Barry Metcalf's Blog, page 3
April 2, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART XI
I lowered her gently to the bed so that she sat with her legs dangling over the side. I parted her knees, knelt between them and studied the rapid rise and fall of her pert breasts. Before I had time to do more than that, she raised her legs, encircled my waist with them and pulled me towards her. I came to rest on top of her, my cock perfectly placed on top of her pubic mound, my mouth hovering over hers. Heat from her vagina radiated through the material of my jeans. This was as close as our genitals had ventured in over six months, and I was almost ready to burst. I ground my crotch against hers and kissed her full on the mouth.
“I want to see you naked,” she said, when the kiss ended.
I rose to my feet, unfastened my jeans and stepped out of them. She watched, licking her lips, but I knew from previous conversations she would be reluctant to take my penis into her mouth. Because her husband had forced her to perform this act, I was anxious to demonstrate that all men weren’t animals, that sex was above all a consensual act. Slowly I slid my jocks down my legs, my cock leaping to attention. A drop of pre-cum glistened on its head. Her eyes widened, and she reached out to touch it.
I brushed her hand aside, stepped out of my jocks and cast them aside. “Not yet,” I said, grinning. “You’ll get your turn once I’ve devoured those panties.” I dropped to my knees again and lowered my face towards her pussy. A hot, musky aroma wafted into my nostrils.
“Wait.” She placed a hand on my head and prevented me from touching her. “I’m scared.”
“Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” I caressed the insides of her thighs.
She trembled. “No, it’s not that.”
“What then?”
“No one’s ever done anything like this to me before.”
“Not even your husband?”
“He didn’t like looking at my... down there.”
“Relax.” I removed her hand from my head and kissed her fingers. “I guarantee you’ll love it. Either that, or I’ll give you a refund.”
She chuckled and relaxed a little. “How could any woman refuse such a romantic offer? Please continue.”
“Your wish is my command.” I lowered my head and began running my tongue along the inside of her thigh, just below the panty line. I felt her tremble, but she didn’t stop me. Drawn to the musky odour emanating from between her legs, I began licking the narrow strip of taut material covering her most secret location. The panties tasted of strawberries. I pushed with my tongue, forcing the material inside her.
“Oh, God! That’s incredible!” She entangled her fingers in my hair and pulled my face closer against her crotch.
Encouraged by her words, I began nibbling at the sopping material against which my mouth was pressed. She raised her legs, placed them on my shoulders, and entwined them behind my neck. I was trapped. I couldn’t move away even if I wanted to. But I had no plans to do anything of the kind. Besides, her actions had provided greater access to her fanny, and I increased the force and frequency of my nibbling. Soon, I’d bitten a hole in the crotch of the panties, and I pushed my tongue through this opening, sending it darting into her cunt. It was lush and wet and tasted salty and sweet at the same time.
Her fingers gripped my hair fiercely, and she began pulling and pushing my head so that she now dictated the rhythm of my tongue as it plunged into the wet, hot opening between her legs. “Oh, yes,” she moaned. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop until I come.”
I raised my head a little. “Your wish is my command.” Not waiting for a response, I began tearing at the strawberry-flavoured material with my teeth. Soon, the panties were in tatters and I explored her pussy with my lips, tongue and teeth. She writhed and thrashed about on the bed as if in the throes of a seizure, but she didn’t ask me to stop. When I felt a shudder run through her entire body, I raised my head, slid forward until I was on top of her and, without using my hands, guided my cock inside the wet, slick opening between her legs. If I believed in Heaven, this is what it would feel like.
“Was that as good as I promised?” I placed a kiss on her lips and studied her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were wide and wild. Her long, auburn hair--fanned out on the bedclothes like a cluster of autumn leaves--was now mussed and streaked with sweat.
“Better.” She batted her eyelashes and bit her bottom lip. “I’ve never felt anything like that before in my life.”
“Then your husband obviously didn’t know what he was doing.” I flexed my hips ever so slightly so that my penis performed slow, circular movements inside her.
She sighed. “I’m beginning to think you’re right. He only ever seemed interested in pleasing himself, never me.”
“More fool him.” I kissed her again and began sliding my erection in and out, taking it slow, making sure she felt every thrust, no matter how small. I didn’t want to rush this part of our coupling. For one thing, I didn’t want to come too early. For another, I wanted to extend her pleasure as long as possible.
When the kiss ended, she licked her lips. “So that's what I taste like... down there. I’ve always wondered.”
“Why don’t you call it by its proper name?”
“You mean...?” She shook her head and lowered her lashes. Her cheeks grew even more inflamed. “I can’t use that kind of language.”
“Why not?” I increased the in-and-out motion ever so slightly.
She gasped. “Because... because it’s not ladylike.”
“Neither is what you’re doing right now.”
“I guess not, but this is... this is different somehow.”
