I'll help you."  Her hand was cool and dry around my erection, and she turned me back to look through the door together.  I didn't know what to say, but she had no such trouble.

     "Don't you love the way her breasts dangle?  Just think, they'll be a size bigger by the summer."

     "She really knows how to make a cock sit up and take notice, don't you agree?"

     Her hand continued to move along my cock, making my own hips echo the movements from the lounge.  Finally, after some muffled gasping and moaning by my date's companion, she leaned down and whispered in my ear as her hand rippled and brought forth my own explosion.

     "You'll do her *ass* tonight."  It wasn't a question.

/ END /

Endnote: Composed for the 2006 deirdre Festival at the newsgroup


Poem {after deirdre}

Keys: [file:pome] [date:2006-03-03] [words:60] [codes:poetry]

Abstract: (none)

Poem {after deirdre}

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

may i steal said she

     just a feel said he

would you show said she

     dont you know said he

wear this mask said she

     as you ask said he

feel my lips said she

     and your *grips* moaned he

dont come yet said she

     youre so wet said he

oh the bliss said he

     its my *sis* said she

/ END /

Endnote: Composed for the 2006 deirdre Festival at the newsgroup.  With apologies to e e cummings.



Keys: [file:spam] [date:2006-03-10] [words:611] [codes:MF horror][rewrite 2006-04-20]

Abstract: Sometimes those junk emails should be opened, after all .


by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "We are having your wife."

     I usually ignore junk email, on the advice of my daughter at college, but this title caught my eye.  It was certainly different from the usual run of Nigerian bank transfers and email lotteries.  I would have opened it to see what the scam was, but I had a lot of client deadlines to meet.

     When I checked before lunch, three more emails with the same title had arrived.  They had very big attachments, from 700K to 3 megabytes, and I figured them to be viruses masquerading as sex videos.  There had been a notice from corporate just a few weeks back that the mail server would block multimedia files for just that reason.  I considered reading one of them just for grins, but the title put me off.  I've always found it odd, how these hackers will put so much brainpower into getting around the spam filters but ignore the basics of spelling and grammar.

     Oddly, I was the only one in the office getting this particular version.  Stan in Accounting said it was probably the Indian offshore tech support mafia trying to take me down.  If I hadn't been snowed under with client calls I'd have found that funnier.  I called my wife to share the joke, but only got the answering machine.  She was probably out running her usual errands, or working out at the gym.

     The afternoon was a horrible mess, with three different clients clamoring for my exclusive attention.  Five o'clock came in a frantic rush, and I barely had time to glance at my inbox before catching the carpool.  Things were slowing down – there had been only two more of those emails.  Maybe I'd look at them later; for the moment I needed the respite of having someone else drive me home.

     When I got home, I dropped my briefcase by the kitchen door and called for my wife.  She didn't answer me, but I heard music playing in the living room.  It sounded like one of her exercise videos.  I checked the answering machine, where the only message was mine from earlier, and went to see what Sharon was doing.

     I entered the living room, then halted in shock.  Sharon was in the easy chair facing me, her legs spread out over the armrests and tied down by her ankles, her arms pulled behind her.  Tape covered her mouth, and a smaller strip held something wedged between her thighs.  Her body was covered with sweat and smears of something else, her face was tear-stained, her breasts swayed from side to side.  I stood rooted in place as her lithe body arched against its bonds, the familiar moans of her orgasm escaping the gag.  My erection shamed me into movement, and I crossed to the chair trying to keep my eyes averted from her condition and her face.  The hurt and anger in her eyes when she saw me were palpable. 

     "Why?" Sharon cried when I pulled the tape from her mouth.   "Why wouldn't you answer them?  Why didn't you do anything?  How could you ignore ... those!"

     I followed her gaze to the laptop on the coffee table.  What I had taken for exercise video sounds was a website slide show featuring a nude body I knew intimately -- although never in such positions or activities.  I suddenly realized what was in those email attachments that the office server had blocked. 

     As Sharon climbed unsteadily to her feet, her laptop beeped and the AOL voice announced "You've got mail!"  We both looked at the same time.

     The subject was, "We are having your daughter."

/ END /

Endnote: Originally written 3/10/2006; this revision workshopped at the Fish Tank (



Keys: [file:read] [date:2006-03-11] [words:487] [codes:MF]

Abstract: She does the reading; he does the learning


by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "I've been reading," she giggled.

     Usually this meant I had to take one of those couples compatibility quizzes.  Not this time.  She brought out an emerald green slip and matching thong panties.  For me.  My balls hung out either side.  I felt foolish.  She was wild.  She pushed me on my back, ran her hands all over me, dug her nails into my ass.  She sucked me hard through the thong then pulled it to one side and mounted me, bouncing until she came.

     She stayed atop me, doing something new and different with her muscles until I had my own explosion.  I asked where that came from, but only got the same response, "I've been reading".

     The next night it was a deep red high-cut pair of panties and a red babydoll top; when she had me wetly erect she turned around facing my feet, alternately playing with my balls and rocking atop me until I came hard inside her.  I didn't know what she was reading, but I wouldn't complain about it.

     Wednesday night was blue.  She dressed me in a thin bra and tap pants, then played with my nipples until they actually got perky.  Her hand inside the tap pants played games with my dangling balls and the sensitive area behind them until I was gasping, and only then did she roll over and let me enter her.  It was slow, languorous, and ultimately draining.  For her as well, I hoped.

     Thursday was black -- black garter belt, black hose, and an intensely long and delicately timed blowjob, stopping me with a squeeze so she could get on her hands and knees.  I was the wild one now, my stomach slapping into her asscheeks, panting until I felt her clutch around my cock, and only then having my release.

     Friday night was white -- a petite white panty that didn't begin to hold me in check and white scarves that she used to hold my wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed.  When she had me erect, she grabbed my cock and sat on it, taking me up her ass.  My demure wife used my cock to fuck her ass with loud and obvious enjoyment.  And the sensation of her rear muscles... it seemed like all night before I came, and I almost passed out from it.

     Saturday she said, "I've got a surprise for you." She blindfolded me, then took all my clothes off and sat me in a chair with my arms tied behind my back.  My cock was erect.  A pair of legs straddled me, only the wet pussy enfolding my cock wasn't my wife's.  I opened my mouth to speak and a full breast, not my wife's, filled my mouth instead.

     A strange voice inquired, "Will he last?"

     I heard my wife say, "He will now."

     The pussy clenched around me.  And still, I didn't come.  I could wait for the next chapter.

/ END /

Endnote: Published at Ruthie's Club on 7/2/2007.


Serpent's Tooth

Keys: [file:serp] [date:2006-04-10] [words:481] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A woman's boyfriend extricates her from a sticky situation

Serpent's Tooth

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     The blade's edge sliced upward, white fabric parting with a reluctant tearing sound. The young woman's eyes followed the glittering path of the tip tremulously as the older man used it to flip first one delicate bra cup then the other outward.

     He paused, setting the stiletto down, and when he spoke it was with an unsteady rasp in his voice. "You've only yourself to blame, you know," he murmured as he walked around behind her.  She was quite a sight -- the handcuff chain threaded through the back of her panties, forcing her to keep her back arched lest the thin material dig repeatedly up between her thighs.

     Reaching around her body, he tugged the bra cups backward and out under her arms, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. Metallic jingling sounds echoed off the walls as he knelt behind her, testing one key and then another in the lock, his efforts causing her to writhe and twist, putting on an unintentional but exceedingly erotic display.

     Finally the cuffs clicked loudly and came loose. She stretched her arms upward, flexing her wrists in relief and gasping as he pulled the seat of her panties one last unavoidable time, sliding the metal along her bottom and out to the floor. He picked up the blouse and passed it over her shoulder, watching the flex and play of muscles along her bare back. "There you are; I hope you know you owe me big time. Count yourself lucky she only superglued your bra clasp; she could have just as easily poured it into the keyhole of the cuffs."

     She busied herself with becoming presentable again, bending down to retrieve her skirt and sliding it up her legs before turning around to face him. "Yes, and I'll make it up to you." The smile on her face promised more than perfunctory attention to that promise. "Look, Brian, I apologize, I really do, but I can handle it from here. You couldn't tell, but she was peeking around the corner when you tried to talk me into bringing in one of the female officers. I think you put the fear of God into her. And besides, none of us really want this escalated to her parents."

     He looked at her, long and appraisingly, then nodded grudgingly and turned through the door into the living room.  He called over his shoulder as he headed for the main entrance, "Well all right, ma'am, if you're sure you don't need me to deal with her directly." She held the door for him, smiling, her eyes twinkling. "I think I have matters well in hand, Officer, but thank you for all your help."

     She closed and locked the door behind her, her eyes changing from flirtatious to determined, then went toward the stairs, looking for her errant charge. Someone was about to get a very pointed lesson.

/ END /


Taking Advantage

Keys: [file:advn] [date:2006-05-04] [words:641] [codes:MF bdsm]

Abstract: When you pretend to be someone else on line, you should be careful about carrying that over into real life

Taking Advantage

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     My wife was out of town, so I was snooping in her computer.  Not that I expected to find anything, she's about as vanilla as they come.  I'm the kinky one, but she doesn't know about that.

     When I opened her instant messenger though, I got a double whammy.  She had it set for automatic logon, so I didn't need to guess her password to read her saved message logs.  She was IM-ing as a *man*.  Not just a man, but a rather stern dominant.  While I was digesting this, one of her contacts came on line and popped up a message box.  "Master Karl, this lowly woman's husband has left town on short notice; i can be Yours if you so desire tonight."

     I blinked.  "deborah" in lower case.  A submissive woman who thought she was talking to a Master.  My cock reared at the possibilities.  It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

     Deborah, whatever her real name was, lived in a nondescript suburban house.  I knocked on the door and a tall redhead opened it.  She was wearing a red silk kimono, and from the way it draped on her I could tell that was all she wore.  She closed the door, sank to her knees, and quickly unfastened my slacks to get my cock into her mouth.  I had to balance myself against the door; she was deft and skillful.  I came hard and fast.  She licked my cock clean and kissed the tip, then stood up and posed for me, slowly removing the kimono and turning a pirouette.  She was nude and shaved, her nipples fat and swollen, and the end of a plug protruded from between her luscious bottom cheeks.

     "Sir will be more comfortable in the living room," she suggested, and I agreed with that.  I followed her, ditching my briefs as I went.  I probably looked silly in just my shirt and shoes, but hell -- this was a real scene, not one of my on-line fantasies!  The sofa was upholstered in some material that scratched my ass, and the discomfort didn't even bother me.  Deborah brought me a drink.  "Rum and Coke, as Sir told me."  I'm a bourbon man, but I could hardly contradict what "myself" had told her.  I drank quickly, the liquor giving me a buzz while she removed my shoes and socks and massaged my feet between her breasts.  It was so good, I felt giddy and light-headed.

     I *was* light-headed.  Then I was out.

     I woke up with a headache, bent over the back of the sofa, naked with my hands bound behind me.  The acrid taste of plastic filled my mouth, pinning my tongue down, and something hard was pressing against my asshole.  My muscles were fighting that intrusion, but I wouldn't be able to keep it out for long.  "Sir had too much to drink, perhaps," came Deborah's mocking voice from behind me.  I felt the head of the thing pop past my sphincter, invading me and shoving my insides into places they didn't belong.  I tried pushing my feet against the floor, but that only made the thing shift more.  Her smooth hand curled around my cock; the damn thing was hard and pulsing in her grip. 

     "Sir will remember all the things He had me do on line, I trust.  We have plenty of time to explore them."  Deborah twisted the prod forcefully in my ass, making me grunt around the thing in my mouth, even as her other hand maintained and encouraged my erection.  My desire to get away from the thing in my ass fought against my mounting need for an orgasm.  She didn't seem to be in any hurry, and I suddenly had a dreadful thought – whose spouse was going to be out of town longer, mine or hers?

/ END /

Endnote: Workshopped at the Fish Tank (



Keys: [file:dact] [date:2006-05-10] [words:690] [codes:MF cons]

Abstract: Two college students put a different spin on how to study for a poetry test


by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "This is the forest primeval, the murmuring pines and the hemlocks..."

     Paula nudged me sharply in the ribs. "Don't go reading Wordsworth to me. You know I hate that."

     "It wasn't Wordsworth, it was Longfellow; I was quoting Evangeline:"

      'This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks / Bearded with moss and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, / Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and prophetic'

     "...and I was trying to explain about dactyls and spondees."

     Paula and I were in the same poetry class. I had signed up for the class to meet girls, and Paula was the result. She was a few inches shorter than I and extremely limber. I was vocal in class and smarter than her in academics, she was vocal in bed and more knowledgeable than I in sexual acrobatics. It made for a good relationship all around, except on those occasions where Paula's mind insisted on abandoning all pretense at interest in our grades.

     "Dactyls, ducktails, who cares. And I thought spondees were like landowners in Spain."

     "That's grandees, hon, and keep flying off on tangents like that and we'll fail the test this Friday, which is why we both should care."

     I wasn't terribly worried about the test for my part, but Paula had struggled all semester with this course. I forget how many poetic forms there are, but we were discussing dactylic hexameter. It's the kind of form used in the old Latin epic poems -- and in Evangeline. Each line has six "feet", all but the last being a dactyl.

     What's a dactyl, I hear you ask. Well, as best as I can explain it, it's a word or set of words that sounds like "HARD-soft-soft" when you say it. "THIS is the FOR-est pri-ME-val...". Now I hear you asking why anyone would care. Please, don't encourage Paula, that's her attitude as well. Oh yes, and a spondee is a two-syllable combination that gets the same amount of stress. Not like the stress that studying with Paula was giving me.

     A different kind of stress at times, I'll grant. My fingers were tracing out rhythms on the printed page, while hers were walking up the inside of my leg, looking to creep under the edge of my shorts. I swatted lazily in the general direction of her hand, which had no effect whatsoever on her.  She slid her fingernails in and scratched my balls teasingly.  "Wanna see *my* hemlocks?", she said.  "I shaved all the moss, but I'm wearing garments of green tonight."

     I looked up from my book, and the sight presented to me drove the remnants of concentration from my brain.  Paula was sitting up with one well-sculpted leg extended outward, a thin strip of dark green panty nestled damply between well-defined thighs.  Her free hand was tapping rhythmically at the top of the panty slice, TAP-tap-tap, TAP-tap-tap.  "Dactyls, right?" she said.  Her eyes fluttered and she took a sudden breath, clenching her thighs around her hand.  I could smell her arousal.  She could feel mine.  Her thumb did something interesting, and I decided to go with her agenda.  I stood up to shuck my shorts, and Paula smiled while she slid out of her panties.  She tugged me down by my erection, curled her feet around my rear and pulled me inside her.

     One or both of us moaned; my lips found hers and we made good use of the bed -- first in missionary position from urgency, then more slowly with Paula on top.  Her dark nipples bounced hypnotically high on her chest as she climbed to her second peak, draining me of any residual strength.

     Later, after Paula had pulled off to leave me in the wet spot, she came back and smacked me in the face with a damp washcloth.  It smelled of sex.  "I got it," she declared, "Women are dactyls, men are spondees."  She grabbed my cock and jerked it by way of demonstration, up-down, up-down, rhythms of two.

     I wasn't sure about her simile, but I rose to the challenge of helping her demonstrate it.

/ END /


Late Night Arrival

Keys: [file:late] [date:2006-08-18] [words:439] [codes:MF cons]

Abstract: A man coming home late from work gets to play with his slumbering wife

Late Night Arrival

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I rolled into the garage around 12:30.  It had been a long night at the office, but we finally got the program finished and shipped out the door.  I closed the door behind me quietly and slipped off my shoes before padding upstairs to the bedroom.  The television was still on (Jenny Jones was talking about women who play with their daughters' dates, or girls who play with their dates' mothers, or some such thing) but from your snoring you'd been asleep for some time.  I turned the TV sound down, washed my face and brushed my teeth, then took off my clothes and got into bed.

     I slid in and spent a few moments just watching you sleep, your shoulders shifting slightly.  Your nightdress had crept up in back and your long legs were too tempting for me to ignore.  I let my fingers dance lightly from your hip down to your calf.  You stirred the barest bit, then subsided back into sleep.  I rolled close and cradled my body against yours, my cock gently resting against the cotton-covered space between your cheeks, and reached around to rub your belly with slow, wide strokes.  I was rewarded with a slow roll of your hips making your bottom shift deliciously against my rising cock.

     Smiling, I teased my hand down and up your leg, bringing my fingers to the gusset of your panties.  There was both heat and humidity there, and the pace of your breathing began to alter.  Slowly, gently, I rolled my fingertips against that damp line, bringing them up over your mons ever so lightly.  Your hand shifted to cover mine, and I knew you were no longer sleeping.  From the way you pushed my fingers down into your cleft, I knew you weren't unhappy about being woken either.

     We moved quietly together that way for minutes, your bottom rubbing against my shaft, my fingers between your thighs, until you squeezed my hand and gasped and I felt your body quivering with your quiet, intense orgasm.  I held you against me, letting you come down from your peak, and lightly kissed the back of your neck.  "Happy Birthday," I murmured.

     You rolled over and hugged me tight, your wet panties trapping my erection between us.  "And is this my present?" you asked teasingly.  "It's already unwrapped – where's the fun in that?"

     Pushing me onto my back, you kissed me hard on the lips and began sliding your mouth downward while your hand played between my legs.  I lay back and smiled, with the distinct feeling that I'd enjoy your birthday present as much as you would.

/ END /


La Gente

Keys: [file:gent] [date:2006-08-21] [words:1783] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A consultant out of town tries a "companion dancing" place for evening entertainment

La Gente

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I was new in town, alone in San Antonio on a three-month programming gig, and there was nothing on the motel cable on a slow Monday night.  I picked up the papers that I'd grabbed at the airport, and looked through the entertainment sections.  An ad caught my eye.  The place was called "La Gente" and the ad mentioned dancing with companions and convenient rates.  That sounded like a change from my usual mode of late-night entertainment, and at least it would get me out of the drab motel room.   I pulled up a map to check; it wasn't a difficult drive form where I was staying, so off I went.

     When I found the street, it was on the sleazy side of town.  I passed two strip clubs to get there, and La Gente itself was in an unassuming building easily missed if you weren't looking for it.  I parked in its lot, and looked across the street at the flashing neon announcing "Topless Amateur Night" and "Half-Price Table Dances".  Their parking lot was overflowing, and the sound system was audible from across the street.  I shrugged my shoulders, turned to the plain brown wooden door and went inside.  I had never been one for flash.

     There wasn't anything fancy to see at first glance, nor at second glance.  The entryway had a booth where a bored-looking matronly woman gossiped with a couple of customers.  On one edge of the booth was a rack of timecards and a punch clock.  Through an archway there was a big area with a pool table, a couple of foosball tables, and a bar with a small TV set.  There were several sofas with people occupying them.  Beyond that, another room was visible where a glitter ball was turning.

     I went to the booth and caught the woman's eye.  "How’s it work?" I asked her.

     She nodded at her gossip pals and turned to me.  "Ten dollars to get in.  Find a girl you like, she clocks in.  You owe the house twenty-five bucks an hour."  She spoke with a bored lisp, too lazy to cover it.  "And, if you know what’s good for you, tip the girl at least half of what you pay the house."

     I juggled the numbers in my head – they rounded up to less than I usually blew in the topless bars.  Without much opportunity for extracurricular contact there would also be a lot less pressure to spend my money.  What the hell, I thought and gave the woman a ten-spot.

     The place wasn't full, but there wasn't a woman around without at least one guy on her arm.  The women here sure didn't look anything like the dancers across the street – some were in dresses of various length, some in shorts and tee-shirts.  They were blondes, brunettes, Anglo and Latina with a few other varieties represented.  They ranged from college freshman age to maybe early forties, and the guys keeping their company looked more like locals than businessmen or college students.  After a while, I gave up on getting an uncontested conversation with any of the women and struck up a chat with the bartender. He told me I'd have better luck later in the evening, after eleven. I thanked him and headed for the door.  I'd had a long day already.  On a whim, I asked the woman in the booth about the entry fee, and she politely refunded it.  Not bad, not bad at all.

     I returned the next night at eleven, having taken a nap after dinner.  My lust and curiosity were both whetted by the wait.  Why, I wondered, did the place have a more active crowd *earlier* in the evening?  The bartender's tip had been good – the room wasn't nearly as busy.  Two guys and two women were playing pool.  A couple of women chatted on one of the couches. I wandered over to introduce myself and the shorter one -- a striking Latina in a leather dress -- stood to greet me.

     "I’m Bonita," she said and picked up her purse.  I followed her to the side window where she retrieved her time card from a rack and got it punched.

     We went hand in hand into the back room. Here there were small couches, coffee tables, and parquet dance areas.  I let her lead me to an area perhaps a touch dimmer than the rest of the room, and I waited for her to settle into the couch before I sat down next to her.  We moved smoothly through the usual who-what-where chatter until the sound system kicked into Billy Joel's "Just The Way You Are".

     "Care to dance," I asked.

     "Absolutely," she said with a bright smile.

     Bonita danced well.  Better yet, she was the right height for her bottom to fit nicely into my palm when I dropped my hand down that direction.  She didn't push me away either.  She just leaned her head on my shoulder and nuzzled my ear with her warm breath.  I liked the way she kind of pushed her rear back into my hand, and the sweet soft feel of her body against mine.

     The guy running the music was conspiring with us -- the next three numbers were all slow enough for close dancing.  Very close.  By the time they changed the tempo, the front of her skirt was practically glued to the front of my pants, and when we went to sit down her face was visibly flushed.  If the lights had been much higher, my own condition would have been equally obvious.

     "I could use a drink," I told her.  "Can I get you something?"

     "Sure baby.  How about a Sprite?"

     When I stood up, her fingers slid over the back of my hand like little spider feet dragging a web from my wrist down to my knuckles.  It put a buzz in my arm (and in the rest of me) that I still felt when I got to the bar.

     On the way back with our drinks, I passed a couple practicing the tango.  I stopped to admire.  The tango was as much a form of accepted public intimacy as it was an art form.  The man was tall and powerful; the woman's snug dress implied more than it showed, although the calf-length skirt had an artfully designed side slit that flashed quite a bit of thigh.  Her hair was disheveled, and they moved with an air of barely restrained sensual violence.  I shook my head in envy and went on to my own evening companion.  Bonita had seen me pause, and smiled knowingly as I handed the drink to her.

     "She is very impressive, no?  They are quite good together.  I mean they enter dance competitions."  Her hand covered mine as I got arranged on the couch, and we settled into a neutral conversation.  I discussed my job and she told me about her hobby riding horses outside of town.  When the music slowed again, Bonita asked me to join her on the dance floor, and I happily agreed.

     There's a saying that dancing is the vertical expression of a horizontal idea.  Bonita had such ideas all over the place, and only my innate sense of propriety (and perhaps her ability to read my reactions) kept that dance from being a rather messy affair.  When the music changed tempo this time, we held each other around the waist and I started casting for an elegant way of asking her when her shift was over.  But before I could find the right words, she looked at her watch and an expression of disappointment came over her face.  She squeezed my hand as she told me, "I'm so sorry, but I have to leave early tonight.  Will you be in town for long?"

     I told her it was a three month job, and she smiled, her dark eyes lighting up.  She suggested that I come back the night after next, "when I will have time to make your evening more memorable."

     More anything sounded like a good idea to me.  I was almost walking bowlegged as I escorted her back to the time clock to punch out.  I handed my cash to the matron, and more discreetly, to Bonita.

     I have to admit, for the next forty-eight hours my attention was not completely on my work.  My client wouldn't know, not having seen me at my regular office, but any of my colleagues would have observed that I was distracted and not working at my usual speed.  I wasn't making errors, just being slower to resolve issues and write code than normal.

     I clocked out Thursday at five-thirty and went to a drugstore for condoms, then to the motel for a light dinner and a thorough shower.  I wasn't absolutely sure of the evening's conclusion -- there hadn't been any indication of hanky-panky at the club, and there was a sign expressly forbidding inappropriate contact -- but I was pretty sure Bonita's idea of "more memorable" hadn't meant charades.

