Softly, he kissed my cheek, and then his touch was gone. I knew he was near, from the sounds of his footsteps against twigs and leaves, circling me like an animal lusting after its prey. I knew he was there, yet I couldn’t stop wondering what he was doing, analyzing each sound, willing my eyes to stay shut despite the burning need to look at him, to see what he was planning to do to me.
Minutes later, I found out. A slow, prickling burn was building against my right forearm, more like an itch at first, climbing to a furious, fiery sting. Biting my lip, I held back my squeals, wriggling against my bonds as the nettles crept up my arm and across my breastbone, down my left arm, across the shredded remains of my dress and down to my thighs. I squeezed my eyes shut with all my might, my mind filled with the image of him before me, a soft smile upon his lips as he watched me squirm, savoring the thought of his pleasure from my discomfort. I knew he wouldn’t be foolish enough to hold the stem of the nettles himself, and couldn’t help but admire his sense of forward planning to have thought to bring a rag, or a handkerchief, or whatever else he would be using to stop the leaves from burning him while they raced like needles across my flesh.
“Open your eyes.”
Brightness flooded my vision, sunlight and birds and leaves and trees, as he pulled his bare hand away, just for one moment, then brought it down against my leg with stinging ferocity. That one smack felt like it reverberated through my whole body, taking me away from my eyes and back into my skin, sensation shooting from that one, burning spot on my inner thigh right up my spinal cord and out to every single nerve ending in my being. Before I could think about anything else, a smack on my opposite thigh landed, even harder than the first, followed by two farther down. The nettle burns now a dull, forgotten agony, my eyes met his, pleading with him not to stop, my lids fluttering as he struck me again and again, each hit like a pulse of feeling through my limbs. Over and over he rained his blows against my legs, a rhythmic symphony of intensity dancing across the surface of my flesh. It was so strange how he could have done exactly the same thing without tying me, and I would have remained motionless just as he told me, but it just would never have felt the same.
I yelped as his smacks finally stopped and his hands roughly groped the burning marks they had made, squeezing my soft soreness, his whole body pressed into mine, his mouth on my neck and shoulders, fierce kisses across my collarbone. It felt like my whole body was plugged into an outlet, zinging with electricity as his kisses grew ever more insistent, aching with need to have him touch me where I needed it most of all, where I felt I would explode if he didn’t push his fingers inside and…
Dropping to his knees in the dirt and leaves, his teeth sank into the stinging red marks his hands had made, sucking and biting and kissing and licking. I could feel the throbbing insistence in my clit growing stronger and stronger as his mouth covered my thighs with feeling, the need to have him take me now almost unbearable. Please, please, please, please… A strangled cry escaped my throat as his tongue reached my wetness, running long, slow strokes across the curve of my cunt, each ending in a tiny flick on my swollen clit. Every movement made my whole body jerk in my bonds; that one, teasing dart of his tongue making me yearn for more, until at last his lips closed around my clit, surrounding me with warmth.
“Please,” I managed to gasp, “please…”
His fingers thrust inside me in response, curling toward his mouth as his tongue circled my clit, rhythmically tapping against my G-spot as sparks of pleasure flew through me. It was so strange to hear the birds cheerfully chirping around me as I writhed against tightly bound rope, my legs struggling to wrap around him and bring him even closer to me; to see the branches of the trees swaying above my head as I clenched myself tighter and tighter around his pounding fingers. I could feel myself getting closer and closer, like I was climbing a mountain and nearing the peak, standing on the edge of the cliff and waiting to fall off. So he pushed me off.
It felt like it was happening in slow motion as ecstasy ripped through each atom of my being, starting with my clit and radiating outward in pulses of hot, glowing energy. I could feel myself making sound but I couldn’t quite recognize it, like I was outside of my body watching it react in ethereal release, not even able to control my vocal chords anymore. Tiny aftershocks emanated all the way to my fingertips as he got to his feet and stood in front of me, his piercing blue eyes looking into mine, his hand pressed hard and flat against my cunt, grounding me, bringing me back to him. I wanted him now more than ever.
“My Susie,” he murmured, his tongue tracing the edge of my ear, lazily flicking the soft flesh of my lobe. “I’m going to untie you now, and then I’m going to fuck you on the ground, in the dirt, in the mud. You’re going to stay still until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”
I nodded obediently, mutely, my mind and my words still floating somewhere above me as he loosened the ropes. My whole body was still pounding as he coiled them up neatly and placed them back in his bag, anticipation tight inside me, clouds of orgasm still drifting through my limbs yet tensing in the knowledge of what was to come. It was always a wonder to me how he managed to stay so calm all the time, so controlled. I was always the one breathlessly pleading, abandoned to my desire, while he remained ever the gentleman, watching me with calculated interest. It made me want to shatter that veneer, bring him to my level of want, watch him lose everything inside me as he took what he needed. But which of us was really taking, I could never quite tell.
With him standing in front of me, I could see the outline of his cock straining against his smart gray trousers, his hand gently rubbing against it, teasing me with my own motionlessness. I wanted to feel it inside my mouth, beneath my hands; but instead I stood there, physically free but still in bondage.