“So, what do you call your pubic area?”
“If I call it anything, I’d call it my vagina, but it’s not something....”
“That’s a good start. Tell me what you’d like me to do to your vagina.”
“Make it come again.”
“Make what come again?”
She hesitated for the briefest moment, her eyes holding mine. “Make my... make my vagina come again.”
“I guess that’ll do for today.” As a reward for her efforts, I grabbed her by the waist and thrust into her as hard as I could.
Love this? You'll enjoy my latest novel:
Broometime Serenade
I lowered her gently to the bed so that she sat with her legs dangling over the side. I parted her knees, knelt between them and studied the rapid rise and fall of her pert breasts. Before I had time to do more than that, she raised her legs, encircled my waist with them and pulled me towards her. I came to rest on top of her, my cock perfectly placed on top of her pubic mound, my mouth hovering over hers. Heat from her vagina radiated through the material of my jeans. This was as close as our genitals had ventured in over six months, and I was almost ready to burst. I ground my crotch against hers and kissed her full on the mouth.
“I want to see you naked,” she said, when the kiss ended.
I rose to my feet, unfastened my jeans and stepped out of them. She watched, licking her lips, but I knew from previous conversations she would be reluctant to take my penis into her mouth. Because her husband had forced her to perform this act, I was anxious to demonstrate that all men weren’t animals, that sex was above all a consensual act. Slowly I slid my jocks down my legs, my cock leaping to attention. A drop of pre-cum glistened on its head. Her eyes widened, and she reached out to touch it.
I brushed her hand aside, stepped out of my jocks and cast them aside. “Not yet,” I said, grinning. “You’ll get your turn once I’ve devoured those panties.” I dropped to my knees again and lowered my face towards her pussy. A hot, musky aroma wafted into my nostrils.
“Wait.” She placed a hand on my head and prevented me from touching her. “I’m scared.”
“Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” I caressed the insides of her thighs.
She trembled. “No, it’s not that.”
“What then?”
“No one’s ever done anything like this to me before.”
“Not even your husband?”
“He didn’t like looking at my... down there.”
“Relax.” I removed her hand from my head and kissed her fingers. “I guarantee you’ll love it. Either that, or I’ll give you a refund.”
She chuckled and relaxed a little. “How could any woman refuse such a romantic offer? Please continue.”
“Your wish is my command.” I lowered my head and began running my tongue along the inside of her thigh, just below the panty line. I felt her tremble, but she didn’t stop me. Drawn to the musky odour emanating from between her legs, I began licking the narrow strip of taut material covering her most secret location. The panties tasted of strawberries. I pushed with my tongue, forcing the material inside her.
“Oh, God! That’s incredible!” She entangled her fingers in my hair and pulled my face closer against her crotch.
Encouraged by her words, I began nibbling at the sopping material against which my mouth was pressed. She raised her legs, placed them on my shoulders, and entwined them behind my neck. I was trapped. I couldn’t move away even if I wanted to. But I had no plans to do anything of the kind. Besides, her actions had provided greater access to her fanny, and I increased the force and frequency of my nibbling. Soon, I’d bitten a hole in the crotch of the panties, and I pushed my tongue through this opening, sending it darting into her cunt. It was lush and wet and tasted salty and sweet at the same time.
Her fingers gripped my hair fiercely, and she began pulling and pushing my head so that she now dictated the rhythm of my tongue as it plunged into the wet, hot opening between her legs. “Oh, yes,” she moaned. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop until I come.”
I raised my head a little. “Your wish is my command.” Not waiting for a response, I began tearing at the strawberry-flavoured material with my teeth. Soon, the panties were in tatters and I explored her pussy with my lips, tongue and teeth. She writhed and thrashed about on the bed as if in the throes of a seizure, but she didn’t ask me to stop. When I felt a shudder run through her entire body, I raised my head, slid forward until I was on top of her and, without using my hands, guided my cock inside the wet, slick opening between her legs. If I believed in Heaven, this is what it would feel like.
“Was that as good as I promised?” I placed a kiss on her lips and studied her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were wide and wild. Her long, auburn hair--fanned out on the bedclothes like a cluster of autumn leaves--was now mussed and streaked with sweat.
“Better.” She batted her eyelashes and bit her bottom lip. “I’ve never felt anything like that before in my life.”
“Then your husband obviously didn’t know what he was doing.” I flexed my hips ever so slightly so that my penis performed slow, circular movements inside her.
She sighed. “I’m beginning to think you’re right. He only ever seemed interested in pleasing himself, never me.”
“More fool him.” I kissed her again and began sliding my erection in and out, taking it slow, making sure she felt every thrust, no matter how small. I didn’t want to rush this part of our coupling. For one thing, I didn’t want to come too early. For another, I wanted to extend her pleasure as long as possible.