     I was drying myself off after the shower when I heard the words "La Gente" on the television set.  I moved from the bathroom mirror over to the bed and turned up the volume.  The screen showed flashing police lights and a number of women and men being led out, some with sweaters or other garments shielding their faces.  The reporter announced breathlessly that the police had conducted raids on a number of fronts for prostitution as part of the mayor's campaign to clean up the city.  There seemed to be an irony in that statement, as the neon of the strip club across the street was clearly visible behind the reporter.  The camera switched from the reporter's face to the faces of those being led away.  One of them was easily recognizable to me.  Bonita.

     My productivity the next day picked up enough that the client remarked on it.  I told him it had taken me a couple of days to get used to the way they coded things in his office.  I threw away the other entertainment sections from the airport, and got a new appreciation for network reruns at night.  I was torn between what might have been, and what might have been *me*.

     And yet.

     I waited until my last night in town and made my way to La Gente. The booth lisper was still there, everything looked about the same. I kept waiting to hear the sound of sirens, or feel the direct heat of a flashlight in my face. The only thing that happened was a bubbly redhead showed me tango moves they didn’t use on "Dancing with the Stars."

     Bonita was nowhere in sight.

     There was still hope. My client had already mentioned a return trip to San Antonio.

/ END /

Endnote: Published at Ruthie's Club on 8/27/2007.


Priscilla's Parlor

Keys: [file:parl] [date:2006-08-22] [words:2721] [codes:forced fem]

Abstract: Greg tries a new restaurant for lunch.  It's a bit girly for his taste, but tastes can change

Priscilla's Parlor

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Greg was hungry.  He'd slept late and skipped breakfast, so even though it was only 11:00 he was ready for lunch.  Some of the women around his office had been talking up a new place called Priscilla's Parlor.  It was supposed to be good -- Southern cooking like Mom used to make.  Not Greg's mother, of course.  The Hefferdale matrons never handled things like butter and flour; servants did that sort of thing.  Greg had been raised with similar values, that was why he was management.  He didn't really want to try some new place, especially since it was only the secretaries who seemed most thrilled with it, but his hunger left him without the desire to look for something farther away.

     The restaurant was definitely female oriented, from the knick-knacks and lacy curtains to the almost suffocating shades of pink and rose everywhere.  Greg was seated by a rather buxom hostess and told that his waitress Susan would be with him momentarily.  He looked over the menu, and was pleasantly surprised – while there were many salad bar items, there were plenty of choices for dishes he was willing to eat and the prices were better than at the cafeterias in town.  His waitress arrived, a petite woman in rather impractical high heeled sandals.  She took his order pleasantly and quietly, and while he waited he took the opportunity to look around the place.

     Most of the customers and all of the waitstaff were women.  Many of the customers were dressed expensively enough that he was puzzled why they would eat here.  About half of the waitstaff looked like anonymous waitress types, but the other half!  They looked like slumming society women, and their outfits were much more tight and clinging.  Several of them kept glancing back toward the kitchen nervously, as if this was their first job.  Greg shrugged and decided to read the rest of the menu and look around some more; the problems of a bunch of waitresses weren't exactly any of his concern.  He did notice there was only one other customer who wasn't a woman, a man two tables over from Greg who was blonde and blue-eyed, maybe 5 foot 8, the kind of guy the women at the office would be twittering over.

     Susan brought his lunch and he dug in with relish.  The food was indeed quite tasty.  The other guy passed Greg's table on the way to the restroom about the same time that Greg decided he'd ask his waitress for dessert.  They had cheesecake on the menu, a favorite of his.  It took longer than he thought necessary for the dessert to show up, but it was as good as the rest of his lunch.  Greg was so pleased that when he paid his bill he added a whole ten percent tip to it.  He noticed as he passed the other guy's table that the food was still there but the guy hadn't come back.  That seemed odd, but maybe he had a sensitive stomach.

     It was a few weeks later that Greg's schedule and appetite combined to suggest the Parlor to him for lunch.  There wasn't anything terribly pressing at the office, so it wouldn't matter if their waitresses were a little on the slow side.  Nothing had changed when he got there, not the décor, not the hostess with the great rack; he even had the same waitress – what was her name, oh yeah, Susan.

     He ordered and looked around while he waited for his meal.  A young blonde woman entered and was seated at the table next to him.  She was quite a looker, about five foot nine and stacked, in an expensive-looking outfit that if anything accentuated her breasts.  The woman seemed very nervous; he watched her stutter as she looked up to her waitress and gave her order.  Strange, that.  There was something familiar about her blandly pretty face, but nothing he could put his finger on.  She certainly wasn't one of the secretaries from his office.

     His meal arrived and he made short shrift of it.  He was hungrier than he had thought and was halfway through his second glass of tea when he cleaned the last of his plate.  His stomach grumbled at him, and he decided he'd better hit the restroom or he wouldn't have room for dessert.  He headed for the back, his stomach complaining with more emphasis at each step, and passed his waitress on the way.  When she smiled and asked how he enjoyed his meal he told her brusquely that it was fine and he needed cheesecake.

     As Greg stepped through the door to the john he took one look and stepped back out.  He checked the door; it said "Men" on it.  But this was like no men's room he had ever been in.  The walls were blue, not pink, but the mirrors had gold gilt frames and the light fixtures were mini-chandeliers.  The floor was lushly carpeted, which seemed wildly  useless to him.  All of the stalls had doors and there wasn't a standalone urinal to be seen.  A cramp inside reminded him that he didn't care about urinals anyway, and he rushed to the farthest stall and entered, locking the swinging door behind him.

     Something must have really disagreed with him, because his body blew out a loud and messy expulsion not once but twice, leaving Greg shaky and shivering.  It took three flushes before he felt clean and steady enough to get back on his feet.  When he got his pants pulled up and zipped, he went to open the door but it wouldn't move.  The bolt slid back, but the door wouldn't swing open.  He couldn't decide whether he should call for help, which would have been terribly embarrassing, or try climbing under the bottom of the door which didn't look like a lot of room.  He heard the bathroom door open, but the carpet muffled any footsteps.  He only knew the other person was there from the sound of the soap dispenser and running water in the sink.  By the time Greg decided to go ahead and call for help, the other person had gone.

     This was really stupid, he thought.  Angrily he slapped the door, and to his surprise it swung open as if nothing had ever been a problem.  Well, at least he could pay his bill and get out of here now.  He walked out of the stall, glancing down to check his zipper, and stopped at the realization that he wasn't alone.  His view pointed downward, he saw a pair of nyloned feet in very high-heeled ankle-strap sandals.  As he lifted his eyes higher, he saw stockinged legs, skirt hem, blouse, full breasts, broad shoulders, and a very stern female face.  He mumbled something about this being the men's room and took a step backward, only to be grabbed from behind and his upper arms held painfully by someone with a very strong grip.  The woman in front of him pulled out a cloth and held it over his nose and mouth, and Greg was surrounded with an overpowering sweet smell before everything went black.

     *** *** ***

     Greg woke fuzzily, the sweet smell still in his nose. His lips felt parched, and there was a bad taste in the back of his throat.  He reflexively licked his lips as he opened his eyes.

     *FLASH*  A strong light made him blink, and when he could see again he started to take stock of where he was.  Naked on his back, for one thing.  He yelped and tried to get up but his arms and ankles were fastened down.  Worse, when he moved he felt some kind of stiff lump lodged in his bottom.  He squirmed and tried squeezing his muscles, but it wouldn't come out.  Worse yet, he could feel that he was sporting a very large erection that pulsed with every muscle clench.

     "Oh good, we're awake now!"  The voice came from a woman entering the room to one side.  He strained to turn his head enough to see her.  It was his nondescript waitress, but she wasn't nondescript any more.  Her uniform was gone, and she was wearing only the high heeled sandals, a pair of almost-translucent panties that outlined the slice of her sex, and a pair of matching jeweled dangles bobbing from her dusky thick nipples.  The dangles twinkled with her breathing, and they made it hard for Greg to move his attention from her breasts to her face.  She looked pointedly at Greg's crotch, and he felt himself blush all over as his cock throbbed.

     "I'm glad to see you're enjoying your little friend," she commented with a wicked grin.  Greg was confused, then as his groin throbbed and he felt the presence of the thing in his ass he understood what she meant.  Susan continued, "That's good, Pearl, it will make things so much easier for you."

     He protested weakly, "What is this?  And my name's Greg, not Pearl!"

     "No, dear," she corrected him, stroking his balls teasingly and dangling her breasts in his face.  "You're our sweet Pearl now."  Her teasing made him squirm all the more, the plug an insistent presence in his bottom.  Susan cupped her hand over his cockhead and smeared his precum over the knob, drawing a moan from him.  Greg fought to keep from exploding then and there.  "What's this all about anyway?  You can't do this!"  Naked and bound or not, his confidence was coming back to him.  These people didn't know who they were dealing with.

     That confidence didn't survive the three photographs that Susan showed him.

     In the first photograph Greg was shown entering the restroom.  Obviously they had hidden cameras there.  The second photograph showed him lying on his side on the carpet, his hand curled around his cock and semen splattered on his stomach.  His eyes were lidded and his lips were wrapped around a thick cock.  That picture might easily have been faked, although Greg had the sinking suspicion it had been real.  The third picture was the killer.  Greg was definitely awake in this one, his eyes flared open and what might have been a half-smile on his lips.  His tongue was clearly licking whitish smears from his lips.  Cum was also splattered on his bare chest and stomach, his cockhead was visibly engorged, and the end of the butt plug could be seen between his thighs.  Tellingly, the straps holding his elbows and ankles were out of the frame of the picture.

     Susan spoke again, her voice sultry but sharp and threatening.  "I hope you realize that you don't get to make the rules here.  You're one of Priscilla's girls now, Pearl, and the sooner you adjust to that the better."  The door of the room opened and closed and another woman approached Greg.  She was a big-breasted redhead wearing a low-cut sweater, high heels and a short black skirt.  Susan's voice cut through the room like a knife.  "You're late, Candy.  We'll deal with that later.  Right now I need you to help Pearl here with her training."  Susan smiled at Greg, and that smile chilled him as much as the rest of her instructions.  "Break her in, Candy, gently if you can, but break her."

     The redhead pouted and sidled up to the table near Greg's head, stroking his face with her broad soft fingers.  "She's so cute, Susan, I don't know how you find them!"  Her other hand replaced Susan's in stroking and teasing Greg's erection.  "Oh, and she's so excited, this is going to be fun!"  She looked down into Greg's face and smiled happily.  "Hi there, Pearl.  My name's Candy, and you're going to be my new best friend.  I hope you like Candy, because I'm going to give you a big fat candy cane!

     She flipped up the front of her skirt and tucked it into her waistband, revealing to Greg's shocked eyes a fat, throbbing cock, the more obscene for being shaven of any hair.  It glistened in his face in all its pink splendor and he watched it in horrified fascination.  Candy's fingers stroked his hair as she grabbed his shoulder, rolling him onto his side facing her.  "Come on over, sweetie, I've got what you need right here."  The cockhead bumped into Greg's lips, spongy and warm.  A flash of anger made him clamp his mouth shut, but the feeling of someone's fingernails digging into his testicles changed his mind.

     For all of that, Candy was basically gentle.  She let him get accustomed to the feeling of the flesh filling his mouth, and moved back and forth in slow, easy strokes.  Greg was overwhelmed, by the loss of control, by the unwanted and unavoidable rape of his mouth, the tang at the back of his tongue that he knew must be pre-cum, the contrast of the very feminine perfume scenting the base of Candy's cock.  Her hips moved faster, and Greg moaned in protest as he felt someone twist the butt plug in his bottom.  No matter how he squirmed, he was still held tight as Candy erupted, thick musky streams filling his mouth oozing out of the corners, hands on his balls commanding him to explode at the same time.  He had to swallow or choke, his nose now filled with the funk of semen mingled with her perfume.

     Someone lifted his hand to cup Candy's ballsac, and he felt the flash of the camera near his face.  He cringed; it was only getting worse.  Dazed from the all-out assault, he put up no resistance as his body was cleaned up and shaved, the large butt plug replaced with a smaller one with a strap harness, and his cock threaded down between his thighs and tucked into a gaff.  The restraining straps removed, Greg was lifted to a sitting position and quickly fitted with a well-padded bra then led through dressing in a blouse, skirt and stockings.

     He took a closer look at one of Candy's assistants; she was the blonde he had thought familiar earlier.  He looked down at her panties with the masculine bulge, and something clicked in his head -- this must be, must have been the guy he had noticed on his first visit!  There was something important about that thought, but he was kept too busy to follow it as Candy and her helpers pushed his feet into heels and held him for practice walking from one end of the room to the other.  Finally they sat him at a small vanity and made up his face.  When they finished he looked at his reflection and writhed in mental agony.  The woman blinking back at him was the kind of hot looker Greg would have been glad to make a pass at.

     While he was staring at himself, Susan came back into the room.  "Is she ready yet?  I've got customers out there."  She turned Greg around to face her and inspected him critically.  "Not too bad, Pearl, I think you might work out here.  In case you were wondering, we used your business card to call your secretary.  You got ill during lunch and were taken to see a doctor; you're not expected in your office until tomorrow.  That gives you this afternoon and evening for what I like to call employee orientation."  She leaned down and kissed him roughly, her tongue sliding into his mouth.  Greg couldn't help himself, his body responded as much as the gaff allowed.  Susan pulled back and smirked.  "I thought so.  Clean up that lipstick and get out on the floor.  We've got a lunch crowd to serve.  Later," and with this her eyes flared and made Greg's breath catch in his throat, "you can start learning how to really serve.  Welcome to your new part-time job, Pearl."

     Susan left abruptly, and Candy and the others helped Greg look presentable again.  Candy escorted him out of the back room, pinned a badge above his breast and pointed him to the hostess.  He walked gingerly on the heels, which made his calves hurt.  As he went to the front of the restaurant he looked around at all of the twittering women inside.  He realized with a sinking feeling that a large number of them were surreptitiously watching him.  Inspecting him.  Knowing him.

     The hostess put a hand out to steady Greg and looked at him with what might have been empathy as she told the waiting party of four, "Pearl will be your waitress.  Enjoy your lunch at Priscilla's Parlor!"

     Taking the menus, trying hard not to break down and cry, Pearl started her first shift.

/ END /

Endnote: This story was suggested by a collaborative storyline thread in Suzan's Yahoo Erotic Stories group.


Father, Interrupted

Keys: [file:fat1] [date:2006-08-22] [words:295] [codes:MF]

Abstract: Some fathers get upset when their daughters start to date

Father, Interrupted

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "I don't like the idea of her going out at night like that."

     "It's inevitable, dear. Girls do grow up into young women, you know."

     "Yes, I know, but -- not our Sally."

     "There, there.  Come dear, it will be all right."

     For a long moment there was silence, broken by the sound of heavy breathing and finally a soft fading moan.

     "I still think I should meet this young man,"

     "Now we discussed that, honey.  You remember what happened with Bill?  And Franklin?   Not to mention the restraining orders.  You'll have to be satisfied with my going along to chaperone them.  I won't let them do anything I wouldn't do."

     The doorbell rang downstairs, and Marjorie gave her husband a long lingering kiss.  She stood up and smoothed her palms down the silk lines of her dress, which barely held her generous curves in check.  She turned to the door and waggled her bottom at him.  There were, of course, no panty lines.  "I'll fill you in on all the *nasty* details when I get home," she called over her shoulder as the door closed behind her.  "You be sure to stay up for me!"

     Phil grimaced at that last comment, his arms and legs straining against the ties that held his naked body in the wooden chair.  The front door opened and closed, the muffled sound of giggling voices teasing him.  The moonlight outlined his sticky erection as a car engine roared to life and faded into the distance.

     He squirmed on the chair, alone save for his vivid imagination.  In his mind's eye he was already looking into the back seat of the car where hands and fingers would be going places they shouldn't.

     He hoped it wouldn't be a long date.

/ END /

Endnote: This story was published at Ruthie's Club.


Caught White-Handed

Keys: [file:whnd] [date:2006-08-22] [words:1154] [codes:FM][rev 2011-10-31,2016-11-29]

Abstract: Ken's boss sees him masturbating at work and offers him a way to keep his job

Caught White-Handed

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009, 2011, 2016

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     I had spent lunch hour at the topless club and bought two table dances, so I was hot and horny by the time I got back to the office. I dropped my briefcase at my desk and went straight to the men’s room, picking a vacant stall at random. I closed the door, unbuckled my belt, and quickly pushed my pants and underwear down to start stroking my cock.  I was thinking about the red-haired dancer who had been brushing my balls with her ass for both dances. In no time at all I let a load fly, grunting as I aimed it into the bowl, then milked the last drops out and rubbed them into the head of my cock.

     I closed my eyes and caught my breath, waiting for my heartbeat to get back to normal.  Eventually I got up, got fully dressed, and left the stall to wash my hands.  After that it was back to my desk refreshed and energized for the afternoon’s work.

     I made good progress through several reports and was finishing the projection for the next fiscal year when Lana, my boss, buzzed me and asked me to come into her office.  I waved cheerfully to her plump secretary on the way in, and stood in front of Lana's desk.  She was watching something on her computer, but she minimized it and picked up her phone to tell her secretary "No interruptions."

     "You’ve been with us what, Ken, four years?"  I corrected her, "Five next March, Lana." I knew the date well - it marked the point when I would at last be vested in the company pension plan. After bouncing through a series of jobs, none of which lasted more than three years, I had finally found a stable company where I could make long term plans.

     Lana tapped maroon nails on the top of her cherrywood desk. "That’s right.  Five years is a big milestone. And your work has generally been more than satisfactory..." I wondered what the hell she was getting at. "That’s why this matter disturbs me, Ken. I have to wonder about an employee when I see something like this."

     I leaned forward against her desk, clearly puzzled. "Like what, Lana?"

     She rotated her laptop so we could both see the screen and clicked her mouse. "Like this," she said.

     It was a security camera recording of a bathroom. My stomach twisted painfully as I recognized my face, clear and in living color, rushing into the stall and dropping my pants. The camera caught every detail lovingly, from the way I massaged my balls to the final spurts when I rubbed the last drops of cum in.

     Lana blanked the screen, faced me directly and asked, "Now what are we going to do about this, Kenneth?" I must have had a sick look on my face, and her smile was not something to show the children. "I think you’ve got too much free time on your hands," she said silkily. "And I have some very good ideas on what to do with it."  I started to fumble for a response, but she stopped me in my tracks.  "I don't suppose you'd like for company security to scan your hard drive for, oh, unapproved files, would you?"  I shut my mouth, and she nodded.  "I thought not.  So first, get rid of your pants."

     I looked at her in stunned surprise, and the tone of her voice sharpened considerably. "I’m not playing games, Kenneth. Drop them and make it quick!" I stumbled to my feet, and although my hands didn’t seem to want to obey I unfastened my belt, unzipped my pants and slid them off, pausing only to sit on the floor when I realized I hadn't taken my shoes off. I stood up, with the air conditioning raising goosebumps on my legs, while she looked me over.  My cock decided on its own to make a noticeable bulge in my briefs, which didn't help my mental state at that moment.

     Lana wrinkled her nose. "Briefs too, Kenneth." I swallowed and pulled them down, fumbling as the waistband caught on the head of my cock before snapping audibly past it.  That left me red-faced and naked from the waist down, while my stupid cock was standing up proudly without a care in the world, batting at my shirttails.

     "You've got good equipment, Ken," she said with a hint of good humor.  "I hope you know what to do with it.  Come around here!"  I strode around the side of her desk with whatever dignity I could muster, while she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a condom package, tossing it at me.

     Fortunately my hands were working faster than my brains, and I ripped the package open and had the condom rolled over my erection almost before Lana finished hiking her skirt up and sitting spread-legged on the side of her desk.  No panties.  Fuck.  Her legs were creamy and well-muscled, and the fur around her pussy was almost the same shade as the dancer from lunch.  My cock lurched as I stared.

     My boss tugged herself open, showing the darker red inside.  "Well?  What are you waiting for?"

     I had to push up on my toes to get to the right angle, but curled one hand on her thigh and used the other to guide my cock in.  She was hot and rippling inside, and her muscles sucked me in like nothing I'd felt from any of my girlfriends.  She didn't have to ask me twice; I started humping fast, clenching my rear muscles and driving into her tight grip.  It was a good thing I'd drained myself in the bathroom; otherwise I'd have exploded in no time at all.  As it was, I was getting close when she suddenly gasped and grabbed me hard, her nails slicing into my ass as she came.  That was it for me - the feeling of her convulsing around my cock pushed me over the edge and I surprised myself by filling that condom while my balls slapped painfully against the side of her desk.

     My whole body was twitching as she clamped her fingers around the base of the condom and pushed me out.  "Hold that," she barked.  I stood there, clutching my softened cock inside the cum-heavy condom, feeling silly.  Lana got off the desk, pushed her skirt down, and slid into her chair once more looking like a self-possessed business executive.  She tapped a key on her phone set, and I heard her secretary's voice on the speaker.  "Yes, Mrs. Robinson?"

     Lana's voice was completely neutral and calm.  You'd never guess I'd been fucking her only minutes before.  "I've finished Kenneth's review, Adele.  Put him down on the B list.  You know what to do with those."  She hung up the phone and turned her eyes back to me, standing there with my fingers clamped around the base of my cock.  "Start paying more attention to your work and less to the strippers down the street, Ken.  Now tuck that thing in your briefs and get it out of my office before you drip on my carpet."

     Putting my cock into my briefs while still inside a cum-filled condom wasn't easy.  What was worse was walking out of her office and past her chubby secretary's lingering stare; I could feel her eyes crawling over my ass before I got halfway to the office door.  But none of that was what really concerned me at the moment.  Instead, I had three questions fighting inside my head for attention.

     What did Lana's secretary do with the "B" list?  Why wasn't I on the "A" list anyway?  And how the hell was I ever going to use the men's room again?

     I had five months left before I'd be vested for retirement.  Somehow I knew I'd get answers to those questions.  Meanwhile, I rushed awkwardly toward the men's room with cum trickling between my thighs.

/ END /

Endnote: This story was accidentally written twice, in 2006 and 2011.  The version now maintained contains elements from both of those versions, and was consolidated in November 2016.


Favor For The Professor

Keys: [file:favr] [date:2006-08-25] [words:4750] [codes:MF, MFF, BBW]

Abstract: Ray takes out the Professor's big-boned niece and finds her more than he expected

Favor For The Professor

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Ray Franklin was grading badly-written German essays when the Professor called him into the office.

     "Raymondt, I have something to ask you." Professor Morton Dichter had been teaching at the University for twenty years, but his accent had never completely disappeared. "My younger brother informs me that my niece now is attending the University here."

     Ray nodded blankly, wondering whether congratulations were expected. Fortunately, the Professor continued without much pause. "I did not know I had a niece, but then Kurt and I have not spoken much since I came to this country. Twenty-five years is a long time..." The Professor's deep voice faded briefly, then resumed its normal volume. "My brother tells me that Marta -- that is my niece, you see -- studies computer science but she is too focused on her books and her assignments.  She is not, what do you call it, having her social life. He has asked because of my position here if I can do something to see that Marta does more with her time than sits with her face to the computer."

     Ray hadn't gotten to be a teaching assistant to the head of the German department by being slow. He hadn't stayed one by being presumptuous, either. He settled for tilting his head to one side and inquiring, "And how could I be of assistance, Professor?"

     "Raymondt, I have been observing you in the year and a half that you have been one of my teaching assistants. You are a young man of quality and character. Of course, with your name that only makes sense -- you do know that your name means 'protector'? Well, I wish to ask you a favor. Would you agree to, what is the term, escort my niece for a few weeks? My brother thinks once she get used to the idea of being among people that she will naturally open up. I will, of course, reimburse you for half of your expenses."

     That was the Professor for you. Just when he started to sound human and personal, he had to add that coldly clinical comment about money. Granted, it saved Ray from raising the issue himself, but it impaled him neatly on an ethical dilemma. There was probably something in the University policies that said professors couldn't use their teaching assistants as gigolos, paid or otherwise. On the other hand, turning down Morton Dichter would probably eliminate Ray's chances at a plum graduate school. Anyway, how bad could it be taking a girl around a few times, even if she turned out to be a total dog?