“Get on your knees.”
Delicately, I lowered myself to the ground, amongst the prickly twigs and crunching dead leaves. I love the way he commands me, the way he tells me exactly what he wants but never harshly, his voice always calm and even and polite, even when telling me to do things that are far from polite in themselves. I love the way I know that I never need to guess at what he wants, as he will just tell me to do it. I find such beautiful simplicity in the way he loves me.
Stroking my hair, he took out his cock and offered it to my waiting mouth, with just one tiny, almost inaudible, intake of his breath as I closed my mouth around it. There is something about sucking his cock that relaxes me, makes me feel calm and centered and like nothing in the world matters anymore, like I could stay there on my knees forever and never want for anything more. With long, deep strokes I took him deeper and deeper, my lips tight around him, my tongue pressing hard against the underside as he gradually rocked himself rhythmically inside me, feeling his thickness filling my mouth. I looked up at him, seeing trees and sky around him, feeling his fingers twisted in my hair, his eyes half closed in pleasure, and fell in love with him all over again.
Just as I was beginning to close my eyes and really lose myself in the sensation of it, he pulled away from me, making me whimper at the shock of it, which of course made him smile. Gently, he laid me against the ground, my back finding sharp sticks and rough branches scratching between my shoulder blades, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was how his strong hands were reaching out to part my legs, his cock against my cunt so close I could almost swallow it with my pussy if I tried hard enough, his eyes looking straight into mine as he finally sank himself within me, making me shudder and gasp and rock my hips in fluid motion to bring him closer to me. The way he fucks me is not like any other man has fucked me, hard and soft at the same time, violent and loving, brutal and gentle. Pulling my knees farther up, I twisted my legs around his back, drawing him deeper within me, pleading inwardly for him to fuck me harder, harder, harder…
His thrusts became more forceful, intensity building inside me as every inch of me became reignited, each stroke seeming to fill me so exactly, it was as if we were made for ea
ch other. I reached out for him, pulling his mouth toward mine, forcing my tongue inside him with such hunger and need and desperate abandon, feeling his own desire responding, my beloved, my other half. I know his body so well now, I can feel it when he’s nearing his peak, when his muscles tense and his breathing becomes shallow, and all of my energy is focused on feeling him and hearing his breath, those sensations almost mirrored in my own body. That moment, when he finally releases, when all of his control is abandoned, is always so blissful to me; his spasms and cries and animal roars, like those of a beast savaging me, filling me with such contentment it is almost like coming again myself.
His satiated body collapsed onto mine, his arms surrounding me and protecting me and holding me close. I could feel his heart hammering in his chest as it pressed against my own, his heart and my heart together, like drumming in the near-silent forest. Above us, the birds were still singing sweetly, the breeze still shivering through the trees. I can think of nothing more natural than my love for him.
GUITAR HERO
Kin Fallon
He picked up his guitar and strummed it, idly at first, casually. She watched his thick, heavy hands moving across the board in wide strokes. It was hypnotic, restful, and she began to relax. He changed to a beautiful melody, picking each note with a finger or thumb. Anoushka watched his fingers, marveling at how fast they could work, at how delicate and precise the tips of thick fingers of rough hands could be. She felt herself sinking in the rhythm and wondered how her boyfriend didn’t get lost himself, how he could think fast enough to move from string to string so seamlessly, so accurately.
Looking to Mark’s face, she saw his half-open gray-green eyes, as distant as the stars, as close as her pulse. Lost in his own way, she thought. It wasn’t concentration keeping him in tune but a flow, a deep sensual memory that called the right fingertip to the right string at the right time. He was truly in tune with his guitar, one with it inside the strings’ music, their vibrations, their changes and movements, rises and falls.
Mark was most beautiful when he was like this. He picked up the speed to a desperate rhythm, fingers flickering back and forth, seeming sometimes to bring out two separate sounds that quickly dissolved into a single one, rising and falling again. The tempo increased another step change and furiously reached a peak of high-pitched, longer-waving wails.
He stopped, so alive, so awake, so turned on. He lifted the guitar gently from his lap and, leaning over, placed it carefully back on its stand. His body seemed changed, as if the music had awakened him and brought him a new life. He sat back on the edge of his seat, pushing his ass back onto it, then moving his hips forward, repositioning himself from his crotch outward, a pulse of energy running down his thighs and calves, up through his hidden stomach, chest and broad shoulders and down through his very visible muscular arms past the thick leather strap he wore on his wrist, to his skillful hands.
Anoushka looked up to his face, his life-giving lips, his long hair—straight but wild, brown but with a hint of dirty blond. His face seemed eager, hungry. He let his eyes, green now, strong, fall on her, into her. In that moment she knew that he was going to fuck the shit out of her and he wasn’t going to wait.
“Unbutton your shirt.” She moved her hands to the bottom button. “Start at the top,” he corrected and she started to undo herself until she was a button below the bottom of her bra. “Stop.” She stopped, just a little exposed, the flesh of her small curves visible. “Pull the sides so I can see more.” She complied. She could see he was starting to enjoy himself, she could see him coming alive to her, focusing his attention on her. “More than that, stretch the fabric…more than that…pull the shirt under your tits.” She pulled the shirt, her breasts pushed up and together even as they strained outward against the constricting material. She ventured a question, “Like this?”