     Ray had reasons to rethink his answer to that last question several times over the next two weeks.

     *** *** ***

     The first encounter (Ray refused in his mind to call it a "date") was actually chaperoned by the Professor, who took both students to dinner at the Faculty Club. He explained over a veal roast and wine that his brother wanted Marta to spend some more time away from her studies, that the University experience was meant to be more than the awarding of a degree. Ray listened with half an ear, inserting comments here and there but devoting the bulk of his attention to sizing up his new companion. Marta was an inch taller than Ray but otherwise she was about what he had expected -- brains without looks. She was solid, broad-shouldered and plain, with streaked brown hair falling artlessly to her shoulders. Her voice was low and unremarkable, and she wore a drab red dress that managed to emphasize all of her curves, including the unflattering ones. However, she ate with a delicate grace that made Ray feel somehow like a country villager invited to dine with the squire. She also flashed him a look during her uncle's monologue that said clearly, "Okay, he's forcing us to be together, let's try not to make it more painful than it has to be."

     Away from her uncle, Marta was a different story. The following Tuesday she met him at Gino's for pizza before seeing the latest chick flick. Ray was in dress casual, but Marta turned up in flip-flops, ratty jeans and a well-worn t-shirt that jiggled in several places every time she moved. Her conversation at dinner was centered around trees, cycles, and other words that sounded like English but instead meant something else in terms of her computer courses. Ray did his best to look like he understood every third word. His brief attempts to turn the conversation to something non-academic were politely ignored. The movie theatre was better, if only because he didn't have to try and maintain a conversation and in the relative darkness he could easily avoid the appearance of staring at her chest or waist. She seemed unimpressed by the movie and they parted with a handshake, her hand capturing his in a damp but firm grip.

     Over the next week he took her in turn to a basketball game, a physics lecture by a visiting Nobel prize winner, a comedy movie and a CD release party for a local rock group. Her clothing decisions varied from not-quite-embarrassing to just off center; at the basketball game she looked like a frumpy overweight librarian, but for both the Nobel lecture and the CD party she chose clingy eye-catching blouses and knee-length skirts that practically forced you to take all of her curves in at once. Ray wanted to give her some advice, but he couldn't find any way that wouldn't be either condescending or insulting. Luckily he had picked his events well and hadn't run into any of his usual crowd, and his opinion of her didn't seem relevant since they always parted at her apartment door with the same damp handshake.

     On one front, however, Ray felt he was finally giving the Professor some value for his money -- Marta was starting to open up to him about herself rather than her coursework. After the CD party, which she appeared to enjoy thoroughly, they went to a coffee bar for dessert and she told him about growing up in one of the smaller states on the banks of the Rhine, being unpopular (without specifying a reason) and deciding that the best way to get out of town was to excel at school. She then surprised Ray by demonstrating a fondness and wide knowledge of American poets, from Emily Dickinson to Carl Sandburg. Poetry was one of Ray's side interests, and he was doubly surprised to find out from Marta that Professor Dichter was a poet, having been published back in Germany before he moved to America. Marta for her part was surprised that her uncle's top teaching assistant wouldn't know that, a comment that Ray chose to take as flattery.

     Their evening ended as usual at her apartment door with Ray prepared for her clammy handshake, but instead she leaned into him for a quick hug, her arms pulling him briefly but emphatically against her before she turned and went inside. Ray drove home in a confused and disturbed mood, and decided by Monday morning to tell the Professor merely that Marta seemed to be adapting to college social life. He didn't, however, claim that his escorting services were finished.

     The next week was first trimester exams, so Marta was busy with her computer programs and Ray was occupied grading papers. He didn't even realize that Friday had arrived until Marta called him for a change.

     "Hi, Ray!" Her voice was breathless, excited, almost girlish. If it weren't for her accent, he'd have thought the call was from someone else. "There's a goth group playing at a club downtown tonight, and I don't want to see them by myself. I wondered if you'd be interested?" Goth wasn't at all Ray's preference, but he was so amazed to hear this side of Marta that he heard his agreement and her acceptance before his brain caught up to reality. The incongruous image of frumpy Marta being excited about dark, moody goth music broke Ray's concentration for the rest of the afternoon.

     He grabbed a quick dinner and drove to Marta's apartment, where she was already standing outside her door waiting for him. Ray did a double-take to make sure he had the right apartment -- the woman there was Marta's size and general shape but that was the only thing familiar about her. Her eyes were heavily made up with black shadows, and she wore a dress of some stiff but flexible black material that made her look like a heavyset voluptuous witch. She held out one hand imperiously, and Ray escorted her to the passenger side of his car with something more than his usual gentlemanly manners. She took her seat without so much as a thank-you.

     Halfway to the club Marta finally broke her dramatic silence with a low chuckle. "Oh Ray, you should have seen your face when you saw me! I'm glad you agreed to take me, I've got some friends in the band but I didn't have a ride. I think you'll really like this." The comment eased Ray's confusion somewhat, although he still wondered where this side of Marta came from.

     The downtown club was dim and dingy, and smelled vaguely of beer and less savory intoxicants. Ray paid the cover charges and followed Marta in, noting her animated greetings to several of the dark-clad figures in the crowd. He felt distinctly out of place, and was glad of the occasional squeeze of Marta's hand on his. He followed her lead in getting a club soda at the bar, and they wandered through the close-packed space until Marta found an empty booth, urging Ray to scoot in first. He took a long swallow from his drink, and finally found his own voice. "You said friends of yours -- computer science majors?" The tone of his voice indicated he found this hard to believe.

     "Yes, Kellie's into OS design, Greg, the drummer, does something involving parallel architectures and Nina is an AI geek. You'd like Greg, he's a heads-down focused kind of worker like you." She squeezed his hand as if to take the sting out of that last remark. At that moment, the club lights dimmed and the band came out on stage. They looked like outcasts from a George Romero movie, but when the music started it was evident even to Ray's ears that they could play. Nina, the lead singer, was especially eye-catching. There was nothing particularly revealing about her outfit -- a torn shirt and dark jeans -- but she moved with a sinuous electricity and her voice had a husk that insisted on your attention. He couldn't quite understand the words of the song, but if he closed his eyes he could feel it pulsing in his blood.


     Ray shook his head. The song was over and he'd missed Marta talking to him. She waved her hand in front of his face and repeated herself. "I said, can you get me another drink?" Ray apologized for his inattention, and squeezed out between the booth and Marta's backside as she moved to give him room. He sucked in his breath, feeling the stirrings of an erection he hadn't been aware of as he slid past.

     When he got back to the booth with her club soda and his Tom Collins, Marta was conversing animatedly with the lead singer, and Ray took a moment to contrast the picture with the frumpy reserved girl he'd had that first dinner with. It was hard to put the two in the same universe, much less the same person. Nina looked up and saw Ray, and burst into giggles as he slid into the booth opposite the two. "What's the joke," he asked between curiosity and annoyance. "Oh nothing, just ... girl talk" was Nina's reply. Up close the singer was even more of a contradiction than on stage. There wasn't anything about her appearance that Ray could single out, and yet there was a definite aura about her -- and Ray didn't even believe in such things. He decided to change the focus of the conversation, smiling to Nina and complimenting her on her stage presence and the band's musical chops. She thanked him gravely, then slipped away quickly to get ready for the next set.

     "I just wish I'd been able to make out the words," he added after Nina was safely out of earshot.  That brought a loud hoot from Marta. "Don't let my uncle hear you saying that," she admonished him. When Ray looked at her in bewilderment, she smiled and leaned forward to speak over the club noise. Ray couldn't help looking down the front of her dress and wondering whether those mounds were being supported by a bra as Marta's voice curled into his ear. "You really weren't paying attention to the words -- they were in low German and I thought you were understanding them. That's from one of my uncle's poems, I adapted it for the group. I've written several songs for them."

     He lifted his attention to Marta's face at this new revelation. Her hand snaked across the top of the booth to squeeze his. "Raymond... I'd be very happy to read you his poems. And if you're *very* nice to me, well... Nina told me she thinks you're cute." Marta rolled her thumb in the center of Ray's palm, and he felt a wave of heat wash across his forehead. Thoughts of the Professor vanished from his mind, and he spent the rest of the concert in a warmly fuzzy anticipatory haze.

     *** *** ***

     Ray let Marta drive his car back to her apartment; the last Tom Collins had pushed him past his normal limit and he needed her help to get the seat belt fastened across his lap. They arrived at her front door, but a damp handshake was not in the cards for this night. Marta opened the door and helped Ray keep from tripping over the threshold while she turned on the lights. The inside was a cocoon of plush, soft surfaces -- velours, thick carpet, padded fabrics on the walls, and everywhere the sheen of silk. Marta settled Ray into the deeply cushioned sofa and brushed her lips across his forehead, then wandered off toward the back of the apartment. Music started up; Ray recognized the voice of Lotte Lenya from the Threepenny Opera and he floated along with those familiar lyrics until Marta returned.

     She came out of the bedroom in a clinging black silk robe, the lines of a panty girdle clearly visible at her waist and below her thighs; but above that no lines, only large swaying curves. Her hair was pulled back caressing the tops of her shoulders. Ray gaped, and managed to summon up a whistle. Marta smiled at that, dark brown eyes twinkling above neat white teeth, and she moved forward to climb up into his lap.

     "Ray, you've been a lovely and well-behaved gentleman for this past few weeks. Of course, we both know my uncle and my lack of looks have a lot to do with that." She chuckled, and squirmed her full bottom from side to side over Ray's trapped erection. "But you've been nicer than you had to be, and I've seen where your eyes have gone when you think I'm not looking. I think you're sweet, and Nina agrees with me."

     That was her second odd reference to the singer, and Ray would have asked about it had Marta not opened the top of her robe, presenting him with two large, dark-nippled breasts that begged for his attention. He was more than willing to do just that, giving either side equal open-mouthed attention and lifting his hands to caress the outsides of her heavy curves. He suckled, drawing as much of the sweet-scented flesh into his mouth as possible. Marta leaned into him and clasped her hands behind his head, and with his mouth full Ray couldn't do anything to warn Marta about the rapidly increasing urgency in his lap. She hugged him into her cleavage as he exploded in his pants, his face ruddy from embarrassment and shortness of breath, and she didn't release him until his body ceased to shake and quiver.

     "You're embarrassed," she observed before kissing him thoroughly. "Don't be, that was the sweetest compliment you could possibly give me." She shifted atop him, removing her robe and wrapping it around his eyes. "Now be a good boy and don't move or talk or peek, and we'll get ourselves cleaned up for a lovely time together!"

     Ray wasn't inclined to argue as he felt Marta's soft hands remove his shoes, undo his belt and fly and drag his slacks down off his legs. The soggy cotton of his briefs followed suit once he lifted his hips off the sofa cushion. The fuzzy material of the sofa tickled his bottom, and he was acutely aware of the feel of semen drying on his skin. The apartment was cool, but not enough to make him shiver.

     Something orchestral, Brahms perhaps, was on the music system and it effectively masked any sounds Marta might be making despite his best efforts to listen. After what seemed a long time (and to a half-naked and blindfolded Ray, any time seemed long) Ray's hearing was further muffled by the heft of Marta's breasts pressed around his ears from behind. Her fingers deftly unfastened the buttons of his shirt and she pressed him forward just enough to remove that last garment before lacing her hands across his chest and playing with his nipples. His erection, which had never gone completely away, sprang back to life as Marta's fingertips danced and teased their way down over his stomach, tantalizing near his waistline.

     A damp, slick hand clasped his erection, another set of fingers rolled his testicles. Even as his legs stiffened in a wave of lust Ray could work out there were too many hands for one person.

     "Marta has good taste."  The voice was familiar... the singer from the band?  "Yes, I'm Nina, and you're my treat.  You can thank Marta for that later.  Or maybe she'll thank you."  The hand around his shaft led his cockhead into the caress of damp folds of flesh, and he moaned as the woman twisted herself down onto him until her thighs were comfortably snuggled against his legs.  For an unknowable time Ray felt the effects of four hands plucking, teasing and stroking his body while Nina did things with her inner muscles that he had only read about in cheap porn magazines.  She started slowly and picked up her tempo gradually, playing her own kind of physical music until she dug her fingernails into his underarms and shrieked out her climax, pulling Ray into a simultaneous explosion that left him drained and dizzy.  Not too drained, as he discovered when she began moving again, and her second act pulled the curtain down over Ray's senses.

     Ray's dreams were busy, fragmentary, and vaguely erotic.  He woke in semidarkness with Marta's hand curled around his shaft, her breasts pressed into his back.  She was breathing slowly and deeply, and her occasional wriggle made the material of her panty girdle brush lightly against his ass.  Nina was nowhere in evidence.  Ray wondered how to detach himself enough to get to the bathroom, but that problem went away when Marta woke up.  She stirred against him and spoke sleepily.  "Mmm, Ray, you were wonderful but I need to get some sleep -- are you okay to drive now, or can I put you up on the sofa?"

     Confused by the abrupt dismissal, and more than a little annoyed, Ray allowed that he had slept enough to be street legal but would need to find his clothes.  "I'll take care of that, hon, you just catch up on your rest.  I guess we really wore you out."  She was right on that score -- Ray's body felt like he'd run a marathon and then kept the judges' daughters busy for the afterparty.  He felt himself gingerly; nothing seemed to be broken, but everything from his groin outward ached.  The feeling was not unpleasant, but it was tinged with frustration;  Ray had the definite sense that he'd missed some of the action.

     The lights in the apartment came up, enough to see by and not enough to make his eyes hurt.  Marta stood in front of him holding his slacks and shirt and a pair of purple panties.  "Hon, you really can't wear those briefs again.  I hope you don't mind wearing something of Nina's."  Ray wasn't at all pleased with the idea of panties, but he didn't want to go bare under his slacks either.  He stood and slid the silky sheath up his legs, tugging the waistband up.  At least he didn't have a roommate to see this.   Before Marta gave him the rest of his clothes she hugged him tight and kissed him deeply, one hand caressing the backside of the panties.  "I know you're disappointed, but I promise I'll make it up to you."  A twinkle came into her eyes as she continued, "You just keep those around, and I'll let you redeem them next time."

     And with that Ray found himself out in the parking lot, getting into his car, driving home.  The sensation of the panties around his groin kept him alert for the drive.  If that was a bum's rush, it was certainly the most interesting one he'd ever been given.  It was a very confused Ray, still wearing Nina's panties, who fell into bed and into sleep as the sun rose.

     *** *** ***

     Thanksgiving came and went, and Ray found himself frequently accompanying Marta to lectures and movies.  The professor hadn't said anything about terminating their arrangement, and Ray hadn't taken the initiative to mention it.  The scene inside Marta's apartment was not repeated although she was much more affectionate than before in saying goodbye.  After each of these kind-of dates, while relieving his unfulfilled arousal, Ray would say to himself that the panties were a silly idea and he should just forget about it.  But each time Marta asked him out, he wound up wearing the cool caress of nylon under his slacks.

     Outside of seeing Marta, Ray was kept busy with his teaching assistant duties and work on his master's thesis.  He put his frustrations to good use by completing almost a hundred pages before homecoming weekend arrived.  Neither Ray nor Marta were football fans, so they arranged to attend a theatre arts festival a few hours out of town.  Ray had always thought Shakespeare boring, but one of the festival entries was a crossbreed of Romeo and Juliet and Taming of the Shrew, set in modern times and done in rap.  It was totally bizarre, but amazingly it made sense.  The real revelation to him was a troupe performing a setting of the Parsifal tale written in the thirteenth century.  With Professor Dichter as his mentor, Ray was of course well-read in classical German literature, but this was a completely different animal.

     The two of them went to a small cafe after the last performances and spent hours talking about what they'd seen, finally being chased out by the cafe's owner who wanted to close.  By that time it was too late to be driving back to the campus, and Marta suggested they stay with some friends of hers near the festival site.  Ray, yawning, thought it a good idea and followed Marta's directions to find their house.

     Marta's friends were a pair of older women, perhaps in their early fifties, and they greeted her like a long-absent daughter with plenty of hugs and giggling.  Ray's reception was more guarded but still friendly, with overtones of "any friend of Marta's...".  The two insisted that the younger couple join them for a nightcap, and they fluffed up the bedding in the guest room before calling it a night.  Marta pulled out a book and waved Ray to join her on the bed, and they snuggled while she read him her uncle's poetry.  It was good, but Ray was tired, so Marta suggested that he use the bathroom first.

     When he came out, Marta was still on the bed but had stripped down to her large white bra and panty girdle.  She giggled at him, saying "Surely you're not going to come to bed wearing jeans!"  Ray turned toward the bathroom, but that seemed even more silly all things considered.  Instead he stood with his back to Marta, unbuckling his belt and letting the jeans down.  The thin purple panties were stretched tautly across his bottom, and in front they clearly framed his budding erection as he turned around.  "Is that for me?" Marta cooed, and wiggled her fingers inviting Ray up to the bed.

     The mattress was high enough that Ray's crotch was at the same level as Marta's thighs, and she grabbed his ass to rub his lingerie-covered shaft into the gusset of her panty girdle.  "I'm so glad you wore these for me, Ray, it tells me you're thinking about me!"  Wrapping her legs around his, she slid her hands up his chest and pulled his head down to meet hers for a long, engrossing kiss.  His chest was pressed against the crinkles and texture of her heavy bra, and she led his hands around behind so that he could busy himself removing that garment.  When the catches popped apart, he rubbed the lines out of her back before pulling himself away bringing the bra with him.  Marta smiled and held her arms out, her breasts falling unsupported, large russet areolas framing thick nipples.  Ray licked his lips unconsciously, and Marta grinned to see that.  He practically fell forward into her cleavage, leaving no inch of skin untouched or unkissed.  Marta enjoyed that almost as much as the feeling of his erection sliding against the gusset of her panties, and she almost regretted having to push his face away from her body.

     "Ray," she said softly, "would you help me off with these?"

     In other circumstances the look on Ray's face would have been funny.  He resembled nothing so much as a puppy about to be given a big juicy doggy snack.  Marta slid down to stand next to the bed, and helped Ray to tug and pull the heavily elastic material down over her ample ass.  He held the garment for her as she pulled first one foot and then the other out.

     If Marta thought she was leading this dance, she found Ray capable of surprising her.  He pressed his face unprompted between her cheeks and slithered his tongue out to tease her dangling nether lips.  She moaned in appreciation and leaned forward to rest her torso on the bed, spreading her thighs for him.  His face jiggled against her bottom, then vanished to be replaced by a very different part of his body.  Marta sighed and rocked from side to side in anticipation, and Ray didn't disappoint.  He entered her slowly, with great focus and determination, his hands deftly stroking her hips and teasing around her waist to get their bodies together at the most effective angle.  He was, she thought, a very thoughtful lover.  Not sudden, hard and fast, but deliberately paced with a good sense of how her inner fires were slowly rising.  She recognized the moment and the need when he softly kissed her in the middle of her back, tickling her sides and asking her to turn over.

     The bed squeaked as she rolled, and Ray quickly slid his cock through her wet channel, holding her open with one hand as he pushed his length fully inside her.  Marta's legs wouldn't go over his shoulders, but together they managed to find a position that was comfortable for her as he slapped his thighs into her.  He leaned forward and played with her breasts drawing coos of delight as his face turned red with effort and arousal.  Marta returned the favor, teasing her fingernails up and down his sides as he huffed and puffed atop her until his eyes rolled and he clutched at her sides, his hips jerking as he spilled what must have been three months of pent-up desire into her.

     It was good for him, that much was obvious, and he was still shaking between her legs when Marta reached down to find her hidden clit, giving herself that little extra she needed to go over the edge herself.  The sound Ray made when she came was merely icing on her cake.

     Later, after showing Ray how she liked to be cleaned both in and out of the tub, Marta lay in bed with him sprawled inside her arms and legs. She stroked his back and teased his bottom, smiling as he weakly jerked his body against her.  He was sensitive there; she would enjoy teaching him.  Nina was very special to her, of course, but Marta wanted a good man -- between her legs and in all the other ways.

     She hoped her uncle wouldn't mind when his prize student became hers instead.

/ END /

Endnote: Written for the Fall 2006 issue of Journal of Desire,


In One Ear

Keys: [file:ears] [date:2006-08-30] [words:3147] [codes:F, MF, mc]

Abstract: A woman is bothered at work by phone calls that she can't quite ignore

In One Ear

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).


     Silence.  Then a wavering hiss with mumbling.

     "Hello... who is this?"  Kelly was a busy woman, and it annoyed her when she got phone calls with anything less than perfect clarity.  There was a good deal of static on this line; she made out something that sounded like the name of her company and something that might have been her own name, but couldn't understand anything else.  "Look, this is a bad connection, I think you should hang up and try again."

     The connection clicked off and she hung up her own phone.  A few minutes later, it rang again.  She lifted the receiver to her ear.  "Hello?"

     This time the sound was faint -- so faint she had to listen hard to be sure it wasn't a dead line.  It wasn't quite words, more like whispery breathing.  And there was something odd about it; Kelly pressed the earpiece tightly against the side of her head to shut out her office sounds.  The static made it hard to tell; was that a catch in the rhythm, or perhaps a wheeze?

     Kelly caught herself suddenly and shoved the phone back into its cradle.  Of all the stupid ways to get distracted.  She'd heard of such things.  Perverts.  She attacked her work with a surge of righteous energy, and surprised herself at how much she was able to dispose of in a short time.

     When the phone rang next, she glared at it and picked up the handset ready to give the caller a piece of her mind.  Luckily she refrained, as this caller was her boss.  She suspected that he had been hired for his looks or his friends; while he was tall and handsome, he repeatedly relied on Kelly's knowledge to make sure that the department was run successfully.  She handled him with her usual cool efficiency, giving him all the answers he needed.  At least she thought so until he called her back only a minute later.

     But this caller wasn't her boss.  Not unless he'd suddenly taken up heavy breathing mixed with static.  She hung up quickly this time and considered turning the ringer off, but then she'd miss the calls she needed.  Picking up the next file from her in-box, she got slowly into her usual working rhythm analyzing the case notes when the phone's ringing again interrupted her focus.  She took the instrument up with a mixture of anger and hesitance, and held it cautiously to her ear.  It was indeed the breather, louder this time so that she didn't have to strain to make it out through the fuzz.  There was a sense of pace and rhythm in the sound, a regularity other than that of normal breathing patterns.  And also an odd harshness... how would she describe it?

     She slapped it down, angry with herself, and consciously loosened the muscles in her legs which had started to cramp.  Why would she care how to describe it -- it was just a crank call from a freak who didn't belong in normal society.  Busying herself in work helped dispel the sense of unease that remained after she hung up.

     Over the next several hours Kelly received only legitimate calls -- business associates, salespeople, the dry cleaners and one fax machine wrong number.  She escaped the confines of her office briefly for a staff meeting, but was reminded unpleasantly of her morning's events by the man sitting behind her breathing open-mouthed with a faint atonal rasp.  Kelly normally worked through lunch at her desk, but when Tom from one of the other research groups invited her to join them for Mexican food she grabbed the opportunity to escape.

     After lunch, having turned down the opportunity for margaritas, Kelly was her normal competent self again.  She arrived at her desk to find her message light blinking a busy greeting.  One callback from her boss about the upcoming board meeting, one from a board member needing directions, and one call from the salesman who wanted their company to buy into his motivational speaker program.  It was his fourth call of the month despite her clear brush-offs; some people just wouldn't take no for an answer.

     One more case file was disposed of before the usual after-lunch drowsiness hit.  Coffee usually helped her get through those, and she stood to go get some when the phone rang again.  The voice on the other end asked, "Kelly?"  Not recognizing the voice, she asked "Yes, who is this?" but got no answer.  No, that wasn't quite right -- there was some kind of sound on the other end through the fuzz and static, a pained panting that if she listened hard almost made intelligible words.  She crossed her legs and squinted, as if that would help her make out the meaning.

     "No!"  She dropped the phone, then replaced it in its cradle and grimaced.  Freaks and sex maniacs, she thought.  The marvels of modern technology made it possible for them to feed their lewd behavior right into the hollow of her ear.  She could just imagine what that man was doing with -

     Kelly shook her head to clear it, then shook it again.  This would never do.  A quick trip to the ladies room to wash her face, a fresh cup of coffee and she would be ready to focus on work again.  If only her boss didn't need her for that board meeting, then at least she could have put the phone on voicemail rollover.  Her productivity suffered for the rest of the afternoon, but she managed to clear three more case files and confirm the video arrangements for the board meeting.  If any of her colleagues found Kelly a little distant when they spoke to her on the phone, none commented on it.

     Five o'clock came and went, but this wasn't a normal day when she could blithely leave based on the clock.  Her last session discussing the board meeting with her boss didn't end until a quarter of six.  She bundled all of the papers from here desktop into her briefcase and was halfway to her door when the phone rang.  She looked at her watch, then the phone, considered the likelihood that her boss had one more thing on his mind, and went back to her desk.

     The harsh breathing practically surrounded her head, mixed with the rising and falling static and whispery almost-words, a wet intrusive sounds that defiled her ear.  Her body stiffened and she leaned her waist against the desk for support.  She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it deciding to deny him the kind of response he probably wanted.  Loser, that's what he was, probably sitting there in the dark, naked on his chair, calling women at random to get his sick thrills.  She'd prove to him who the stronger one was.  And what was that other sound in the background, anyway?  She squeezed the phone turning her knuckles white with the intensity of her efforts, but the voice faded, the static died out slowly and she was finally left leaning against her desk listening to a dead line.

     Kelly replaced the handset as if caging a dangerous animal, and almost ran for the office door and the safety of her car.  Fighting traffic was a blessing -- it pushed away the vague and disturbing images that were trying to sneak into her mind.

     Finally she was home, no messages blinking on the answering machine, tossing her briefcase across the living room as she headed for the bathroom shedding clothing along the way.  A hot, viciously stinging shower was what she needed, and it was a good twenty minutes before she emerged, body reddened from the heat but feeling refreshed and clean for the first time in hours.

     Her evening was uneventful.  A light dinner was followed by quickly-forgotten television shows, and then she laid out her clothes and got ready for bed.  Last of all she pulled up her laptop and re-checked her preparations and plans for the board meeting.  Satisfied that everything was in place, she climbed into bed, turned out the lights and settled in for a good night's sleep.  Best of all, the phone didn't ring once, except for a single wrong number somewhere in the middle of the night, static and a slow beeping that Kelly listened to befuddled until she realized it was a fax machine.  She sleepily hung up and went back to her dreams.


     Kelly walked briskly through the hallway, glancing at her watch.  Of all days to oversleep, how could she have picked this one?  She clutched her portfolio in tightly-clenched hands, her well-prepared notes and screen presentations giving her no comfort.  She entered the conference room to find everyone already in their seats.  Conversation ceased as she stepped to her chair, feeling the probing assessment of every person around the table.  The look on her boss's face said everything she needed to know, and he spoke merely four words:  "Get on with it."

     He pushed his chair back from the conference table so Kelly could take the prominent speaking position.  She stood with him at her back, spread her papers on the table in front of her, and shivered as she picked up the computer remote control.  It was so cold in the conference room, she had goosebumps popping out along her bare arms.

     Bare arms?  Kelly's eyes flew wide as she looked down to check and realized she was naked in front of everyone.  She wanted to run away, but all eyes were on her and she couldn't make her feet move.  In desperation, she began to give her presentation.  Not a single one of the men at the table said a word, they merely looked at her, cold stares in colder faces.  Worse, as she got to the heart of her presentation she was surprised by hands sliding around her torso, cupping and stroking her breasts.  It was her boss, his belt scraping into the small of her back, the material of his slacks brushing against her legs.  He twisted her body left and right, putting her betraying nipple points on display to all.  The men at the table acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, and Kelly had no choice but to continue her speech.

     Her boss abandoned her breasts, but only to slide down her flat stomach and pull her labia apart.  His fingers traced the moistening pink of her exposed sex, and Kelly saw the lifting of eyebrows around the table as they all saw the arousal she felt.

     Only the sound of her voice speaking kept her half sane.  This couldn't be happening, her brain said, but the effects of the fingers moving inside her and the familiar heaviness of her swelling breasts insisted otherwise.  The words on the paper blurred as her boss's hand sawed in and out, fingers twisting inside her.  She finally gave up all pretense at coherence and fell forward onto the table, her breasts squashing outward on contact with the cool wood.  She spread her hands to either side, and just then her boss pulled almost completely out leaving her hanging, awash in frustration and need, her buttocks wriggling on the edge of the table.

     "Say Please"

     His fingertip wriggled inside her.  She panted in heat.  She'd never be able to show her face in this building again.  She lifted her eyes and saw leering faces, some licking their lips.  The finger slid outward, stopping just at her entrance.  She gasped, closed her eyes, fought off tears, reluctantly gave her needs voice.


     "Please what?"


     His finger vanished but was almost immediately replaced with the probe of his cock, fat knob opening her wide as his length forced its way between the weight of her body and the unyielding surface of the conference table.  He fucked her without conversation, the slap-slap-slap of their bodies the only sound in the room.  His hands dug harshly into her sides as he used her like a piece of office equipment.  Yet every thrust and stroke made her that much more needy, her breath gusting in loud panting rasps.  Only when he bucked and flooded her insides was she finally able to reach her own peak, shivering in the throes of a soul-consuming orgasm.

     She felt her boss withdraw his cock, wipe it in the crease of her bottom.  She lifted her bleary eyes and saw the men at the table stand as if applauding the performance, each one showing a swaying erection, black, white, brown.  Kelly dropped her eyes to the table, humiliated beyond belief but arching her back and spreading her legs in anticipation.

     *** *** ***

     The alarm clock buzzed its shrill alert, insisting that a full eight hours had passed.  Kelly certainly didn't feel like it, yawning and stretching to get the last of the sleep out of her eyes.  She had vague recollections of busy dreams, and felt anything but rested.  Her breasts felt tender, as if they'd been rubbed with sandpaper, and her calves ached.  Worse, when she did manage to get out of bed and start getting dressed, the suit she had chosen the night before didn't fit right.  She rummaged through her closet frantically before finding a dress she could wear, not terribly businesslike and clinging to her body with too much static, but clean and of a reasonable color.  At least the traffic chose this morning to cooperate, giving her plenty of time to set up the conference room after she checked her email and organized her desktop.

     The conference room was immaculate, from the elegant Continental pastry and fruit tray to the gleaming expanse of teak that made up the central table.  Kelly bent over the cables to run a quick test of the system for the call-in participants, sliding on the headphones to better judge the audio quality.  She punched the button for the autodial to the server, but what she got in her headphones was line noise.  Static.  Shifting, garbled, gelatinous pieces of words.  Her mouth dropped in shock as the assault continued, wet slapping sounds over words that eluded her understanding but brought twisting shapes slithering perversely into her brain.

     Staring sightlessly she shook her head side to side, unable to escape the human/animal sounds echoing inside her.  She showed no reaction as the door to the conference room opened admitting her boss accompanied by a shorter man carrying a briefcase.  The shorter man pushed her forward and she bent obediently onto the table, her eyes turned inward, allowing her dress to be lifted and her panties removed.  Her boss dropped his trousers and the sounds of sex soon echoed loudly off the hardwood walls.

     Eventually the conference room was quiet again.  The two men pulled Kelly from the conference table, cleaned and re-dressed her, and led her to a chair near the audio control panel.  Her boss was the first to speak.

     "Amazing.  And she won't even wonder why she's not wearing panties?"

     "Not quite.  She'll wonder, then her own mind will find a way to explain it away.  That's the beauty of the low-level conditioning technique; it works best with smart creative minds.  She'll be the same competent assistant you've had for three years, but now she'll be a *very* personal assistant."  The smaller man slid Kelly's panties and a permanent marker across the table.  "Sign these, please.  They make my best references."

     Kelly sat still sightless, upright, resembling a mannequin.  Her boss signed his name as if signing a check and handed the garment over.  Patting Kelly's hair into place, he nodded approvingly.  "If the meeting goes smoothly and I don't see any side effects, you've got a deal.  I'll call you to install her control phrases and I'll have the full hundred thousand wired to your account."  A smile crossed his face, but not a pleasant one.  "She's always thought she was smarter and better than me.  It's too bad you can't arrange to let her know that she's just my playtoy now.  I'd really have enjoyed watching her squirm.  You're sure that's not a feature you offer?"

     The other man tapped something into a PDA and inspected Kelly's eyes.  "Don't get greedy.  She's guaranteed not to undercut you with upper management, and she'll do anything sexual you tell her that doesn't involve injury.  From what they tell me, crossing the line separating volitional from programmed psyche always creates an unstable personality.  She'd either run out naked into the street or slit your throat with a letter opener.  Just be thankful she was so snotty to me when I first called -- I could have offered our special services to her instead.  Think about that some night."

     He removed the headphones from Kelly's head and pressed his PDA to her ear for a minute, then packed his things and her panties away and closed the briefcase.  "She'll be in normal mode in five minutes.  That gives you plenty of time to get back to your office.  I'll expect to hear from you later."  With that, the salesman walked out.  There was always a customer, he reflected, it was just a matter of getting the right word into the right ear.

     Four and a half minutes later, Kelly blinked her eyes and looked around the conference room.  The clock on the wall made her gasp -- she'd apparently dozed off for a half hour.  She squirmed in her seat, wishing she'd remembered to do her laundry; finding out she had no clean underwear had been a shock this morning, and the feel of her dress sliding against her bare bottom was going to be a constant distraction.

     Focusing on work helped her mostly ignore the way her thighs rubbed together, and she set to making sure all of the materials and electronics were ready for the board meeting.  By the time her boss walked in -- at the last moment, of course -- everything was well in hand and the meeting proceeded to go like clockwork.  If Kelly was at times a little fidgety, or caught herself glancing down to see how she was dressed, it wasn't so much that anyone would notice.  Unless, like her boss, they were looking for it.

     The meeting at its conclusion, Kelly began the process of organizing the minutes and putting the conference room in order.  Several of the board members stopped to compliment her boss on his organization; naturally he took all the credit.  She gave a mental shrug -- let him have his little ego boost.  Kelly knew where the real power was.  She sorted papers into folders and the trash, the picture of corporate efficiency, on top of everything her company needed.

     And after one more phone call she would be everything her boss needed or wanted as well.

/ END /


Off-Screen Action {two versions}

Keys: [file:ofsc] [date:2006-08-31] [words:1930] [codes:MFM]

Abstract: A couple and a single guy move from the chat room to reality and the movie is the least of the plot complications

Off-Screen Action

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009


This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Wendy and her husband John sipped their drinks, listening to the jazz on the coffee shop speakers and glancing toward the door whenever it opened.  John's body, tall and slender, shifted in quick, tense jumps punctuating his conversation.   Wendy in contrast was relaxed, vivacious, a dash of color brightening her cheeks.  She wore a wraparound red skirt and a pink blouse, and her sleek black hair was pulled back in a ponytail making her look like one of the "fast girls" from high school.

     The object of their interest arrived while Wendy was getting a refill.  He was a man of medium build with sandy brown hair in a buzz cut, and his eyes cast about the coffee shop nervously.  The rectangular parking badge clipped to his collar identified him to John, who waved in a friendly greeting.  The man made his way to the table, getting there just as Wendy returned with her drink, and he held the chair for her chivalrously.

     "Michael Grayson," he said by way of introduction.  Wendy and John completed the circle of welcomes as he took a seat at their table.  They chatted for a bit, small talk, news of the day, before John broached the subject that had brought them together.

     "So, Michael, you sounded quite taken with Wendy in the chatroom."  Michael nodded in response, his comfort level visibly disappearing.  "Perhaps the two of you should talk a little bit about what you expected for a first meeting.  I believe that you and my wife already had some discussions to that effect."  John smiled as the other man shifted in his chair, and Wendy took the lead by standing up and wiggling a finger for Michael to follow suit.  She led him off toward the rear of the coffee shop, the skirt framing her hips and her heels emphasizing her calves for more than one pair of eyes.

     Wendy held the restroom door open and looked inside.  With a giggle, she went on in.  "Come on, Michael, there's nobody else here -- I'm anxious to see that present you promised me!"  Michael couldn't tell whether she was glad or disappointed at their privacy; from some of the stories she had related on line, it could have been either.  He took a quick look behind and quickly entered the ladies room, pulling the door behind him.  Wendy walked briskly back to the row of stalls and swung one door open without waiting to see if Michael were following.   By the time he got in and locked the stall door, Wendy was already unwrapping her skirt.  She beamed at him with a wide red-lipped smile as her bare thighs and lightly-fringed vee came into view.  "Come on, now, I showed you mine, you have to show me yours -- that was our deal!"

     He blushed -- Wendy found that oddly endearing -- and unzipped his slacks to pull them down to his knees.  As per their agreement, he had no underwear on either.  His erection bobbed up and down, long and swollen, a visible salute to Wendy.  She pulled a condom from her purse and deftly rolled it down his length, then turned around with her full cheeks pressing against him.  "I just know you're going to feel sooooo goooood inside me, Michael!"  He slid his hands around her curves hesitantly, then as if realizing how little time they might have he grabbed his cock and pressed it between her thighs.  Wendy was more than ready, and he bit his lip to keep from moaning out loud as her muscles gripped and massaged his length.  Their coupling was intense but brief, already primed to the ragged edge from their mutual anticipation.

     Wendy's wriggle reminded him to let go, and she cleaned them up before flushing the toilet and leading him out.  Luck was still with them; they didn't meet another customer until they were safely past the men's room door as well.

     By the time they arrived back at the table, John had three fresh cups of coffee waiting.  He glanced at the other two -- Michael with a flushed face and a slightly abashed look, Wendy preening like the cat who ate the canary, and picked up his drink to take a thoughtful sip.  "I gather you came to a mutual understanding," he said with the hint of a grin.

     "You could say that," his wife responded.  She tasted her coffee also, then picked up the entertainment section of the newspaper that was folded on the table.  "What do you think, the political thriller or the horror film?"

     "I'd say horror," said John.  "It's not like we'll be paying enough attention for politics, and besides the horror movies usually have dimmer lighting.  He turned to Michael, who had remained conspicuously quiet since returning.  "What do you think, Mike, are you up ... for a horror film?"

     The emphasis and pause were not lost on the other man, and he looked into his coffee before lifting his face to answer.  He was smiling now, as if past some inner argument.  "Horror works for me.  Like you say, it's not the plot that's important but the company."

     Wendy set her cup down and refolded the paper.  "Then we'd best be on our way; the Dunvale 24 has a show at ten, that will give us enough time to get popcorn with butter.  She looked up and caught Michael's eyes, licking her lips.  "I like *lots* of butter," she said, grinning.  The three rose from the table and headed out to the parking lot, agreeing that Wendy would drive her car and John would ride with Michael to keep them from getting separated.

     They made it to the multiplex without incident, and true to her word Wendy claimed the extra-large tub of buttered popcorn as Paul and Michael carried the drinks into their theatre.  The film had been out long enough that there were plenty of empty rows, and the three took seats in the back with Wendy sitting between the two men.  The overhead lights dropped as the previews began for autumn films -- loud, bright and flashy, the usual kinds of Oscar hopefuls -- and they waited impatiently for the feature to begin.

     Finally the opening credits rolled and the surrounding light dimmed further as the director and star listing gave way to a gloomy rain-sodden scene.  It was a dark and stormy night.  Four teenagers drove down a spooky back road, flashes of lightning occasionally illuminating the passenger compartment.  Suddenly a shot rang out!  No, it wasn't a shot, it was a flat tire.  Luckily, there was a creepy farmhouse not far off the road where the two young men and two young women could find shelter and help, arriving rain-soaked with their clothes clinging to their skin.

     All of which was lost in the back row, as Wendy had opened her skirt and both Michael and John were busily playing tag between her thighs mixing the butter from the popcorn with her own kind of stickiness.  She leaned her head back against the theatre wall and purred quietly to herself as the two men found a cooperative rhythm that worked for them.  It worked even better for Wendy, and she bit her lower lip as her legs clamped together sending popcorn into all three laps.  The two men slowed their teasing, letting her find a comfortable plateau as they took their turns retrieving their juice-covered fingers to savor the mixture of flavors.

     After moving the remainder of the popcorn, John quietly encouraged Michael to take the lead for a second round until Wendy was once more wriggling and thrashing in her seat.  She finally pushed his hand away, and the men returned their attention to the movie as Wendy caught her breath.  When her heartbeat returned to normal, she brushed their hands away and covered her thighs, getting up to find the ladies room and clean herself.

     When she returned, she tagged Michael on the shoulder and traded places with him.  In the dimly flickering light reflected from the movie screen, she could see the eager look on his face.  She settled into her seat and took a few swallows from her soda.  From the looks of things on the screen, she had missed one death; she also wondered briefly how the brunette wound up running through the corn stalks wearing only her bra and panties.

     There was a more interesting subject nearer to hand, however.  Wendy wriggled her hand on Michael's leg, then worked it up crab-fashion to his front button and zipper.  With his help she soon had the upper part of his pants pulled down and had possession of his erection.  It was warm and alive in her hand, and Michael was anything but still in his seat.  She rubbed her thighs together; this was nice but it was a poor substitute for what she really wanted.

     Michael leaned back and sighed as the cool fingers explored his balls and teased the taut skin beneath.  For all of his bravado in the chat room, this was the only time he had ever met an internet person in real life and the reality was far past his imagination.  First the scene with Wendy in the ladies room, and now this!  Lips wrapped around his cockhead, and he closed his eyes both to focus on the sensation and to try and keep from exploding too soon.  He was far from a virgin; there were any number of professionals working the city, and Michael had used their services on occasion.  But somehow this was a thousand times as intense, slow, rasping suction as fingers stroked and teased him.  His breathing sounded loud in his ears and his fingers squeezed hard on the armrests as the stimulation increased.  The pleasure was growing, deliberately and inexorably until his body gave him no choice, his bottom lifting off the cushioned seat as his balls cut loose in waves of pure pleasure.

     Panting, feeling both emotionally and physically drained, he looked down and saw John's smiling face lifting from his lap, Wendy's lips meeting her husband's in an active kiss that left both partners' lips smeared with white.

     Afterward, nobody could say precisely how everything happened, but in short order Wendy and John were left to watch the movie by themselves.  John moved into the vacated seat and continued their interrupted kiss, one hand stroking over the curves of his wife's breasts until she pushed him away with ragged breathing.

     "Take me home and fuck me hard," she said in a frustration-laced voice.  Taking her husband's hand, she rose to her feet and practically dragged him out of the theater and toward the parking lot. 

     "Damn, and I so wanted the both of you in a sandwich tonight," she said in a frustration-laced voice.  Taking her husband's hand, she rose to her feet and practically dragged him out of the theater and toward the parking lot.  She beeped the car unlocked and flipped him the car keys as she slid into the passenger side, pulling her skirt off in one fluid motion.  "Take me home, John, and fuck me till I can't stand straight!"

     John started the engine and quickly put the car into gear.  The last time his wife had used that tone of voice, they hadn't made it anywhere near their house.  Michael's loss would be his gain tonight.  As the car sped onto the city streets he steered with one hand and buried his fingers inside his wife.  "Whatever you say, Wendy, darling."


Endnote: Story published at Ruthie's Club on 8/20/2007 with some editorial changes:


     Wendy and her husband John sipped their drinks, listening to the jazz on the coffee shop speakers and glancing toward the door whenever it opened. John’s body — tall and slender — shifted in quick, tense jumps punctuating his conversation. Wendy in contrast was relaxed, vivacious, a dash of color brightening her cheeks. She wore a wrap-around red skirt and a pink blouse, and her sleek black hair was pulled back in a ponytail making her look like one of the fast girls from high school.

     The object of their interest arrived while Wendy was getting a refill. He was a man of medium build with sandy brown hair in a buzz cut, and his eyes cast nervously about the coffee shop. The rectangular parking badge clipped to his collar identified him. John waved in a friendly greeting. The man made his way to the table, getting there just as Wendy returned with her drink. He chivalrously held the chair for her.

     "Michael Grayson," he said by way of introduction. Wendy and John completed the circle of welcomes as he took a seat. They chatted for a bit — small talk, news of the day — before John broached the subject that had brought them together.

     "So, Michael, you sounded quite taken with Wendy in the chatroom."

     Michael nodded in response, his comfort level visibly disappearing.

     "Perhaps the two of you should talk a little bit about what you expected for a first meeting. I believe that you and my wife already had some discussions to that effect." John smiled as the other man shifted in his chair.

     Wendy took the lead by standing up and wiggling a finger for Michael to follow suit. She led him off toward the rear of the coffee shop, the skirt framing her hips and her heels emphasizing her calves for more than one pair of eyes.

     Wendy held the restroom door open and looked inside. With a giggle, she went in. "Come on, Michael, there’s nobody else here. I’m eager to see that present you promised me!"

     Michael couldn’t know if she was glad or disappointed at their privacy; from some of the stories she had related on line, it could have been either. He took a quick look behind and quickly entered the ladies’ room, pulling the door closed behind him. Wendy walked briskly to the row of stalls and swung one door open without waiting to see if Michael followed. By the time he got in and locked the stall door, Wendy was already unwrapping her skirt.

     She beamed at him with a wide, red-lipped smile as her bare thighs and lightly-fringed vee came into view. "Come on, now. I showed you mine, you have to show me yours — that was our deal!"

     He blushed — Wendy found that oddly endearing — and unzipped his slacks to push them down to his knees. As per their agreement, he had no underwear on either. His erection bobbed up and down — long and swollen — a visible salute to Wendy. She pulled a condom from her purse and deftly rolled it down his length, then turned around with her full cheeks pressing against him.

     "I just know you’re going to feel soooo good inside me, Michael!"

     He hesitantly slid his hands around her curves and then, as if realizing how little time they might have, he grabbed his cock and pressed it between her thighs. Wendy was more than ready. He bit his lip to keep from moaning aloud as her muscles gripped and massaged his length. Their coupling was brief but intense, already primed to the ragged edge from their mutual anticipation.

     Wendy’s wriggle reminded him to let go, and she cleaned them up before flushing the toilet and leading him out. Luck was still with them ... They didn’t meet another customer until they were safely past the men’s room door as well.

     By the time they arrived back at the table, John had three fresh cups of coffee waiting. He glanced at the other two — Michael with a flushed face and a slightly abashed look, Wendy preening like the cat who ate the canary — and picked up his drink to take a thoughtful sip. "I gather you came to a mutual understanding," he said with the hint of a grin.

     "You could say that," his wife responded. She tasted her coffee and then picked up the entertainment section of the newspaper that was folded on the table. "What do you think, the political thriller or the horror film?"

     "I’d say horror," said John. "It’s not like we’ll be paying enough attention for politics, and besides the horror movies usually have dimmer lighting. He turned to Michael, who had remained conspicuously quiet since returning. "What do you think, Mike? Are you up ... for a horror film?"

     The emphasis and pause were not lost on the other man, and he looked into his coffee before lifting his face to answer. He was smiling now, as if past some inner argument. "Horror works for me. Like you say, it’s not the plot that’s important but the company."

     Wendy set her cup down and refolded the paper. "Then we’d best be on our way. The Dunvale 24 has a show at ten. That will give us enough time to get popcorn with butter. She looked up, licking her lips, and caught Michael’s eyes. "I like lots of butter," she said, grinning.

     The three rose from the table and headed out to the parking lot, agreeing that Wendy would drive her car and John would ride with Michael to keep them from getting separated.

     They made it to the multiplex without incident, and true to her word, Wendy claimed the extra-large tub of buttered popcorn as John and Michael carried the drinks into their theater. The film had been out long enough that there were plenty of empty rows, and the three took seats in the back with Wendy sitting between the two men. The overhead lights dropped as the previews began for autumn films — loud, bright and flashy, the usual kinds of Oscar hopefuls — and they waited impatiently for the feature to begin.