“Like that,” came the reply. “Now pull down your bra.” She pulled the bra down. It was tighter and pushed her breasts up into a more obvious, more obscene out-spilling of flesh. She felt her chest swell as if it had become the center of her and saw him staring at her framed beauty, focused, awestruck; she saw his own straining. He touched himself through his jeans without realizing it, his mind, his body all directed toward her. Her nipples hardened in response to his gaze.
He grabbed her waist, picked her up and turned her so that she knelt on the couch, her legs on the seat, her feet dangling over the edge, her body leaning forward against the cushioned back, her backside sticking out.
“Pull up your skirt.” She pulled up her skirt, exposing her thighs and private parts and expansive ass covered in red cotton. “Pull your knickers between your asscheeks.” She pulled so the knickers became a tight red strip of cotton revealing the two large mounds of her rear on either side. Mark grabbed her ass roughly then licked and slapped as he moved his face down lower between her legs. His eyes followed the pulled red cotton riding through the line of her ass to the stopping point, a thin strip of red stained darker with wetness and want and then the bulge of her hidden fleshy lips squashed between the cotton.
“Open your legs.” She parted herself more, feeling her wetness opening farther. She heard him swallow before continuing. “Pull the material between your pussy lips.” She did it so that just that thin strip covered her entrance and her engorged lips spilled over either side. “Wiggle it,” he instructed, and she whimpered as the material dragged against her clit between the separated flesh. “Hold it to one side.” The wet center of her hole was exposed as she moved the red material, and she felt Mark’s hot breath on her. She felt him pull the cotton away from her and heard the rip as he disposed of the barrier with his hands.
Then his face was where she wanted it, sucking between her legs, wet on her wetness. He pulled away to look at her and slipped two fingers into her hole, watching them disappearing in and out of her as she started to moan. She pulled her hips up a little and instinctively he pushed down on the two fingers, nudging against the front wall inside of her, giving and taking away the pressure to a slow beat. His thumb took a little of the wetness from her entrance and then curved around and up to find her fattened clit. He massaged it from side to side before joining the rhythm of the fingers inside her. He squeezed and released, inside and out, as if holding all of her pleasure in the palm of his hand. She moaned louder as he played her skillfully, her heat rising, her sensations flowing through his hand, through her deepest parts. Her body was awakened and alive; she wanted all of him. “Fuck me, Mark,” she spoke with a gasp to punctuate her urgency. “Mark, fuck me.”
He pulled out his hand, leaving the gap inside her, the open hole: wet, ready, wanting him. She felt his body against her, she felt him at her entrance, in her wetness. She felt him slip inside. She felt his hardness touching her sensitized walls, felt his heat on her awakened flesh; she felt the expanse of him filling her and then his movement, his perfect movement. He thrust along and through her, filling her with desire and its satisfaction, wanting and giving.
As he thrust inside, he leaned to cover her with his body, his mouth on her neck sucking, biting. His hands were on her breasts, the rough palms cupping and grabbing, rubbing. The delicate dexterous tips of his fingers squeezing and turning her nipples. She felt his breath and his life as he licked near her ear, and she enjoyed all of his weight on her.
Each time he sank inside of her, she felt herself holding him there in her center, the hot closeness of him deep inside, the slight easing of the weight on her back as all the muscles of his body pulled hard and tight, his hips pressing forward against her as she strained back against him, each wanting to be deeper, closer.
She felt his body weight against her again as he relaxed slightly and they rode the wave toward the next thrust, in and out, as the pressure and movement from his crotch, rising and falling, seemed to expand outward through her, taking control of their whole bodies.
Her breasts, still framed by her bra, felt the last of his touch as he pulled his hand
s away, leaving the hot imprint of his skillful caress over the tingling flesh and her nipples vibrating with the memory of his masterful finger work. He moved his hands down to rest his palms on her sides, his fingers curved around her hips as all attention fell to their shared center, his movements hungrier, faster; the pulse inside her louder, crying out for its release. Her breasts shuddered as he banged hard against her, his breath now in tune with her moans. She drove back hard against him as he thrust into her vigorously.
She felt her heat rise to its final peak as he tensed and plowed into her with a final extra force, and she held him there a second longer, feeling her heat pour into him as he poured himself into her. Twice more for joy he slowly rolled into her, filling her. He held her, their bodies together at last as she forgot everything but their feeling deep inside her, their life and pleasure, their stillness and movement, their silence and music.
ODE TO A MASTURBATOR
Aimee Herman
I am leaving in three weeks and I don’t even know your name. I am going to miss the sounds I have created in my mind for the music your palm makes when it mashes against your erect dick. You are tall, even when tilted against your wall, which I believe is painted white or some pale color. Your hair is dark like soil and long, always pulled back in a ponytail. If I had courage or confidence, I might talk to you. I know where you live, where you work, what you drive.
Women in Lust Page 10