     Finally the opening credits rolled, and the surrounding light dimmed further as the director and star listing gave way to a gloomy rain-sodden scene. It was a dark and stormy night. Four teenagers drove down a spooky back road, flashes of lightning occasionally illuminating the passenger compartment. Suddenly a shot rang out! No, it wasn’t a shot, it was a flat tire. Luckily, there was a creepy farmhouse not far off the road where the two young men and two young women could find shelter and help, arriving rain-soaked with their clothes clinging to their skin.

     All of which was lost in the back row, as Wendy had opened her skirt and both Michael and John were busily playing tag between her thighs, mixing the butter from the popcorn with her kind of stickiness. She leaned her head back against the theater wall and purred quietly to herself as the two men found a cooperative rhythm that worked for them. It worked even better for Wendy. She bit her lower lip as her legs clamped together sending popcorn into all three laps. The two men slowed their teasing, letting her find a comfortable plateau as they took their turns retrieving their juice-covered fingers to savor the mixture of flavors.

     After moving the remainder of the popcorn, John quietly encouraged Michael to take the lead for a second round until Wendy was once more wriggling and thrashing in her seat. She finally pushed his hand away, and the men returned their attention to the movie as Wendy caught her breath. When her heartbeat returned to normal, she brushed their hands away and covered her thighs, getting up to find the ladies’ room and clean herself.

     When she returned, she tagged Michael on the shoulder and traded places with him. In the dimly flickering light reflected from the movie screen, she could see the eager look on his face. She settled into her seat and took a few swallows from her soda. From the looks of things on the screen, she had missed one death; she wondered briefly how the brunette wound up running through the corn stalks wearing only her bra and panties.

     There was a more interesting subject nearer to hand, however. Wendy wriggled her hand on Michael’s leg, and then worked it up crab-fashion to his front button and zipper. With his help she soon had the upper part of his pants pulled down and had possession of his erection. It was warm and alive in her hand, and Michael was anything but still in his seat. She rubbed her thighs together — this was nice but it was a poor substitute for what she really wanted.

     Michael leaned back and sighed as the cool fingers explored his balls and teased the taut skin beneath. For all of his bravado in the chatroom, this was the only time he had ever met an Internet person in real life and the reality was far past his imagination. First, the scene with Wendy in the ladies’ room, and now this! Lips wrapped around his cock-head, and he closed his eyes to focus on the sensation and to try and keep from exploding too soon. He was far from a virgin. There were any number of professionals working the city, and Michael had used their services on occasion. But somehow this was a thousand times more intense.

     Hands stroked and teased him. His breathing sounded loud in his ears, and his fingers squeezed hard on the armrests as the stimulation increased. The pleasure was growing, deliberately and inexorably until his body gave him no choice, his bottom lifting off the cushioned seat as his balls cut loose in waves of pure pleasure.

     Panting, feeling both emotionally and physically drained, he looked down and saw John’s smiling face lifting from his lap, Wendy’s lips meeting her husband’s in an active kiss that left both partners’ lips smeared with white.

     Afterward, nobody could say precisely how everything happened, but in short order Wendy and John were left to watch the movie by themselves. John moved into the vacated seat and continued their interrupted kiss, one hand stroking over the curves of his wife’s breasts until she pushed him away with ragged breathing.

     "Take me home and fuck me hard," she said in a frustration-laced voice. Taking her husband’s hand, she rose to her feet and practically dragged him out of the theater and toward the parking lot.

     "Damn, and I so wanted the both of you in a sandwich tonight," she said. She beeped the car unlocked and flipped him the car keys as she slid into the passenger side, pulling her skirt off in one fluid motion. "Take me home, John, and fuck me until I can’t stand straight!"

     John started the engine and quickly put the car into gear. The last time his wife had used that tone of voice, they hadn’t made it anywhere near their house. Michael’s loss would be his gain tonight. As the car sped onto the city streets, he steered with one hand and buried his fingers inside his wife. "Whatever you say, Wendy, darling."



One Night in Club Decadence

Keys: [file:cdec] [date:2006-09-01] [words:9066] [codes:MF]

Abstract: Two strangers meet at a very special club and learn things about themselves

One Night in Club Decadence

by Rajah Dodger {} and Voluptuous Silk {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     It was a nondescript sort of building, the sort of building that you find on any business site on the outskirts of any city in the western hemisphere.  Inside the building was a totally different matter, but few people had access to know that.  The entranceway was guarded by a pass key lock together with a video camera which prevented any passing salesman from gaining access.  If by any chance a stranger did try to get in the receptionist would work a speaker explaining that no reps were currently being accepted.

     The only people who could gain access were a selected few who had undergone a long drawn out process of selection, involving interviews and a home visit.  For the chosen few it was worth the trouble. They knew it would be, as they had been specifically invited to apply by existing members.

     Members -- for this was a very private kind of club. Once inside the very ordinary doors the building opened up into a whole vista of delights for all whether they were solo men, solo ladies or couples.  There was a limited number of staff to provide anything a member required, but members were encouraged to help other members in achieving their fantasies.  This was a place where those who enjoyed their fantasies could make them come to life, creating simple or elaborate scenarios in the full knowledge that their privacy would be respected and their desires catered to.

     This is the tale of one such encounter.

     *** *** ***

     Roger entered with a certain degree of trepidation, despite the extensive vetting process. Fear of being revealed at work or home kept his blood pressure up, but did not keep him from making the application, nor from juggling his family finances to arrange the cash payment.

     He took from his inside jacket pocket the cardkey that had come by anonymous courier to his office. Swiping it over the door panel, he turned the knob to enter the club. The door opened onto a moderately lit carpeted area, and closed behind him with an audible snick of the lock.  The cardkey was needed for both doors; the enforced delay probably generating enough time for the club security personnel to visually confirm his membership. Finally passing through the inner door, he moved forward with nervous anticipation.

     This first area could have been a small party room in any hotel, a bar along one wall, several tables along two sides of a dance floor, the furnishings pleasant if generic. This early in the afternoon, however, the area was just about empty. A woman of indeterminate age was cleaning the bar, and she efficiently mixed him a potent martini, which he sipped while sitting at one of the tables.

     There were several doors in the far wall and a hallway off the far corner, and he fingered the small Yale key in his pocket wondering what he would find in the locker which had been assigned to him, and whether he dared look into it yet.

     *** *** ***

     As she started to slide her key through the lock, Angie hesitated. She wasn't sure if she should, but she was here on a dare, after all. A week before she had had some friends over and after having a bit too much to drink, she accepted a dare before fully knowing what it entailed. She had been given a limo, a key and directions that she be fully open to what she might find (her friends knew she was the adventurous type). Now, she was not so sure.

     She paused to check herself in her mirror. Not much to check in the way of makeup... she didn't wear it much... fair complexion, blonde curly hair and sparkling green eyes. She was aware that she could capture attention, she was of the Rubenesque, voluptuous type and she loved to laugh.  Satisfied she was presentable enough, she took a deep breath and slid the key through the lock. She stepped into a small carpeted area and was standing in front of another door. She noticed there was a small camera and an unlit red light above the door. After a few moments the red light flashed and, assuming she had passed security, she slid her key through the final lock.

     She entered an attractive, but modest bar area with a few tables and a dance floor. Soft jazz was playing. She walked to the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. As she sipped her drink, she noticed an attractive man sitting at a table by himself. His profile was to her and she didn't think he had noticed her enter the room since he seemed a bit nervous and preoccupied.

     She really didn't relish the thought of drinking alone and still wasn't sure what was to happen from here, so she lightly stepped over to his table and came up behind him. She leaned over, her breast lightly brushing against his shoulder and breathed in his ear... "May I join you?"

     Several things then occurred in quick succession.  The man jumped at the unexpected voice, pulled his hand quickly out of his pocket, causing the back of his wrist to drag along the softly resilient hip of the woman who had appeared as if from nowhere, and dropped his martini, which bounced once on the table top and rolled away to fall with a wet shattering sound on the floor. Meanwhile, the key which he had been fingering flipped upward and described a glittering parabola in the air before coming down under the conspiring forces of gravity and Murphy's law to embed itself inside the vee of Angie's blouse.

     Mortified, his cheeks burning from embarrassment, he lifted his gaze to meet a pair of green eyes in which no obvious trace of anger or even disapproval could be found. A few tentative sounds escaped his lips before he regained some semblance of aplomb. Rising to his feet, and manfully resisting the inclination to look where the key had lodged, he carefully indicated a chair on the dry side of the table.

     "Please do," he replied, "but I hope you don't mind if I change my drink to water." The bar attendant had by this time arrived to clean the floor of glass and alcohol, discreetly ignoring the two of them. He brushed an unruly lock of salt and pepper off his forehead as he continued. "It would appear that one glass is my limit tonight."

     "Thank you so much," she replied with a small smile. Placing her drink on the table, she gracefully slid into the seat opposite him. She slowly crossed her legs and placed one hand in her lap, using the other to slowly twirl a tendril of hair around a finger. The most prominent thought in her mind at the moment was how she would love to help with the hair falling into his eyes. She had a weakness for men with that color and type of hair. She would really have to watch herself tonight.

     She had never had quite this effect on a man before, and having a small key practically jump into her blouse was definitely a first! The contact of his hand against her hip, although brief, had started a warmth to spread through her. She was quite enjoying his level of discomfort, which was not at all like her. For the moment she would blame it on the mysteriousness of the situation at hand. She decided to prolong the slight mystery of what had happened to his key as long as possible.

     She leaned across the table and touched his hand lightly. She knew that, if he chose to do so, he could glance down and would most likely see the top part of the key peeking out. She opted to ignore the fact that his key was now hopelessly trapped between her breasts. "I apologize for surprising you, are you sure you wouldn't mind another drink?", she said. "It seems I am the cause of the loss of the first one and really, I do abhor drinking alone. Unless you would rather drink water, of course?"

     The twinkle of yellow metal insisted on trying to pull his vision from his friendly companion's quite pretty face down toward the creamy cleavage held barely in check by the cocktail dress she wore. He suppressed a frisson of delight at the light touch of her fingers almost stroking along the back of his right hand, a touch which sent tendrils of sensation up his arms and down under his neat three-piece suit. Social needs won out over caution, and he flagged the bar attendant for another martini.

     The sound system had shifted from Dave Brubeck to Teddy Pendergrass, and he found himself with a bit more courage than his normal share. Without worrying about the possibility of rejection, he opened his lips and found himself launching into an invitation to dance.

     "By the way, I must seem terribly rude, I haven't introduced myself. My name's Roger, and you've probably guessed I've not been here before. Would you do me the honor of helping me over my first-night jitters with a spin on the dance floor?"

     "You aren't rude at all, Roger. Given the circumstances, I wouldn't blame you at all, since I did cause the loss of your first drink." She continued, "My name is Angie, and I am very pleased to meet you." With a smile, she softly enfolded his hand in hers. Squeezing gently, she said, "I would love to dance with you."

     He stood and came around the table to her side, his eyes and hand never leaving her... his key was quite forgotten for the moment. He gently drew her to her feet and led her to the dance floor. He grasped her right hand in his left and barely touched his other hand to the small of her back. She shivered slightly at his touch.

     She was not cold at all, the very opposite really. From the moment she had first saw him she had been attracted to him and, yes, was a bit curious. Each time they had made physical contact, accidental or otherwise, warmth had radiated through her body. At first she had thought it was the wine, but knew differently now. As he held her hand while they danced, his thumb softly rubbed the back of it, sending heat throughout her body once more. She wasn't sure if he was aware of the effect he was having on her.

     "Are you cold?" he asked. She slowly looked up at him and huskily replied, "On the contrary, I am beginning to feel quite warm." That said, she pressed a slight bit closer to him.

     Angie really had the most remarkable eyes, he thought. Sort of a warmish green that changed hue from different angles. And her smile varied from demure to radiant. More than that he couldn't say, since his attention was taken both with setting a competent rhythm on the dance floor and with enjoying the presence of a woman in his arms again, even if only in the context of the dance.

     The music shifted, and with it her body leaned in closer to his. He could almost feel her warmth through his dress shirt, and the movements of their dance brought her midsection into frequent sliding collisions with his. His right hand nestled at the base of her spine, fingertips describing small circles in the fabric of her dress. The goosebumps along her bare arms belied her claim of feeling warm; on the other hand, when the music stopped but she didn't, the contact of her upper legs pressing against his was warm indeed.

     They stood there for a suspended moment, the echoes of the music around them as he inhaled the fragrant scent of her hair.

     Each movement which brought Angie's body into closer contact with Roger's had set her pulse racing. His touch at the small of her back was giving her goosebumps and her face had become a slight bit flushed. She had become so absorbed in the reactions he was invoking in her that she had not noticed when the music stopped. When Roger had stopped moving, she had continued and stumbled into him slightly.

     He honestly did not seem to realize the effect he was having on her. As they had danced, their midsections had kept a rhythmical contact. Angie was not a tall woman and, at the moment was relieved that she had worn heels... or was she? She had not expected to meet someone this quickly tonight or to experience any of the sensations she was feeling at the moment... at least not this early in the evening.

     As Roger held her against himself (most likely to keep her from falling, she thought), she felt the warmth of his leg mingle with her own. At a loss for words, for the moment, she glanced down and saw a flash of gold. Angie had completely forgotten about his key. She had one exactly like it in her evening bag.

     "Roger," she said, "I have just one question at the moment." Placing both hands on his shoulder, she stood on tiptoe to huskily whisper in his ear, "Whatever are we going to do about this damned key?" As she pulled away slightly from him, her lips grazed his ear and cheek. She was sure she felt him shudder very slightly. She met his gaze and winked.

     Roger stiffened for a moment at the contact of her lips along the underside of his ear.  An unmistakably erotic charge skated down the side of his neck, slithering beneath his shirt and exploding with a silent thunderclap in the front of his slacks.  He wondered at her mixture of pleasant reserve and sensual presence.  However, her last casual comment brought him full around to the needs and impulses that led him to this building in the first place.  After all, her admission here meant that she had been approved by the committee just as he had.  Which brought him back to, as she so insightfully phrased it, that damned key.

     "Well, since you brought the matter up," and his hazel eyes flickered down below her neck and then bobbed up with an appreciative smile.  "Why don't you get your purse and we'll go check it out."  He watched her move fluidly back to the table, the side slit of her skirt revealing a strong and well-turned leg without the annoying shimmer of hose.  She twirled around, purse in hand, and strode toward him with her movements emphasizing the fullness of her bustline beneath the clinging fabric of the dress.

     He took her small hand in his and led her toward the corner and the hallway entrance there.  Once out of the main area, a small sign pointed to the left for "Lockers-Sauna", to the right for "Meeting Suites".  Roger chuckled at the discreetly worded phrase.  His interview had given several possibilities for the kinds of "meetings" that might take place, and he was beginning to hope that he would be a participant in one such here on his first visit.

     A walk of several meters down the hall, accompanied by some soft unplaceable music through unseen speakers, brought them to a pair of doors with male and female ideographs.  Roger began to reach into his pocket, then remembered and, glancing at his companion, blushed.  "Um, I think I'm going to need some assistance on your part here... I'll turn my back while you fetch the key."

     He took the opportunity, while listening with half his attention to the silky rustling behind him, to discreetly adjust the front of his trousers.  It occurred to him that had the dance not ended when it did, he'd have been hard pressed to hide his physical reactions from the pretty blonde.

     When her lips had brushed against his skin, she had heard his sharp intake of breath.  She had also felt a slight, involuntary jerk a bit lower.  When his eyes glanced down towards the hidden key, she felt a warmth spread through her.  She was starting to think she would just have to thank her friend for daring her... she was enjoying herself immensely.

     She felt his eyes on her as she went to the table to retrieve her bag.  She was glad she had chosen the dress she had for this occasion.  She was well aware that the flowing lines of the dress accentuated her curves and the slit revealed just the right touch of leg as she walked.  The neckline was deep enough and just snug enough to play up her cleavage and yet still allow a slight sway as she moved.  The green of the dress also was a sharp contrast to her pale skin and hair, but also brought out a deeper green in her eyes. She brought those eyes to his as his hand took hers, and felt warmth spread through her body.

     As he turned his back to her so she could retrieve her key, she experienced a slight misgiving.  She had hoped to feel the brush of his fingertips as he, himself, took the key.  As it were, she removed the key... taking that moment to leave her dress a bit more disheveled at the neck line than it had been previously... emphasizing the curve of her breast and also revealing a bit more of what might lay underneath.

     She placed a hand on his right shoulder and felt him startle.  She trailed her hand softly down the length of his arm.  She grasped his hand and gently tugged so she could turn him to face her.  Bringing his hand up to her, she turned it over and, while gazing at him, placed a soft kiss in his palm.  She then placed the key in the spot where her lips had barely touched him.

     She finally spoke, "Could you tell me the purpose of this key?  Although I have been approved by the committee, I am here on a dare.  I knew which was the entrance key, but I have a key similar to this one and do not know what it is for."  With that said, she waited for his answer, hoping she had not been too forward, too quickly, with him.

     His palm tingled, the warmth of her lips spreading out from the center and suffusing his entire body... he clenched his fingers around it tightly and worked to regain his composure.  Approved by the committee but not knowing what the key was for -- something about the explanation didn't ring true, but Angie's magical presence and her effect on him was more than enough to offset minor quibbles.  He took another look at her -- the deep cleavage of her dress made prominent the contrast of her skin tones with the darker fabric.  The overall effect seemed to him more provocative than he remembered from the dance floor, and he wondered at the talent of the dressmaker who could arrange so much without part of her bra showing.

     "Follow me, then," he said as he took her hand.  Turning, he opened the door to the men's lockers, somehow sure that she wouldn't hesitate to cross that threshold.  Indeed, her fingers tightened on his but there was no sense of her holding back.  "You'll have a locker just like this in the women's section; someone must have dropped the ball when they took you through the orientation.  That's what the key is for.  I'm sorry but I wouldn't be able to tell you where yours is."

     He scanned the numbers on the lockers as they walked until he found the one he had been told was his.  He paused, a faint worry at the back of his mind about opening an unknown package in the presence of a woman he'd just met.  Still, she had been vouchsafed by the committee, so...

     He turned the key in the lock and opened the door, moving so as to block her view.  His eyes widened; the locker was empty save for three items.  One was a black blindfold; the second was a card noting that the sauna was now open around the clock, although attendants would only be available until 2am.  He lifted the third item, a wisp of green fabric that turned out to be a pair of high-cut forest green panties, the color quite similar to the dress that Angie was wearing.

     Thinking of her dress reminded him that she was waiting behind him, undoubtedly confused by his silence.  He turned to attempt an explanation of the locker's contents, only to collide with her as she attempted to see what this surprise package consisted of.  They both stumbled, and he slid his free arm (the one not holding the panties) around her to keep her from falling.  His hand landed as if by magnetism on her lower back, and while attempting to regain her balance she unintentionally ground her waist repeatedly against him.

     After a bit of confusion, Angie was once again fully upright, but made no attempt to step away from him, nor even to reduce the friendly warm pressure of her hips against his groin.  Obeying an unbidden instinct, and blithely discarding his normal reserve, he slid his hand up her spine to her upper back and used that pressure to bring her face close.  His lips moved to hers, and he lost himself for a timeless moment in the sudden heat of their kiss.

     The kiss completely took her by surprise, although it was a pleasant surprise.  The contact of his lips sent heat rushing directly downward.  His hand applying pressure also succeeded in bringing her into ever-closer contact with his groin area and she could feel the intensity of his excitement pressing into her.

     It was a tentative kiss at first, as if he was seeking permission to enjoy her.  She hesitantly reached for his mouth with the tip of her tongue... teasing and tracing the outline of his lips.  She felt another shiver pass through him.  She grew more bold and grasped his bottom lip ever so gently with her teeth and brought it barely into her mouth ... sucking softly.

     Feeling a bit lightheaded, she brought her hand to his cheek and trailed her fingers across it down to his neck.  Finally, she leaned her head back and slowly opened her eyes to look up at him.

     Reaching to grasp his hand, she found the panties with her fingertips.  With a look of mock surprise, she gazed at him and said, "And just what do we have here?"  She tugged them free from his hand, and as she dangled the scrap of forest green silk and lace in front of his eyes, she had to suppress a devilish grin as she saw the look of embarrassment cross his face.

     Roger was in over his head, and enjoying every moment of it.  Angie's kiss was like liquid fire running through his veins, and he let his free hand slide down her skirt to cup her bottom, which fit into his palm like it was designed that way.

     Her hand glided over his, and she pulled the panties free triumphantly, waving the incriminating garment as if she'd caught him with his pants down.  In a sense she had, but he quickly realized that since she was not a regular member then she couldn't have been privy to the personal disclosures he'd divulged to the club committee.  He silently thanked the lucky coincidence of color between the daring lingerie and her dress.

     "I guess the club knows more about us than they let on," he replied.  Despite the confusion and embarrassment, he hadn't moved the hand resting softly on her bottom, and he felt a pulse in his groin with every breath and wriggle Angie made.  "They told me in the orientation meeting that I'd find what I needed from time to time in the locker.  Maybe they put these in after you arrived this evening."  It sounded plausible to him, and he watched Angie's eyes as she mulled over the explanation.

     The look in her eyes was suddenly replaced by one of shrewdness, and it occurred to Roger that he might have jumped from the frying pan into the fire with that fiction.  After all, on reflection, why would the club give him a pair of panties for Angie?  But she didn't bring up that question; instead, she reached over his shoulder and brought out the blindfold and the card announcing the sauna hours.  She held them thoughtfully for a minute, then leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips.  "I'm not sure you're right about that... but look, they have a sauna!"

     When Roger's hand slid down to her bottom, Angie felt as if she had been branded.  She intentionally wriggled a bit as if trying to settle herself even more into his hand.  She was sure that her movements were adding to the heated atmosphere between them.

     She had a feeling that he might be stretching the truth a bit about the coincidence between the color of the dress she was wearing and the color of the panties from his locker... he seemed to be covering for something but she was not sure what it might be.  At the moment Angie decided to overlook this little bit of "fiction"... if indeed that was what it was.  She was also quite curious about what might be lying in wait in her own locker.  However, from what she had caught a glimpse of in Roger's locker, it seemed that the contents of hers could quite possibly wait until later.  The thought of Roger placing a blindfold on her... or possibly giving it to her to blindfold him was quite enticing... as was the knowledge of there being a sauna at the Club.

     She really wished she could have given him another kiss like their first... instead of the peck... but her curiosity had bested her.  "What do you say we explore, Roger," and with that she took hold of his hand and started off in the direction of the sauna.  So quickly, as a matter of fact, that she caused poor Roger to stumble!

     Her sudden decision and movement caught him off balance, and he landed heavily on his left knee.  She turned quickly as his hand slipped from hers, and ran back to him with concern in her eyes.  "Oh dear, I'm so sorry... are you all right?" she inquired.  He tested his knee; it was sore but didn't feel like any significant injury.  "I think I'm fine," he said as she helped him to his feet.  When they set off again, it was at a slower pace and he showed a slight but definite limp.  Angie squeezed his hand and made apologies all the way to the door marked "Sauna Entrance".  By this time most of Roger's limp was gone, but he could tell he'd be feeling some serious discomfort in the morning.

     Entering the sauna section was a visual challenge; where the outside hallway had been done in muted pastels, the reception area here was starkly antiseptic white with occasional strokes of bright color.  There was a fit-looking attendant at the desk, and when Angie handed over the card from Roger's locker the attendant jotted down a note at his computer screen.  "Exercise area's off to the left, changing rooms are off the right, low-temp sauna is first door off the center hall and the high-temp sauna with the Swedish afterbath is second door.  Bathrobes and towels are just before the exercise area."  With that terse briefing, he pushed a button and the doors behind him unlocked with a loud click.

     After a bit of a contest to see who could be the most polite, Roger won and Angie preceded him into the back section.  He took the opportunity to admire the way the back of her dress slid seamlessly across her bottom, his arousal of earlier in the evening returning.  The two of them wandered to their left, coming to the door of the exercise area and opening the adjacent closet.  Angie pulled out two towels and two bathrobes while Roger looked through the window to check out the health equipment -- they seemed to be serious about it, as the room was well populated with gear that looked both high-tech and intimidating.

     Angie's voice brought him back to the moment.  "Hey daydreamer... are you here to check out the equipment or me?"  He turned, grinning, to see her handing him a towel and bathrobe.  "Last one in the sauna's a wrinkled prune," she said, and turned to skip down the hall to the changing rooms.

     Roger went a bit more slowly.  He found an empty locker in the changing room, noticing that none of these lockers had (or presumably needed) locks, and busied himself with disrobing and checking his knee.  Satisfied, he ignored the bathrobe and wrapped a towel around his nude body, then padded barefoot out the back door to find himself in the passage to the saunas.  Angie was nowhere to be seen, which left him with an even-odds guess on which sauna she was waiting in.

     "Oh dear" Angie thought to herself as she headed for the locker room, "I probably have lost this poor man for certain!" She had not realized how quickly she had started off and felt awful about hurting him. She hoped she hadn't scared him off too badly.

     When Angie entered the area which contained the lockers, she immediately went straight to the work of disrobing. After tossing her dress and undergarments into the locker she gave a brief consideration to whether or not she should wear a robe or just a towel. She decided to forego the conservative route of the two, and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself so that it tucked in front and center. This accomplished, she headed out the door.

     Angie started down the center hall and took the first door into the low temperature sauna. As she stepped in, she looked to her right and immediately noticed that there was a placard hanging next to the door with the words  "Occupied" engraved on it. There were instructions placed next to it stating that in the case that privacy should be needed, it was to be hung on the outside of the door. Across the room there were benches against the wall for relaxing.  Also, there was a whirlpool to her left large enough to accommodate 2 people comfortably. This was something which had not been mentioned in the description of the two different saunas.

     Already starting to feel the heat, Angie decided to take a place on the bench along the wall and relax. Looking around to make sure she was alone, she unwrapped the towel and lay on the bench. She then draped the towel again over herself, for modesty's sake. As she lay on the bench with her eyes closed, she slid a foot towards her behind, bending her knee, causing the towel to slip higher up onto her thigh. She could feel moisture start to trickle down the back of her leg and also down the valley between her breasts. She ran her fingertips up her thighs and started to relax. The last thought she had before she drifted off was to hope that Roger did not have too difficult a time finding her, since she had not let him know which sauna she would head for.

     Before long, the combination of the heat and her own fingers softly gliding across her skin caused Angie to doze.  As she fell deeper into sleep and became more relaxed, she began to dream.

     *** *** ***

     Strong, masculine hands began to massage her feet.  One hand cupped the sole of her foot while the other gently stroked the top... the anonymous hands moving up and pausing at each of her ankles, as if making a decision.  After a few moments, both hands gripped her left ankle, each one slowly sliding up the inside and outside of her calf, fingers and thumbs kneading her muscle there.  The hands stroked back down her calf and now the fingers began a slow glide up her shin and around to her calf and lightly behind her knee.  Next they switched to the other leg, and followed the same pattern there.

     Angie's skin had become hypersensitive to touch because of the heat and every touch of the unknown hands in her dream caused her to tingle.

     Now with one hand on each leg they slowly began to rub her.  Massaging the muscles, making firm circular motions around the front and back of each upper thigh.  Suddenly the hands left her -- Angie was at the mercy of her dream and didn't know where those gifted hands went but she desperately wanted them back.

     Suddenly she felt fingertips stroking her thighs.  They slowly and gently glided up the tops of her thighs and then back down to caress her knees.  She felt the light touch on the sensitive area on the inside of her knees as they slowly found their way along the inside of each leg.  They made small circles as they glided upwards and she parted her thighs slightly in anticipation of what she hoped they would do next.  As they reached the inside tops of her legs they barely brushed against that part of her which was now hot and moist, and not from the heat of the sauna.

     Angie breathed a sound of frustration as the fingers left her and the strong hands begin to massage her hands and work their way up her forearms.  The fingers lightly moved over her upper arms to her shoulders, across her collarbone to her throat and slowly down over the tops of her breasts.  In her slight movements of pleasure, her towel slipped down so the top edge just barely covered each nipple, the dark pink area around each one clearly visible.  Now the fingers began to tease that area, just barely touching the sensitive skin as they moved teasingly on and back up to her shoulders.  She sensed movement and knew that her unknown masseur had moved to station himself behind her head as she lay on the bench.

     She now felt his fingers tracing pathways through her hair as they massaged her scalp.  The fingertips left her hair to brush down over her eyelids.  Subconsciously she wished this were not a dream but if it had to be a dream... this is exactly the way it should be.  Fingers softly flowed over her cheeks, down along her jawbone and across her neck.  They worked their way down across the tops of her breasts and she could tell her unseen masseuse was closer... feeling his warm breath at her ear.  As his fingers brushed so close to her nipples, she felt a soft kiss on her lips.  When she moved to return the kiss the tip of his tongue traced the outline of her lips... stopping to gently suck on her bottom lip. 

     She moaned with pleasure...

     *** *** ***

     Roger opened the door to the first of the two saunas.  Hot air enveloped him, and he felt the sweat break out on his forehead and around his torso as he walked into the room.  His feet padded quietly on the textured floor as he checked out the quiet area, pausing with admiration at the authentic-looking rushes and the racks of stones for generating steam.  However, this was obviously not the area that Angie had chosen.  He opened the door, shivering as the cooler hall air hit his body, and walked quickly down the hall to the other sauna.

     Upon entering, he paused to gather his bearings.  The temperature in here was nowhere near as stifling as that in the other room, and he appreciated the difference.  Seeing the "Occupied" placard, he placed it in the holder on the outside of the door, then let the door shut behind him.  He started to call out Angie's name to get her attention, but a sound stopped the word while still in his throat.  It was something like a low whine, or a moan.  Curious, and a little worried, he walked through the high-walled areas following the sound, until he rounded a corner and stopped at the sight.

     Angie was stretched out on a low bench, her left knee lifted and resting against the wall.  Her eyes were closed, and her body was beaded with perspiration -- although it was obvious that the heat in the sauna was only part of its cause.  He watched with rapidly growing arousal as the fingers of her right hand moved in tiny, restless incremental brushes between her parted thighs.  Her towel was lifted far past being any visual barrier, and he almost gasped to see the evidence of her arousal, swollen and dark red in color, the more erotic for the way her fingers seemed to avoid direct contact.  As he watched, Angie moved her head from side to side, letting out what he now recognized as the moan of mixed pleasure and frustration that had caught his ear.

     The impulse too strong to resist, he crossed to the low bench to sit at her feet.  Looking up along her sweat-beaded legs, past the valley so prominently exposed, his eyes traveled over her towel-covered midsection and past the hillocks of her breasts.  Her face was an elegant mixture of desire, arousal, and some degree of pleasure already received.  He held his hand a mere hairbreadth away from her calf, unwilling to disturb her evident sweet dream, when she suddenly stiffened from head to toe and her foot shot out into his hip where his towel was tucked in.  The pain was a secondary consideration to him though, as Angie's eyes opened at that moment.

     Angie opened her eyes and felt disoriented. She was warm... quite warm as a matter of fact. She suddenly realized where she was. The solid object which her foot had encountered was actually Roger. She was still trying to come totally out of her dream. She knew that hands had been touching her and that she still felt quite aroused. From the position of her right hand it was obvious to her that at least one of the hands had been her own... and she flushed with embarrassment knowing that Roger may have caught her. There was no telling how long he had been there, but from the look on his face, she could tell he had seen plenty.

     As her foot made contact with his hip, he had jumped up from his position on the bench at her feet, his hand brushing along her calf. Her foot had gotten tangled with his towel where he had tucked it in at his waist. When he moved suddenly and stood, the towel had stayed with her foot. He now stood at her feet, sans towel. She had risen up on her arms slightly when she woke, and was hit with the realization that her own towel was now only covering her stomach, leaving all else exposed.

     Their eyes locked. Her eyes slowly traveled down over his chest and stomach. She could not resist looking lower and could not stop the hint of a smile which came to her face when she saw that he was every bit as aroused as she was, albeit from slightly different circumstances. As she slowly lifted her eyes back up to his, desire was apparent in his eyes also.

     Roger stood there, seeing the answering hunger in her eyes, feeling the hot breath of the sauna swirling between his legs.  He moved back toward the bench, maintaining eye contact, until he was once again sitting next to her leg.  Now he placed his hand deliberately just over her ankle, and moved it slowly along her sweat-slicked calf into the hollow behind her knee.  Angie's eyelids fluttered as he twirled his index finger in that space, and she rolled her hips upward wanting his fingers to keep moving.  Goosebumps popped out on both her legs as his finger did indeed continue onward, up the inside of her leg until his fingers brushed the damp curls awaiting his touch.

     Her mouth opened in a silent "oh", and she parted her legs further, wanting his touch, wanting so much more than that.  She arched her back, moving herself onto two of his fingers while his thumb slid into the channel between her labia.  He watched her closely, marveling at the uninhibited way she rolled her hips forward until he was perforce cupping her one-handed.  She reached out blindly and grabbed his leg below the knee, and the sharp bite of her nails along with the demanding throb between his own thighs reminded him that there was more to be done here than simply watch, as much as he wanted to see her take her pleasure.

     He flicked the tip of his thumb against Angie's clit, and she threw her head back on the bench moaning loudly.  Moving carefully, he rose from the bench and slid his free hand behind her back, raising her to a sitting position.  Swinging his left leg over the bench, he sat down so that she rested against his chest, her bottom warm against his standing erection.  Her muscles clamped down on his fingers, and he felt as much as heard her shudder and sigh against him.

     As Roger settled behind her, Angie leaned back into his chest and laid her head back on his right shoulder.  She could feel his hardness against her and unconsciously wriggled, settling in even closer to him.  As Roger felt her movement, the fingers that were working their magic on her inserted themselves even farther and his cupped hand applied pressure to urge her closer to him.  She could feel an answering nudge in the hardness against her backside.

     His free hand slid along her left arm, his fingers tracing a blazing pathway across her shoulder and up her neck.  He gently gathered up the damp tendrils of hair, each separate touch of a finger giving rise to more goosebumps.  He laid the curls aside and bent his lips to the area where her shoulder and neck connected.  When his lips made contact, Angie arched back against him, her left arm coming up so that her hand cupped the back of his head, pressing him closer.  Of its own accord, her other hand drifted to her breast, brushing against the turgid nipple and cupping the yielding mound in her hand.  She bent her left knee higher, encouraging deeper access to Rogers seeking fingers.  Moaning, she turned her head, her lips meeting Roger's in a deep passionate kiss.

     Roger met Angie's searching lips with a torrid kiss of his own, wriggling behind her so that his erection settled into the sauna-dampened pocket between her bottom cheeks.  His tongue sought out and dueled with hers in a mutual exchange of passion, while lower down he continued his manual explorations.  He could feel her heartbeat as her inner muscles clamped down on his fingers, sheathing them in gloves of slick heat.  With his other hand he found the breast that she wasn't stroking, and lifted it while his thumb drew teasing circles around the nipple, never quite brushing over that sensitive spot.

     The aroused Angie lifted and slid her legs restlessly, coaxing his wriggling fingers deeper inside her.  Her new position made it possible for him to press his thumb up between her swollen labia and find the rising nubbin higher up.  She thrust her chest outward, pressing her breast into his cupping hand, and he responded by breaking off their kiss to slide his lips lower down, leaving a trail of wet butterfly kisses from the underside of her chin to the hollow at the base of her neck.

     She mewled at the loss of his kiss, but gasped and let out a low moan as his lips settled over the soft length of her neck.  Her whole body felt consumed by arousal, with no clear distinction between his attentions to her neck, his tantalizing of her breast, the occasional throb of his shaft against her bottom, or the in-and-out movement of his fingers inside her.  Goosebumps lined her arms despite the heat of the sauna, and she felt her head spinning.

     All else in Angie's world ceased to exist for her except for the feel of Roger's fingers, hands and lips on her.  She felt as if she was so tightly wound, if her spring were to break, she would explode. Roger's hardness was much more insistent against her backside and as she shifted against him in her excitement she could hear a small moan escape his lips.  His fingers continued their exploration of her moist depths, unrelenting in their journey.  When occasionally he allowed the thumb of his other hand to teasingly brush against her nipple, uncontrollable shivers would pass through her body.

     When Roger's mouth moved to her throat, she turned her head slightly to kiss the back of his neck.  When her lips made contact, his fingers suddenly thrust deep inside her.  The sensations he caused at that moment caused her to nip his neck and graze his hairline with her teeth.  In response he pressed her more closely to himself and began to move against her backside.  His lips became more insistent on her neck, pausing between kisses to bite ever so gently.

     She moved her right hand along the inside of his right thigh, reaching behind her and brushing her fingers against his shaft.  She could feel the vibrations on her neck as he moaned.  Grasping him firmly in her hand, so as not to lose contact, she shifted a bit to her left and sideways, away from him, opening her legs further.  She now was sitting more upright and sideways against him, giving him easier access to the rest of her body.  Since the movement had interrupted his exploration of her neck on the left side, he now bent his head to continue on her right side.  She began to teasingly brush her fingers up and down the length of him, pausing occasionally to grasp him in her hand, using her thumb to trace circles around the head.

     As Angie's hand grasped and stroked his swelling root, Roger move his legs restlessly, rubbing them alongside hers.  In this position it was easy for him to press two fingers up inside her, and she reacted by immediately clenching her hand tightly around him.  She could feel his one hand twirling maddeningly around her left nipple, and his lips were busy at the base of her neck while his fingers -- oh those exploring, knowing fingers...

     Roger pressed his lips firmly against her neck, just half-grazing the edges of his teeth against her skin, feeling the quivering of her body against him.  He moved his fingers in swirls and slides, learning the contours and sensitive areas of her inner core.  With his left hand he lifted her breast and thumbed the pert nipple, drawing a breathy moan from Angie as she clamped down on him twice -- once with her hips trapping his hand, and the other with her hand around his own excitement.  The atmosphere in the sauna left both of their bodies sweat-slick, and every movement was magnified by the added sensitivity of their heated skin.

     He became aware of a soft sound.  At first he thought it came from the heating vents, but he quickly realized it was Angie's breathing, semi-vocalized puffs of air in time with the squeezing of her thighs around his hand.  He curled his middle finger inside her, and was rewarded with a reaction far in excess of any expectations -- Angie threw her head back against him and arched her back, pressing him hard against the wall, and clamped her legs tightly around his hand, all the while letting out a high keening moan that had to be audible even through the solid doors of the sauna.  She lifted one hand to cover his over her breast, and her other hand squeezed almost painfully around his shaft, but the wonder of her passion was such that he really didn't notice at that moment.

     In her fight to not expend herself immediately, Angie had forgotten all else except physical sensation and using her mind to control the reactions of her body to Roger’s attentions.  Suddenly she realized that she had a very firm grip on his most sensitive area and loosened her hold at once, but without letting go of him completely.  She moved her hand to his and, grasping his wrist, she moved it aside so that his fingers could not quite yet cause her to lose control.

     She turned to face him and raised herself to her knees.  She released her hold on his shaft and took both of his hands in hers, placing them on her hips.  Slowly, while gazing into his eyes, she placed a knee on each side of his hips.   In this position, her breasts were now directly in front of his face, and he moved to tenderly draw a nipple into his mouth.  A moan escaped her as shocks of pleasure spread through her body each time he drew her deeper into his mouth.  Adding to the sensation, his hands kneaded her behind, pressing her closer to him.  Placing each of her hands in his hair she turned his face upwards to her and kissed him passionately.

     As the kiss grew more insistent, she lowered herself so that the tip of his member was just at her hot and moist opening.  As Roger began to move his hips trying to gain entrance she slowly slid part way down the length of him, her muscles alternately gripping him tightly and releasing him in a steady rhythm.  She began a pattern of repeating this movement, each time drawing more of him into her.  The bodies slid against each other in their need for release.  She knew that she could not control her pleasure much longer, and she could tell that Roger was getting closer to his own release with each up and down movement.

     Pressing as close as she could to him, Angie brought her lips to Roger’s ear and began a slow stroking along the outer edge with her tongue, pausing every so often to nibble on his lobe and suck it into her mouth.  As his breath quickened, she settled completely down onto him, burying his shaft deep inside her as she began a slow rocking movement that became increasingly urgent.

     Roger dug his fingers into the yielding curves of Angie's bottom as her thighs landed into full contact with his legs.  She shifted her weight in a rolling motion that magnified the tight slithery caress of her vagina around him, her inner muscles rippling in a fashion both harder and infinitely more delicate than anything his own hand could produce.  He felt the points of her nipples drag heavily across his chest, and his breath caught in his throat as the moment overwhelmed him.

     At the same time that she poked her tongue into his ear, his legs stiffened and he threw his head back against the padded wall, crying out in lust as his balls clenched and pumped.  Distantly, he felt the answering bite of her nails around his shoulders while he pushed his hips upward repeatedly in short but emphatic thrusts.  He smelled the clean scent of her hair draped along his face and felt the nip of teeth along his shoulderblade as she convulsed similarly atop him.

     They held each other tightly through the moment, as the sauna was filled with a combination of grunts, moans, and wet slapping sounds.  Not until he felt turned completely inside out did Roger loosen his grip on Angie's bottom, and it was longer still before the last effects of her orgasms faded enough for her breathing to slow down to normal.  She rested then, slumped against Roger's chest, purring occasionally when an aftershock would cause one of them to pulse or squeeze where they were so intimately joined.

     As she rested against Roger, Angie relished in the feel of their bodies against each other.  She nuzzled into his neck and planted occasional kisses as she attempted to bring her breathing under control.  She marveled in the feel of him inside of her, his arms wrapped around her.  The closeness of their bodies enabled her to feel his heart beating against her own chest.  She shifted slightly and felt his arms tighten around her.

     She sat back a little to gaze at his face.  His head leaned back against the padded wall.  His eyes were shut and there was a slight smile about his lips.  His breathing was definitely becoming steadier and for a moment she thought he might be asleep.  She quickly discarded that idea as his hands began to find their way up along her back and then back down along her sides.

     She brought her hands up alongside his face and to his hair.  Running her fingers along his scalp and through his damp hair, she leaned over to place a soft kiss on his lips.  After lingering there for a moment, she drew back slightly and said, "We can't stay like this forever, you know?"

     Placing her hands against the padded wall for support, she slowly and gently began to extricate herself from their embrace.  As he slipped out of her intimate clasp, his hands sought to hold on to her, but she took them in her own hands as she stood up.  "What do you say we check out the shower before we explore any further?"  She winked at him and tugged on his hands to coax him to his feet.

     Roger nodded, unable or unwilling to try and put his emotions into words.  And in truth, both of them needed the shower as much for its refreshing properties as to give them some time to recover.

     For one thing was certain.  Neither Angie nor Roger had any desire for the evening to end.

/ END /

Endnote: This story was the result of a joint collaboration in the Ignite writing group at Yahoo Groups and was written 2004-2005 then reformatted for distribution on 9/1/2006.


Bad Samaritan

Keys: [file:bsam] [date:2006-09-30] [words:2288] [codes:MF nc]

Abstract: A woman's white knight is dishwater grey at best

Bad Samaritan

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2006, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Jerome sweated in the black Ford SUV. His tongue darted between his cracked lips and he flicked his gaze restlessly up and down the dim alley. Soon, he thought, soon.

     A rattling noise from the cupholder made him jump. He picked up the vibrating cell phone and opened it, checking the caller ID. "Yeah," he grunted. He rocked back and forth in the driver's seat, occasionally responding in short, clipped tones. "Uh-huh... Already done... No problem." He clicked the phone shut and set it back in its place.

     Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back for a minute, two minutes, three. Then his eyelids snapped open and he leaned forward to turn the key in the ignition.

     Ahead of him in the alley, a bare bulb cast a flickering yellow light over a battered metal door.  That door opened to expel a figure in heels, wearing a beige raincoat and clutching a black purse.  A dark scarf protected her hair from the weather and also covered much of her face.  She trod cautiously but quickly down the cracked concrete steps as the Ford rolled forward to meet her.  Opening the door, she held the purse to her midsection and slid into the passenger side.

     "Seat belt," Jerome reminded her.  The metal tongue slid into its receptacle with a loud snap, and the vehicle moved forward to the end of the alley and out into the damp city streets.

     The woman opened her purse and lifted a cigarette to her lips, only to be brought up short by his quietly firm response, "Not in *my* car." He put particular emphasis on the possessive. Pouting slightly, she carefully pushed the cigarette back into its pack and closed her purse.  After several blocks, she spoke up. "He won't find out...?"

     Her voice carried an undertone of pleading, and the tension on her elegantly made-up face was highlighted by the alternating illumination and shadow of passing streetlights.  She grabbed the door handle for balance as he negotiated a particularly sharp turn on the slick pavement.

     "Nobody's going to know. That's what you paid me for, and I'm very good at what I do."

     There was irritation in his voice; she kept her thoughts to herself after that, drumming her fingers on her leg and looking out the window.  The vehicle passed through business and residential areas in no meaningful order, and they were quickly distant from the parts of town she would recognize.  Jerome didn’t spare his passenger more than an occasional glance; his eyes moved with minimal effort between the road ahead and the rear-view mirror.

     They arrived amidst darkness and mist in a neighborhood that was run down but not past all hope. He reached up for the garage opener, waited as little as possible then pulled the vehicle in, shutting the engine as the wooden panels came down to hide them from the outside world.  He unlocked and opened the anonymous house door and they passed through a utility hallway, breakfast nook and kitchen until they came to the living room.  The predominant colors here were brown and dark blue, and the room gave a general impression of dimness despite the functioning overhead light.  Frowning, the woman went to find the bathroom.

     When she returned and stood by the couch, he was standing at the wet bar putting ice into two glasses, a dutiful if not particularly gracious host.  He looked up at her and inquired, "Drink?"

     She took off her scarf and shook out her hair, an auburn mop falling artlessly to her shoulders, and thought for a minute.  "Seven and seven, please."  He uncapped a bottle of Scotch and mixed her drink, taking a plain soda for himself.  He brought both to the middle of the room and handed her glass over before taking his seat.  They sipped from their glasses, the social ritual doing nothing to dispel the surrounding air of tension.

     "So."  She broke the fragile silence.  "What happens now?"

     Jerome placed his drink on the coffee table. His eyes surveyed her professionally.  "Now you take off all of your clothes."

     His words lingered in the air around her, coolly matter-of-fact and all the more menacing because of that.  She jerked her head and stared at him as if not comprehending.  Her lips parted, but nothing came from them.

     "Don't make me wait."  There was a sharp undertone of steel in his voice.  The nervous mannerisms he had shown on the road were gone now, replaced by a clear, implacable resolve.

     For the first time she really looked at him, his size and build, the competent strength in his hands.  She shrank from the force of his gaze. "You don't really mean," she started, but her protest died there. He obviously did mean it as he rose to approach her, stopping a mere handbreadth from her body.

     "I'm always serious.  You knew that when you hired me."

     She pulled herself to her feet and snapped back at him, anger giving her worn features a new life.

     "I hired you to get me away from that cold fish of a husband without his trained goons finding me and dragging me back.  I hired you because you have the contacts to get me into the underground to start a new life.  I hired you," she emphasized, "to do a job.  Period."

     Jerome slapped her across the face.  The outline of his hand was briefly visible on her cheek, white against pink.  Her eyes flared, but his expression never changed.

     "Clothes.  Off.  Now."

     The words came out with blunt force, and she began unfastening her blouse buttons with nervous fingers.  His eyes followed her movements as he continued speaking.

     "Let's get a few things straight, lady.  I'm nobody's hired hand.  You wanted out from your husband, so you nosed around in the poor-wife chat groups.  Twenty years ago you were arm candy, now you're a reasonably attractive appendix but he's got all the money.  You talked to some people and they passed you to some other people, and eventually you got me.   Now nobody knows where you are, and the only person who might be interested isn't looking."

     She stopped moving at the implications of that statement.  His eyes were still on her, though, so she dropped her blouse to the floor then fumbled with the back catch of her bra until her breasts swung free.  She pushed the zipper down the side of her skirt slowly, trying to delay the moment when she would be completely open to his gaze.

     "Now I'll give you some advice for free.  Don't believe everything you hear on the internet.  You know Joanne, the woman from somewhere up North whose husband slapped her around whenever he wanted sex?  The woman who finally gave you my name?"  He grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look into his eyes.  "Meet your good friend Joanne.  Also Margaret and Esperanza.  Your money's good, lady, but so is your husband’s."  He glanced downward and barked, "Now get those panties off before I rip them off you myself."

     Stunned, she hurried to remove her last protection and stood, shaking but determined to defend herself.

     He reached out and casually groped her left breast.  His thumb rasped over her nipple, rough skin scraping inquisitively.  She bit back a comment and just glared at him, steeling herself and looking for an opportunity to run, fight, do something.  His finger poked between her breasts and drew a hard line down her stomach toward her pubic hair.  She fought the impulse to retreat as her stomach muscles pulled in tight, but when his finger probed further down she slapped at it.

     In return he calmly smacked her face in both directions, hard enough to make her head ring.  "Don't bother fighting -- what you have may not have been good enough for your husband but it's plenty good enough for me."  Crying from anger and weakness, she tried to duck around him but he swung his arm around her throat and pulled her back hard against him.  Her lungs ached as the air was gradually cut off, her vision blurred and filled with swirls and stars.  He squeezed under her chin with his other arm behind her head, and slowly her limbs ceased their movement and her body slumped in his grip.

     Carefully letting her body sink to the floor, Jerome flexed his fingers then removed his own clothes.  His erection bobbed ahead of him, the head swollen.  Picking up the unconscious woman, he carried her to a small bed in the side room and laid her out on her back, spreading her legs apart.  Moving to his bag, he pulled out a plastic bottle of lubricant and worked the tip inside her, squeezing until the oily liquid oozed out onto the sheet.  Sliding a finger into her and satisfied with the results, he unrolled a condom over his length and kneeled between her legs.  He grabbed and lifted her thighs, then pushed forward and began a deliberate back and forth rhythm.

     The sound of his legs slapping against hers was interrupted by her gasping sobs as she swam up to awareness.  She lacked enough control of her limbs to do anything but lie there and feel his friction and her body’s response.  He used her with as little emotion as he might a can opener or a washcloth.  Tears dripped from her tight-shut eyes while he pumped and grunted, the muscles on his backside standing out as he filled the condom.  Even then he didn’t release her, his hips gradually slowing to a halt and his hairy stomach pushing her down into the bedsheet.

     He paused, his breathing echoing hers, and shifted to withdraw.  To his surprise, she swung her legs around him and grabbed his sides with weak but insistent hands.  "That's not enough, damn it!"  Her voice was filled with bitterness and frustration.  "I had to take that kind of thing from him, but I thought you were a real man!"  She bore down inside, and was rewarded with a pulse running the length of his buried shaft.  He lifted his head, considered the look on her face, and then slid his hands up to cup her breasts, squeezing them almost gently as he once more began to move in and out.  That gentleness quickly dissolved, converted by mutual urgency to a demanding grapple on both their parts.  Her nails dug into him as his pelvis slammed down.  Her voice rose in animal squeals above the noise of their coupling; her body writhed and drew a second, slower eruption from him.

     She twitched and shifted beneath his weight, the long-absent feeling of juices between her thighs giving her a sense of comfort.  She turned her head to one side, as if afraid he might claim the intimacy of a post-coital kiss.  She was still crying sporadically, quiet tears sliding down her face.  He reached down and grabbed the base of the condom, holding it tightly as he withdrew and moved off the bed.  The flushing of the toilet and subsequent splash of water in the sink announced his activities, and he returned only to pick up a blanket and toss it casually across her body before leaving her alone with her thoughts.  She shivered despite the protective warmth, closed her eyes, and eventually yielded to sleep.

     *** *** ***

     Morning came, and she stretched under the enfolding blanket.  With light came memory, though, and those memories had her quickly curled into a tight ball of shame, fright and anger.  There wasn't any escaping her situation, though, and she poked her head out to see that her clothes from the previous night -- blessedly untorn, down to her panties -- were laid over a chair neatly.  When she felt presentable, she left the small room and found her benefactor/captor casually drinking coffee.  He greeted her as if nothing unusual had happened.  "Are you ready to head out of town?"

     She looked at him in confusion.  "What about my husband?"

     "Oh, him." Jerome shrugged.  "He did pay me a nice sum to find out how you were planning to run and catch you.  That doesn’t mean I’m going to give him his money's worth.  It's not like he can report me to the better business bureau."

     She looked at him, then confusion gave way to a consuming anger.  Two quick steps and she raked her nails across his face before he could set his coffee down.  "You BASTARD!" she yelled.

     He grinned back with that infuriatingly smug attitude, ignoring the blood oozing down his cheek.  "You ought to know about bastards, you certainly married one.  And by the way, if you're not going to eat breakfast then we ought to get out of town before someone wants his progress report."  The reminder of her position and the backwash of her anger left her suddenly weak, and she nodded meekly as he got up and led her to the garage.

     As they left the city limits behind, she finally boiled all of her conflicting emotions into one short word.


     Jerome shrugged.  "I may be a bastard, but I've got principles.  Let's just say I don't like your husband any better than you do.  And I liked the way you tried to stand up to me.  Besides, I can always use a good reference in the chatrooms -- especially from someone who's not me."

     She cast him a disbelieving glance, reflecting on her salvation, betrayal and ultimate release.  Yeah, she thought.  Like I'd let you get your hands on anyone else in my position.

     It bothered her no end to realize that she might do just that.

/ END /

Endnote: For Gail.  Workshopped at the Fish Tank (


Marian of Sherwood

Keys: [file:sher] [date:2007-07-03] [words:280] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A tale of Robin Hood and Maid Marian

Marian of Sherwood

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2007

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     The forest was lovely this time of spring, and the bower where the man and woman two conversed was a canvas of dappled greens and browns.  The very flowers and leaves sang together in harmony to produce the quintessence of love and romance.  Inside, the colors were offset by the pink of flesh and the blonde and brown of long hair, as two bodies writhed on the ground making their own music.

     "Robin of Locksley, do not you put airs on around me!  I knew you when you were just Robert the miller’s son stealing apples from the greengrocer!"  The woman making this discordant pronouncement sat erect, pink cheeks flushed and dark-tipped nipples proud upon heaving breasts.   The target of her ire lay beneath her, his response muffled by the wriggling cheeks of her bottom.

     "I do not care what you think of the idea, Robin, you are not getting rid of Little John just because he and I had a fling.  In the first part, it was before he joined your little group of delinquent boys."  Her voice caught and her eyes opened wide as the man’s body beneath her shifted.  "Oh yes, that’s good, oh I always loved your sweet tongue..."

     She bent down over the man’s groin, from where an impressive erection sprouted.  Her hand curled around the swollen head, stroking and twisting as she picked up the interrupted thread of her conversation.  "And for the second part, well, we both know he is not exactly little where it counts, do we not?"

     Robin’s response was lost as Marian’s words descended, her lips opening greedily for a treat better than words.

     Little John would not be leaving.

/ END /

Endnote: Written for the special Robin Hood and Maid Marian issue of Ruthie's Club (, and published July 16, 2007.


Carlos and the Wood Fairy

Keys: [file:wood] [date:2007-07-18] [words:2827] [codes:MF]

Abstract: A retelling of an old fairy tale, but for adults

Carlos and the Wood Fairy

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2007, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "Once upon a time..."

     "Aw, Kay," Stewart interrupted, "why do you have to read those kiddie stories? I’m not a little boy any more, for Pete’s sake – I’m starting college this fall!"

     Kay, his babysitter, put the book down and sighed. "Look, Stu. You and I both know that you’re perfectly capable of staying home by yourself and not burning down the house or otherwise getting into serious trouble. Unfortunately, your parents don’t believe it yet. And with what they pay me, I’m not going to try very hard to convince them."

     Kay sat up and stretched, unconsciously arching her chest forward as she thought about Stewart’s parents. They had been very convincing indeed in order to get her to cancel a hot Friday night date. She ran both hands through her red-gold hair, pulling the soft cascade back behind her shoulders before continuing. "So you might as well relax and give it a listen – besides, in honor of your recent birthday I did a little research and found a fairytale you probably haven’t heard before."

     After more grumbling, the young man leaned back onto his pillow, stretched out on the bed and put a "try to entertain me" frown on his face. Kay folded her long legs beneath her short skirt and reopened the book, one hand resting casually on Stewart’s leg. She began to read...

     *** *** ***

     Once upon a time, there was a boy named Carlos. He lived with his father, a poor widower, and they shared a tumbledown cottage on the edge of the forest. His mother had died long years ago, and his father had become reclusive and ill-tempered. Despite that, Carlos grew up healthy, energetic, and cheerful.

     From spring through autumn each year, Carlos led the goats in the morning to graze in the forest. He took with him an old cloth bag containing a collection of wood scraps, a carving knife, and a slice of bread. During the day he turned the wood scraps into carvings that his father could sell to travelers in the nearby town. "Work hard, Carlos," his father lectured him sternly each morning, "and fill the bag before you return home." Carlos and the goats skipped and clopped through the forest paths, looking for a nicely shadowed glade where the goats could graze and Carlos could sit and work comfortably on the soft ground.

     When the sun was fully overhead, Carlos stopped working and took the bread out of his bag to feed the goats. For his own lunch, he picked wild berries from the nearby bushes and leaned against a hummock, letting the tart juices drip slowly down his throat. Once the last of the berries was gone, Carlos stood up and stretched his legs, then danced around the glade, filled with the glorious energy of life and nature. The sun shone, birds sang in the branches overhead, and the goats nibbled on the green grass while Carlos danced and sang. Afterward, he sat back down and took up his carving knife, and before evening fell Carlos had filled his bag with a variety of delicate and fancy carvings that would fetch a good price for his father.

     One fine day, when Carlos had just finished his lunch, a maiden appeared in the glade. Now she was a sight such as Carlos had never seen!  A sheer white dress floated around her like a protective blanket of butterflies, a wreath of flowers adorned her head, and hair like a cascading waterfall of ruddy gold framed her face and fell to the middle of her back. Carlos had seen girls in the town, but never a woman as captivating as this apparition. Next to her elegance, he felt like one of his pieces of uncarved wood – raw, rough and unfinished.

     *** *** ***

     Kay paused to catch her breath and licked her lips. Her charge was lying down with his eyes studiously closed, but his body language told her he was awake and listening. She wriggled a bit and continued.

     *** *** ***

     The young woman smiled at him and in a sweet voice asked, "Carlos, do you like to dance?"

     Carlos smiled back, his shyness fading. "Oh yes! I love being in the woods because I can dance as much as I like!"

     "Come then, and I will teach you a new dance."

     She took Carlos by the hand and a fluttering cloud of birds joined them. With the birds providing their sweet song, the two began to dance slowly, then faster around and around the glade. The maiden held Carlos close, her legs brushing against his but not tripping him. The wind in the leaves kept time as their dance moved faster. Carlos felt his heartbeat racing every time she pressed against him; he forgot completely about the goats and his carving as the music filled him with a tingling sensation, a sense of lightheaded excitement such as he had never experienced.

     Suddenly, the sun’s rays were vanishing over the hillside and the maiden and birds were gone. Carlos found himself alone in the glade with just the goats and a half-full bag of carvings and wood. Sadly, his clothing in disarray, he picked up his things and headed back through the forest toward home. With every step he worried about what his father would say seeing the unfinished bag, and he reproached himself bitterly for his inattention to duty.

     By the time Carlos got home, his worries had so lined his face that his father thought him ill and didn’t ask about the carvings. Carlos went to bed that night thankful for the reprieve, and promised to work twice as hard to make up for the lost day. Pumping his fist into his thin pillow, he vowed that he would never abandon his duty again. Carlos pulled the rough blanket up and closed his eyes, tossing and turning before finally finding the respite of sleep.

     He dreamed of butterflies. Butterflies in myriad shades of yellow, white, and rose-tinted pink, surrounding him with their fluttering wings, covering his body and lifting him up out of the bed, through the window and into the air. He found himself flying, lying on a tingling carpet of shifting colors, the wind in the clouds ruffling his hair and tickling its way down his back, his body slipping and sliding on the butterfly blanket which wrapped around him like a living towel, a wriggling damp and sticky towel rubbing into every inch of his exposed skin.

     *** *** ***

     Kay set the book down for a moment. Her cheeks were flushed with color, and Stewart took the opportunity to roll from his back onto his side, one leg crossing over the other in a position that just happened to hide the front of his pants from her view. She smiled to herself, and kept reading to him.

     *** *** ***

     Early the next morning, a sleepy-eyed Carlos had to first clean his bed sheets. Only then could he fix breakfast for his father and take his bag and the goats to the wood. As he got farther from the cottage, his mood lightened and soon he was once again dancing alongside the goats. Once settled in his favorite glade, he sat cross-legged on the ground and pulled out the first piece of wood. Carlos worked with a feverish intensity, easily completing twice as many carvings as usual. When he took his break at noon, he picked a few berries, but held back his urge to dance. Instead, he made up a song to his goats: "I should not dance, I cannot dance, please dance for me, my little goats."

     He was surprised to hear a voice in response. "Come and dance with me!" It was the beautiful maiden from the previous day. Carlos blushed, remembering that encounter, but stood his ground and asked her to leave. "I cannot dance with you – I left my father yesterday without carvings to sell, and today I must do those and more."

     But the maiden responded, "Dance with me, Carlos, and I promise your work will be done." With the birds singing gloriously in the glade as before and the sun shining through her gossamer clothing, Carlos could not resist. He took her hand, and once again they danced throughout the glade in swirls of music, now holding each other at arm’s length, now with her sheer garment pressed against the boy’s chest. He blushed when that happened, but she only held him tighter as their two bodies moved as one to an inner irresistible rhythm.

     This time, when the sun dropped from sight, the maiden did not immediately disappear. Instead she held Carlos’s hand as he turned to look at his bag. A cloud of birds exploded from atop it, and his eyes opened wide to see it stuffed full of carvings. "Take this with you, Carlos, but have neither questions nor complaints," she admonished him. "Remember, no questions, no complaints!" And only then did the maiden vanish.

     Carlos, bewildered and still feeling the slide of the maiden’s dress against his skin, walked the goats home while singing softly in the evening twilight. At home he gave his father the full bag. His father was still unhappy about the previous day, however, and cursed bitterly about his son’s lack of responsibility. In the middle of his rant, a sound came from the room. Both men turned, and saw that the once-full bag was empty, its contents gone as if they had never existed.

     Now Carlos was forced to explain everything to his father, the dancing, the vanishing maiden and her final admonition. His father looked both angry and frightened. "You must never ever speak to that woman again! The villagers tell of a fairy that lives in the wood; I never believed the stories until now. She is supposed to give presents to little girls, but boys she takes and they are never seen again!" He looked ruefully at the empty bag. "And if you’d told me everything first, we’d at least have had a full bag to sell tomorrow."

     Dinner that night was a quiet affair, both men absorbed in their own thoughts. For his part, Carlos found it almost impossible to match the sweet young maiden of the forest with the dangerous fairy of his father’s description.

     That night, Carlos dreamed again. He found himself in the forest glade as shadows surrounded him – the shadows of birds flying overhead. Their wings flapped loudly as they lifted him into the air, up through and above the white clouds. The birds set him down on the top of a cloud where he saw the maiden waiting for him. Her beauty shone, her face was radiant, and when she beckoned with her finger, his entire body tingled and quivered to be with her. "Fear not," she told him. "Did I not keep my promise to fill your bag? But I’ve given you a present, so now you must share a present with me!" The maiden pulled Carlos close and one delicate hand slid down his stomach into the waistband of his pants. Lights filled his head as the world exploded around him.

     Carlos woke early, his bed sheets sticky, and again he had to clean up before he could make his morning trip to the glade. Once there he carved away, singing to himself, focused on his work. At noon the maiden once again appeared, and Carlos jumped up remembering his father’s warning. He tried to run away, but whichever direction he turned she was standing in front of him, purring, "Be not afraid, come dance with me one last time." Carlos thought it would be rude to turn down just one final dance, so he set down his wood and knife and took the maiden’s hand. She in turn put her arm around his waist, and they moved together with the music. But Carlos was still uncertain, and finally the question broke from his lips:  "Are you the wood fairy as the villagers say?"

     A strange look came over the maiden's face, and as they danced, she sang his answer. It was the story of a young maiden, shining in the bright flush of first womanhood, and of the evil forest spirit jealous of her youth and beauty. Caught in the forest after dark, she fell victim to the spirit’s curse, and her own life and joy were stolen away. The only way to lift the curse was for her to find a young man who held within him an innocent maiden’s soul. "And with you, Carlos, I know my search is ended!" 

     Her voice rose and her hands tightened on his shoulders; she clutched him tightly now and they spun faster. Her words danced dizzily around Carlos as they twirled. This was more than dance, it was the glory of the first blush of morning, the rising of sap in the first spring blooms, the heat of the midday sun. Their clothing disappeared and they burst through clouds of butterflies, their feet leaving the ground as the maiden and the young man merged in a dance higher than life, his very consciousness dissolving into her until birds, butterflies, maiden and man exploded in a soundless burst of liquid light.

     When the birds ceased their song, a woman of indeterminate age stood in the glade drawing her threadbare shawl against the chill of twilight. Long reddish-blonde hair framed a face of mature beauty marked by old, old eyes that looked around, taking in the goats and the tattered bag on the ground. With a soft song to the watching goats, she picked up the bag and headed out of the forest. Eventually she arrived at the cottage, where she claimed to have found the bag and the goats.

     The man who lived there was angry that his son had apparently run away, and was willing to share his dinner with the attractive stranger who had brought back his goats. After the meal was finished, the man went back to look through the window. The woman came up from behind and slid her arms around him. "Are you looking for someone?" she asked.

     "I had a son, a disobedient one from the looks of things; I don’t think he’s coming home tonight."

     Her fingers moved sinuously up and down the man’s chest and stomach. "Then perhaps you'll accept my company for the evening instead. I did bring something to pay for your hospitality." She nibbled at the back of his neck as he turned his head toward the door. There next to her shawl was the bag, now filled to overflowing with both elegant wooden carvings and glittering golden butterflies, enough for him to buy a barn full of goats and live in comfort for the rest of his life. The woman hugged him tightly and kissed the back of his neck, murmuring, "No questions, no complaints." His eyes opened at those words, but her hand slid down inside his belt and he soon lost the power of speech. When she finished removing his clothing, she ran her hands over his naked body like an auctioneer appreciating a fine sculpture. She moved around in front of him, slowly removed her own garments, and kneeled in front of his erection looking up to answer the question he could no longer speak.

     "It's not just boys that I take."

     And the Wood Fairy lived happily ever after.

     *** *** ***

     "Jeez, Kay, what kind of a fairy tale is that?" Stewart was squirming on the bed, as much from the images in the story as from Kay’s fingers which were working their way up the back of his leg.

     "The best kind for a strapping young man," she said as she palmed the back of his pants and squeezed. Kay looked at the wall clock. "Your mom said they’d be ‘extremely’ late – they have twenty-five years to catch up with at this reunion. That should give us plenty of time, but I’ll unwrap your present for you anyway." With that she sat up straight on the bed, grabbed the bottom of her sweater and pulled the fuzzy garment up and over her head in one smooth motion.

     Stewart’s eyes opened taking in her swaying dark-tipped globes, no bra hiding them from his vision, and he lunged forward to taste them before they could vanish. Kay sighed, then moaned as his untrained mouth fastened hungrily on one nipple. "Oh yeah," she breathed, and the bedroom was quickly a confused blur of motion as skirt, pants, boxers and panties joined the sweater on the floor.

     Kay held Stewart’s tensely quivering erection tightly in one hand, brushing his tip against her own needy folds. "Wow, Stu, this feels like it was carved out of wood! Well, here’s your birthday present – remember, no questions, no complaints!"

     And there were indeed no more complaints from the young man!

     The End.

/ END /

Endnote: Workshopped at the Fish Tank (; published at Bare Back Magazine ( in August 2007 for their Erotic Fairy Tale Challenge.


Making It Real

Keys: [file:real] [date:2007-08-08] [words:720] [codes:FM]

Abstract: Seeing a Mistress sounded like a lark. After all, don't they call it "play"?

Making It Real

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2007, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Brian's knees hurt.

     How long had he been kneeling naked on this concrete floor?  More than an hour, less than a day...

     The blindfold covering his eyes denied him any clue from the surrounding light.  A faint current of air played across the dark pucker of his asshole.  In response, his rear cheeks flexed and set off a chain reaction, the movement making his cock sway forward and back beneath his swollen balls, held in check by a tight leather strap.  The combination brought him back into full erection and forced his wandering mind to refocus.

     He had thought the whole idea a bit of kinky fun, back when he answered the internet posting from "Mistress Tania".  Her site had all the scary phrases, "expose your boundaries and widen them", "put yourself into my total control", "stay away if you cannot submit totally".  It was all too theatrical to be taken seriously.

     Mistress Tania herself was both more and less than he expected.  Less in terms of height -- nothing on her website had mentioned that she stood only four-foot-nine.  More, however, in her appearance -- she opened the door in a blood-red merry widow and elbow-length black gloves.  Her long black hair fell in a glossy cascade to the middle of her back; her lips were barely dusted with color and all the more sensual for it.

     Brian introduced himself, waited for her to look up and down as if weighing him.  Finally, she nodded and allowed him through the door.  She gave him the same warnings he'd read; he acknowledged them without noticeable concern.  Her voice had the electric quality of soft fur rubbed against wood, and her words were enunciated with clinical precision.  His cock swelled in his pants, and he was only mildly embarrassed when she had him strip right there in the entryway.  Her gloved hand tested the weight and firmness of his shaft, squeezing lightly around the head.

     She brought out a blindfold, and he bowed his head to accept that transfer of power.  Somehow everything became more real with the removal of his sight.  He felt the leather slide around his balls, his cock jerking as she tugged the strap into place.  She led him then by his cock, padding barefoot through the house, feeling the rush of air as a door was opened and his feet made a transition from yielding carpet to hard cold concrete.

     "On your knees," she said, no less a command for being spoken softly.  Brian got down clumsily and Mistress Tania slapped the insides of his thighs hard to make him spread his legs.  Then again to spread them wider.  He could feel the long lines left by her nails.  "Hands folded under your forehead, then wait and don't move," she added.  There was silence as he moved into the designated position, then her heels clicked loudly on the hard surface moving away from him.

     The sound of the door's lock snicking closed was like a dash of cold water in his face.  Now the website warnings began to sound serious.  From the random brush of air across his naked skin and the sounds echoing around him, he could tell he was in some kind of open garage.  Too late to worry about that, with his clothing locked inside the house.

     At first Brian took time to get used to the unfamiliar stretch of his hamstrings, his outstretched legs pulling his cheeks into an open display.  The dangling of his cock and tied balls between his spread thighs made any little motion an erotic invitation.  For the next half hour or so he entertained unbidden pornographic images in his head, bobbing his hips as his erection alternately swelled and faded.  After that came a long immeasurable stretch of time, boredom mixed with periods of anticipatory arousal and momentary near-panic.  Whatever he had imagined or fantasized, this wasn't it.  Had she forgotten about him?  What if he needed to go to the bathroom?

     Sounds carried through the open space behind him.  Footsteps, staccato-sharp on the driveway.  Voices, muffled, growing more clear.  A woman's voice -- Mistress Tania.  Then a man's voice.  Two men's voices.

     Brian's legs tensed as the voices came closer.

     A man's voice said, "And you've got him all weekend?"

     And Brian suddenly knew fear.

/ END /

Endnote: Originally published at State of Insanity (


Reality Bites

Keys: [file:rbit] [date:2008-12-01] [words:1351] [codes:FMMM]

Abstract: Going from internet to in-person has unexpected consequences for this man

Reality Bites

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2008, 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Regret is a deep dark pit, its sides blocking out hope and reflecting only the shadowy echoes of past choices.  Brian had enjoyed the kinky stories and pictures he found on the web, and going to see one of these "Mistress" characters seemed a reasonable next step.  Now he found himself naked and blindfolded in a garage with multiple sets of footsteps around him, and the second thoughts about his actions gave way quickly to the pulsing fog of panic.

     Rough-skinned hands suddenly grabbed Brian under each armpit and lifted his thrashing body into the air.  "Hey, wait, nobody said..." was his immediate reaction, followed by an anguished gurgling sound as sharp-nailed fingers dug into his balls.

     "You. Don't. Talk."  Mistress Tania's voice hissed low and threatening, her nails emphasizing each individual word.  "You made an agreement, little boy, and in this house we keep our agreements.  My friends came by to watch, but maybe they'll do more than that."  Her hand squeezed tighter around him.  "You don't make demands, you don't complain, you don't even open your mouth unless I tell you to.  And when I tell you to open your mouth, it won't be to talk.  If you can't get those simple instructions down, I've got any number of ways to teach you."

     The sound of a door opening jarred his ears as the strong hands carried him casually, his legs dangling, his cock insistently held erect by the constricting strap.  The weight of his body strained at his shoulders as he was bounced up a set of stairs.  His escorts dropped him on his knees, fortunately on a carpeted floor, then before he could collect his wits fastened him into a holding frame, tight leather cuffs holding his arms and knees outstretched.

     One of the men ripped the blindfold off his face, and he blinked first at the light and then at the sight of Mistress Tania, standing nude almost in his face, her skin a creamy wet dream.  Small but pronounced breasts with swollen pink nipples faced him; one red fingernail glided up and down her slit then waved under his nose.  His erection was automatic.

     "Open your mouth, little boy."  She barely waited for him to obey before thrusting the finger into his mouth, pumping it in and out to clean it.  His cock pulsed as her nail scraped against his tongue on the way out.  "Oh, I can tell you liked that.  And I know you like watching, that's what you internet boys are all about, so that's what you're going to do."

     She beckoned with her hands, and two men appeared from either side.  They were tricked out in leather harnesses that accentuated the size of their erections, and Mistress Tania settled down on her hands and knees between them.  She turned her head to grace Brian with a knowing leer.  "The last boy I had down here came all over the floor before Karl and George finished fucking me.  Think you can do any better?"

     Brian's eyes widened and he tugged against his bonds, humping the air as Mistress Tania grabbed the cock in front of her and sank her full lips down to its base.  Her body was turned just slightly making Brian look over her back to see that activity while the other man was slowly dragging the purple head of his thick erection up and down between the crease of her toned buttocks and the backs of her thighs.

     The man at Tania's rear grabbed a double handful of those curves and started pumping into her while her head bobbed in the other man's crotch.  The smell of sex permeated the room, slaps of flesh against flesh echoing in Brian's ears.  He watched in increasing arousal as the woman's body shook and bounced between the other two men.  The way Tania was positioned he had the choice of watching one man's flexing hairy ass or the other man's obviously pleasured face.  Brian flexed and jerked in the frame, thrusting into empty air in his frustration.

     Finally the man at Tania's face groaned, his face contorting and his fingers digging into her shoulders, the urgency and power of his orgasm showing in the arch of his body as he released into her mouth.  Close behind him was the other man, his ass swaying back almost into Brian's face as he smacked into Tania's cheeks in the throes of his own sloppy release.

     The two men pulled back, their cocks dangling softened and glistening, and Tania turned to face Brian, her nipples visibly engorged and a look of animal heat in her eyes.  "Time to make yourself useful, little boy.  Karl needs cleaning."

     Brian shook his head, and despite the earlier warning opened his mouth to protest, but that was just the opportunity Karl needed.  The man squeezed a fist around his shaft pushing the cockhead out and shoved it in between Brian's lips, paying no attention to the younger man's frantic gurgling, grinding forward and back until all of the mingled slimy juices were left inside Brian's mouth.

     Tania's eyes on Brian warned him against trying to spit; she held her stare on him until he reluctantly swallowed the thick mess.

     "That's a good boy," she said almost soothingly.  "After all, Karl could have been doing my ass instead.  And just look at your little stiffie, you're practically drooling."    Brian was mortified; his erection had barely faded while the man used his mouth.  "Well then, I think you've earned a reward.  I do so like it when my guests enjoy themselves!"

     That sounded promising, but then George moved around and kneeled behind Brian, nestling his still-warm cock into the crease of Brian's ass while sliding a hand around Brian's erection.  The look on Brian's face must have been very entertaining as Tania's smile became a leering grin.  "I can just hear you now, little boy.  You don't do things with men, you don't get touched back there, you aren't enjoying this... but your cock is saying something different, isn't it sweetie?"

     Brian tried to get his mind to focus on something else, football games, newspaper headlines, but no matter what he did George's knowing fingers were having their intended effect.  The growing tension in Brian's groin was more and more impossible to resist until at last he had no choice.  A powerful orgasm ripped through his body, the leather straps cutting into him as he strained and emptied himself into the man's hand.

     Then, making the degradation complete, George lifted his hand and clapped it over Brian's mouth and nose, holding it in place until Brian was forced to lick and swallow to be allowed to breathe.  Even when the man's hand was gone, Brian's head was still filled with the pungent smell of his own cum.

     Mistress Tania rose to her feet and ruffled Brian's hair.  She rolled her hips, the folds of her groin just inches from his face.  Her scent cut through his nose, and his empty balls twitched.  "I don't let nasty little boys mess up my shower, but I'm sure you won't mind having to drive home with a little reminder of your time with me.  Let me know the next time you want a training session -- you might have some promise as a puppy or houseboy.  Or," and she paused for what seemed an eternity, "maybe you'd rather be a playmate for my boys."

     With that as an exit line, Tania left without a backward glance.  The two men, still naked except for their leather harnesses, unfastened Brian's limp body and escorted him downstairs.  There they watched sternly as he slid his briefs up over his sticky crotch, pulled his clothes on, and headed out the front door.

     It was evening.  Brian walked uncomfortably to his car, a squishy feeling between his thighs at every step.  He had been in the house for only three hours, but the cost of that visit had been far more than just money and time.

     Somewhere in the house behind him, a part of Brian was still bound.

/ END /

Endnote: Workshopped at the Fish Tank (


First Meet

Keys: [file:fstm] [date:2009-01-08] [words:263] [codes:chat]

Abstract: Even with electronic communications, hooking up can be hard to do

First Meet

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

- so lets meet

- finally really? ur not paranoid any more?

- its not like were going to get down and dirty in the public library.  i was thinking like a nice dim bar.  You know Marta's?

- i can find it

- ok i'll be wearing a maroon shirt just so you know in case there are other men that look like my pic

- sounds good ill be in a peach blouse and skirt with no panties

- now dont tease

- whos teasing?

- yeah right, hey whats your name i dont want to go up to the wrong woman and ask if she's Kat

- i'll show you mine when you show me yours

- funny girl ok see you there


- bad traffic?

- no why? having problems getting here?

- i'm here where are you?

- in the back booth with a coupla gals keeping me company on our second round of drinks - you'd like them a lot you horny devil

- what back booth?

- dont be silly i'll send Julie out to find you, she's a redhead with great boobs you cant miss her and i told her what you look like


- i dont see any redhead in here

- u need to get back here or Candy's going to take care of me instead of u

- are you sure you're at Marta's on Philpott?

- no i thought you said Martha's

- Martha's?  you mean Jailbird Martha's?  no way, that's a lesbian bar!!!


- Kat?


- Kat?

/ END /


Two Vignettes

Keys: [file:vgnt] [date:2009-04-25] [words:1917] [codes:(none)]

Abstract: Two brief pieces suggested by pictures

Vignette 1: Window Dressing

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     The flashlight outlined the figure on the windowsill.  "Here now," barked the policeman, "What's going on?"

     The figure froze halfway toward reaching for the nearby purse.

     "Just get down from the window and step over here, please."  The command voice brooked no refusal.

     Leslie carefully swung around and stretched out to plant the high heels on the ground, picking up the purse with one hand.  "I can explain, I was just waiting for..."

     Apparently the explanation wouldn't be immediately required, as the light in Leslie's eyes shook from the laughter of the policeman.

     "Oh, this is rich!"  Low rumbling chuckles shook the uniformed outline.  "A pretty little nancy-boy waiting on his date!  They'll love you at the station house, oh my yes!"

     Leslie burned from embarrassment and frustration.  He knew damn well that the gaff was positioned well; he must have been sloppy with the foundation.  That would be a serious failing to explain to Mistress, but he had a greater challenge first.

     How was he to avoid being hauled away and missing his appointment with Her?

/END (4/13/2009)/

Vignette 2: Letdown

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "And what are you looking at?"

     The sharpness of her own voice surprised Shelly.  At least the man had allowed her to take a shower with the door closed, but now she was back under his strange gaze, at once both curious and dismissive. The fluffy bathtowel wrapped around her still-moist skin seemed little protection, and she busied herself towel-drying her hair.

     Soon enough he would be gone. He was already fully dressed, down to his polished black shoes, as if their encounter had never taken place. Beyond him she could see the three hundred-dollar bills lying on the desk.


/END (4/22/2009)/

Endnote: Originally published at State of Insanity (; Letdown was workshopped at the Fish Tank (



Keys: [file:abrn] [date:2009-12-29] [words:798] [codes:MFM viol]

Abstract: A woman is caught in adultery and is forced to lay in the bed she made


by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2009

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Rebecca woke up blurry-eyed with a headache, burning inside, and Walter's cock filling her.  He was hardly moving at all, just shifting when she breathed, obviously playing his little game of making her work for it.  That was no problem, as hard inside her as he was, and she wriggled and hunched against him.  Her wrists strained, held outstretched, but she didn't care about that, teetering on the edge and clenching inside, thrusting her pelvis up until his cock hit just the right spots and she came, that wonderful prickling heat flowing through her body.  He stayed hard, and Rebecca opened her eyes.

     And screamed, looking into the sightless bulging eyes above her face.  In a rush she suddenly recalled where she was, then screamed again, trying to squirm away from the stiff dead cock keeping her filled.

     *** *** ***

     It had been a chilly December afternoon, but only on the outside.  Inside the apartment, Rebecca was quite warm and getting warmer, thanks to the efforts of her husband's insurance agent.

     "Oh yes, Walter, just like that!"  Surprisingly, the man was not only a wizard with figures at work, he knew his way all around her figure and had been proving it enthusiastically for two months now.  Today they were in their second hour of an extended lunch break for him, and after exercising his tongue Walter was back to stirring her inside with his cock, getting ready to fill her again.

     The squeaking of the bed masked the traffic sounds outside, and as Rebecca looked past Walter's head she realized it had masked a lot more.  Marching through the bedroom door was her husband, Henry - but not the husband she had kissed to work that morning.  The look of rage on his face transformed him into something primal and ugly, more animal than human.  "Henry!" she screamed, slapping Walter on the back, but Walter was too busy coming to take notice, or perhaps just assumed she was calling her husband's name from habit.  Her husband rushed the bed waving his arms as Walter yelled out his climax, spurting inside while Rebecca was frozen in panic.  Then Henry did something she could never have imagined.  He reared back and slammed his foot into Walter's ass, so hard that Walter's cock slammed up against her cervix.  She shrieked, once, and passed out.

     *** *** ***

     Fully awake now, Rebecca swallowed and tried to hold her stomach down.  Oh god, she thought, I just fucked a dead man.  Worse, it hadn't been enough.  For some reason Walter's cock was still swollen and stiff inside, and she could feel every ridge and wrinkle.  Rebecca opened her eyes and this time saw the ugly mangled crater in the side of Walter's head - had her husband really done that?  She couldn't push the body off; her hands and feet were outstretched and held in place.  Henry must have done that as well. 

     She wondered how her husband had found out about her and Walter.  Henry was such a mild person, the way he burst in on them was totally out of character.  Who'd have thought he had so much anger in him?  The feral look in his eyes came back to her and Rebecca shuddered.  Bad idea - that just made Walter's cock shift inside, and her body was obscenely insisting on being turned on by it.

     Rebecca felt her stomach lurch again.  She desperately needed to get out from under Walter's body before something really disgusting happened.  Trying to clench her stomach to hold things in place made his cock move inside her, and she moaned helplessly trying to hold herself between the conflicting responses and needs.

     Walter's body was cooling off, clammy against her sweaty breasts and stomach.  The good news was that she wasn't feeling so overwhelmingly turned on.  The bad news was that now she needed to get to the bathroom, and that need was growing fast.

     Traffic sounds suddenly entered the room, then shut off with the clap of the front door closing.


     There was no answer, but who else could it be?  He was going to untie her and get her out of here, she thought with a rush of grateful relief.

     Now that her husband had returned, she felt even more soiled by the continued pressure of Walter atop and inside her.  And her need to get to the bathroom was ten times more urgent.


     Why wasn't he responding?  Okay, he'd caught her acting like a whore and left her to prove it to herself.  Surely he'd taught her whatever lesson he intended.  Her stomach and bladder were both complaining now, and Walter's weight and penetration were more than she could bear.


     Surely he was going to let her go...

/ END /

Endnote: Workshopped at the Fish Tank (


Double Dactyl {poem}

Keys: [file:dctl] [date:2010-01-11] [words:24] [codes:poem]

Abstract: The medium is NOT the message!

Double Dactyl

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2010

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Etiquette petiquette

     Lady Victoria

     dancing with Winston and

     halfway to nude;

     Jostles the shelf where his


     falls to the carpet

     destroying the mood.

/ END /

Endnote: Written originally for a discussion at FetLife (


Alamo Sunrise

Keys: [file:almo] [date:2010-06-06] [words:540] [codes:MF]

Abstract: Texas history collides with Texan reality

Alamo Sunrise

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2010

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     The third-floor room smelled of sex, sweat and beer.  I rolled off Rosa and stared at the leak-stained ceiling.  There was some reason I wanted to be awake this morning, but it wasn't coming to me.  My bladder was pressing, so I went to the bathroom, pausing to pull the sheet up over Rosa's breasts.

     Noises from outside reminded me as I flushed.  It was March 6, and down in the San Antonio morning mist people would be gathering in front of the Alamo, remembering the day when Santa Anna finally overran the revolutionaries.  I washed my hands and walked back through the room, pulling a chair over to the open window and looking out.  The sounds from across the street were muffled, figures moving around quietly.  Maybe a third were dressed in period costumes, the rest looked to be friends, other Texas history buffs, and a smattering of bemused tourists in the middle of a morning walk.

     In theory this ceremony honored the memory both of the Texans who died to the last man and the larger number of Mexican soldiers who were killed in the battle.  It sounded like political correctness to me, probably mandated by the increasing Hispanic population in Texas.  If they weren't careful, the state would wind up part of Mexico again.

     Rosa came up from behind me, teased her fingernails down my chest and curled one sinuous hand around my cock.  I pushed her away; it seemed disrespectful somehow.  Down in the street, people were lining up in different areas, a group was preparing wreaths and large mounted posters, a few children dodged in and out of the crowd looking for better vantage points.  A command barked out and a group of shabby-looking types carrying rifles started marching toward the parade ground.

     The explosion that rocked me came from the tequila bottle that Rosa slammed into the side of my head.  "Pendejo! What kind of man are you to ignore me for dead soldatos and fake ones at that?"  I couldn't reply; I was too busy clutching my head and rolling on the floor.  Rosa landed on top of me, straddling my hips and grinding her slick cunt across my cock.  "No man ever pushes me away!"

     My cock pulsed when she slid across the crown. "See, your body knows what's important!"  I writhed on the floor, my brain throbbing behind blurred eyes, and Rosa slipped me inside her, gripping with practiced muscles.  I couldn't stop myself from reacting.  Rifle shots echoed through the window; Rosa's nails slashed furrows into my shoulders, her nipples waved and my own shots followed before my abused brain shut down.

     Slowly the ceiling came into focus.  Rosa was gone, brakes and car horns replaced the morning hush, and sunlight shone painfully across my sticky body.  I climbed to my knees and looked outside.  Only the posters newly mounted on the parade ground remained as testimony to the past.  My head throbbed.  Down on the sidewalks, street vendors and tourists mixed.  Maybe next year I'd catch the whole ceremony, but now there was money to be made.  Tonight, if things went well, Rosa and I could eat in a real restaurant.  And afterward, we'd have our own armed conflict.

/ END /


Chuck and the Bad Prank

Keys: [file:prnk] [date:2010-10-29] [words:866] [codes:horror]

Abstract: A Halloween prankster makes a bad choice for his target

Chuck and the Bad Prank

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2010

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     "What do you have against the old widow anyway?"

     The gang was at happy hour across from the college campus, and Chuck had just announced his intention to toss eggs and stink bombs at the home of the local psychic.  The woman was 70 if she was a day, and nobody knew why Chuck would care other than wanting to do something for Halloween.

     "She's old, she's ugly, she's got that really weird overgrown organic stuff in her yard - I don't know why the city lets her when we've got to mow our lawns and trim our bushes.  So I figured it's Halloween, what's one more prank in the city?  It'll get blamed on high school kids or gang members."

     The next round of drinks arrived, and talk turned to other things.  But the night before Halloween found Chuck dressed in camouflage and set up with motor oil, eggs, firecrackers and dog poop.  It was an overcast night, slightly humid, and the widow's garden patch gave off smells that made Chuck's stomach turn.  He figured it would be best to start around back, and stepped carefully up the rickety wooden stairs to the rear porch.  Setting his pack down, he brought out the plastic bags of doggy doo and started squeezing them over the threshold of the back door.

     The motor oil made a heavy base on the bottoms of the window frames, and he started laying out the firecrackers.  The smell from the back door was hanging close because of the humid air, and the motor oil didn't help matters any.  He peered through the shaded screen of the back window, wondering whether the inside of the house was as ratty and run-down as the outside.

     Lightning flashed suddenly, and right in front of his eyes a horrid visage barely human leered at him, discolored sharp teeth snapping,  Chuck screamed, threw out his hands for protection, and stumbled backward.  His heel caught on a broken slat and he fell backward, breaking through the railing of the porch and hitting his head on a rock in the ground.

     When he managed to swim up to consciousness, past the killer headache that made opening his eyes a painful effort, all he could see were two withered ankles over house slippers that even his grandmother would have thought outdated.  Great, he thought, caught by the widow.

     It wasn't until he tried to lift his head and found he couldn't look up that Chuck started to worry.

     Not only couldn't he move his head, he couldn't move his arms or legs - and if his head was at the widow's ankles, then the rest of him had to be down in the ground.  He was still trying to work out what that meant when the widow started talking.  Her voice was not at all what he expected - it was low, silky, hypnotic, almost - the thought repulsed him - sexy.

     "Ah, good - you're awake.  Didn't your parents ever teach you not to go around defacing people's property?  Honestly, kids today have no manners.  Well, you'll get a lesson that should last you a lifetime."  She laughed, for no reason that Chuck could figure out.  He tried to answer, but his throat wasn't working right - all that came out was a hoarse animal-like whimper.  Some experimenting had established that he couldn't move anything other than his eyes and mouth, and his entire body felt like it was clasped in a rough, scratchy blanket.  Oh, gross - the old woman had taken his clothes off!

     "I'm more than a psychic, you know.  I used to be a teacher, but mostly I'm a witch!"

     The woman squatted down in front of Chuck's face, her knees spreading and opening the tattered robe she wore.  He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what a 70-year-old woman looked like down there.  She kept on talking.

     "Do you know how witches work?  We serve Mother Earth - that's why I have my garden.  And Mother - well, she needs to be fed."

     The woman wasn't making any sense, but that wasn't what Chuck was focused on.  The very ground around his body was shifting, getting warmer, creeping and scraping against his flesh, enfolding his limbs, separating them, compressing them in rolling waves.

     From human hands, the effect between his legs would have been enjoyable.  Under the scattered moonlight with the widow's shadowed thighs drawing closer to his face, his arousal only added to his rising fear and revulsion.  The widow examined his face, nodded, and smiled.  With a low sensual purr she whispered into his ear, "Mother's hungry!"

     Chuck's eyes were wide and bulging, his face swollen and dark red, the sounds from his throat pure animal.  The heat suffusing his groin was growing, aching, pulsing, and something was working its way up inside his bottom.  The widow was still talking, but Chuck couldn't make sense of the words, his brain scrambled by the way his body was swirling out of control, his hips thrusting against the enclosing earth.  With a silent scream of pure terror Chuck began to convulse, fertilizing the ground around his straining limbs, his mouth stretched wide.

     The next night, all the neighborhood kids agreed that the great big scary jack-o-lantern in the widow's garden was the best Halloween pumpkin they'd ever seen.

/ END /

Endnote: Workshopped at the Fish Tank (  This is the revised version.


On Display

Keys: [file:disp] [date:2010-11-12] [words:938] [codes:xdress]

Abstract: Wearing lingerie in public isn't supposed to be dangerous

On Display

by Rajah Dodger {} (c) 2010

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License (by-nc-sa).

     Tim's wife was out of town for the week, and he shivered a little in delight while pulling out the control top pantyhose.

     He didn't have a large collection of lingerie - half a dozen panties of various styles, one garter belt, and some packages of Hanes and L'eggs.  There was an art gallery opening this evening, and the control tops would be just daring enough for him to actually wear in public.  Definitely not the panties, there was too much possibility of an errant line showing under his dress slacks.

     Having showered and shaved with special attention to his groin, Tim worked the pantyhose up his legs with some difficulty.  The things were very snug clinging as a sheath around his legs, and the tops of the thighs stopped just a bit short of where his own legs ended.  He bent and smoothed the nylon upward but couldn't get it any higher.  Oh well, the control top had plenty of space above that point.

     Tim walked from side to side in front of the mirror, admiring the smooth lines.  His cock was thickened but not really hard as he sat on the edge of the bed and drew his slacks up.  The feeling was ... unusual.  He slid his wallet into the back pocket, buttoned up his shirt and tucked the tails in between the control top and the inside of the slacks.  Shoes and socks for appearance sake, cell phone and keys, and a jacket tossed over his shoulder made him ready to go mingle amongst the unsuspecting crowd.

     The only really strange part about walking and driving in the pantyhose was the sensation in back where his cheeks rubbed together.  He had never noticed it when wearing cotton briefs - perhaps the briefs held his backside in place.  The parking lot for the gallery was full by the time he arrived, and he had to park in the overflow lot a half block away.  There was a sensual feel from the nylon around his feet that worked its way up the insides of his legs.  By the time he arrived at the entrance to the gallery, the smile on his face had nothing to do with the art being shown inside.

     About twenty minutes into the event, circulating with a glass of champagne, Tim realized that something wasn't right.

     The sensations were difficult to decipher, but he realized that the top of the control top wasn't holding.  Very slowly, it was slipping down his stomach and back.  Well, that was unexpected but not unmanageable.  The men's room was only a few paintings further down the wall.

     Unfortunately, only one stall with a door was working in the men's room, and there was a line for that.  For pete's sake, what did women do in such a situation?  Oh yes - they had more private stalls.  Well, he'd just have to deal with a bit of discomfort, and headed back into the gallery to circulate.

     It was more than a bit of discomfort.  The control top rapidly tugged down to the tops of the thighs, leaving his cock brushing against his shirttails and his bottom bare against the back of his slacks.  Worse, the bit of material between the two legs was very short and made it difficult for him to walk.  His thighs felt sweaty where they rubbed together.  There was nothing he could do, he'd just have to say a few good-byes and head to the car.

     When he turned that direction, he saw Sharon, his first wife, right between Tim and the door.

     Sharon, bless her heart, had been totally civil about their breakup.  She wanted society and bright lights, where Tim was content with a quiet back-office job that only got them into middle income.  They had agreed on everything, even to the point of using the same lawyer, then hugged and parted ways.  He hadn't seen her for - it must have been four years.  Sharon, waving her drink for emphasis, was intent on catching up over every day since then.

     If she'd only stayed put, Tim could have dealt with it, but Sharon led Tim through the whole gallery, never letting the conversation flag and making his legs ache with the effort of walking normally.  The good news was that the top couldn't sag down any farther, the bad news that the material seemed to be getting tighter around and between his chafing thighs.  And Sharon, who must have been on her third or fourth drink, kept him moving.

     Finally she seemed to be runnin