When the kiss ended, she licked her lips. “So that's what I taste like... down there. I’ve always wondered.”
“Why don’t you call it by its proper name?”
“You mean...?” She shook her head and lowered her lashes. Her cheeks grew even more inflamed. “I can’t use that kind of language.”
“Why not?” I increased the in-and-out motion ever so slightly.
She gasped. “Because... because it’s not ladylike.”
“Neither is what you’re doing right now.”
“I guess not, but this is... this is different somehow.”
“So, what do you call your pubic area?”
“If I call it anything, I’d call it my vagina, but it’s not something....”
“That’s a good start. Tell me what you’d like me to do to your vagina.”
“Make it come again.”
“Make what come again?”
She hesitated for the briefest moment, her eyes holding mine. “Make my... make my vagina come again.”
“I guess that’ll do for today.” As a reward for her efforts, I grabbed her by the waist and thrust into her as hard as I could.
Love this? You'll enjoy my latest novel:
Broometime Serenade
March 20, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART X
“I thought I’d slip into something more comfortable to celebrate our first night together.”
I turned from the bench where I was making coffee. Fiona stood in the doorway of the bathroom wearing a sheer red nightie with tiny matching panties underneath. Pert breasts pushed against the flimsy material, and I could see that her nipples were hard and erect. I already had a hard-on as a result of our anticipated coupling, but the sight of her made my penis push even harder against the material of my pants. I took a deep breath to steady my hammering heart. “You look fantastic.” I handed her one of the mugs. “White with no sugar, is that right?”
“Thank you.” She stepped into the main room of our motel unit and took her coffee. Briefly her fingers brushed against mine, sending a shiver through my body. “Red is your favourite colour, I take it?”
“It certainly is.” Without taking my eyes from her fabulous figure, I raised my mug and sipped my drink. “How are the panties?”
“They feel kind of strange. I’ve never worn edible undergarments before.” She lowered her eyelashes, parted her red lips and slid her tongue back and forth over them.
My cock throbbed at this overtly sexual act. I longed to shove it into that sensuous mouth, but Fiona had demonstrated a naiveté concerning sex that warned me to proceed with caution. I didn’t wish to frighten her by engaging in acts her husband had forced upon her on our first night together. “I somehow don’t think you’ll have to suffer their discomfort for long.”
Six months had passed since Fiona had told me she intended leaving her husband. In that time, we’d become very close, as close as a man and woman can without having sex. We’d meet on a regular basis, always in secret, plotting the best way to dissolve her current relationship. She said she had money of her own--left to her in her father’s will--but her husband had insisted in putting it into an account to which they were joint signatories. He’d taken control of her finances when they’d married as he’d done every facet of her life. When they went out or entertained, she wore what he chose. He had a fetish for short skirts and made her take up the hemline of everything she owned. Although she had a drivers’ licence, he forbade her from driving his car unless he accompanied her. To break free of his control, she needed to transfer funds into an account of her own without him finding out. I’d told her this was risky, that he’d discover what she was doing, but she wouldn’t deviate from her plan.
Although we conducted our meetings in secluded woodlands outside town, Fiona refused to have sex with me. She said she longed to, but couldn’t be unfaithful until she’d made a clean break with her husband. Reluctantly, I accepted this, settling for passionate kisses and heavy petting sessions whenever we met in private. Aroused to the point of bursting by these encounters, I released my sexual frustrations on Sharon, hating myself once my urges were satisfied. Sharon seemed more than satisfied with the sex, although we argued more and more as her suspicions concerning another woman grew.
Bizarrely, Fiona’s husband hadn’t discovered the transfer of funds from his account, but today he’d arrived home unexpectedly from a golfing afternoon and caught her packing a suitcase in preparation for her departure. There’d been an awful scene, resulting in much shouting and threats of violence. When she refused to explain her actions he’d slapped her several times, then locked her out of the house, telling her she could only come back inside when she got down on her knees and apologised. Refusing to kowtow to his demands, she’d rung me from a neighbour’s house, and I’d hurried out to my car. Sharon had followed me, shouting questions and abuse, but I simply ignored her. I left her standing in the driveway, her mouth opening and shutting as I raced towards town. Fiona was waiting for me on the corner of her street. I’d picked her up, and we’d driven past her house just as her husband appeared on the front porch and shaken his fist at us.
Neither Fiona nor I had any belongings other than the clothes on our backs, but we were happy simply to be together. And we each had a little money tucked away in the bank. Without any thought to the partners we’d left in the lurch, we’d driven to the next town and done a little shopping. She’d asked me what I wanted her to wear in bed, and I’d suggested a shortie nightie and, feeling adventurous, matching edible undies. She’d blushed and hesitated at my recommendation, but purchased the outfit without comment. Finally, we’d selected a motel and booked a room for the night. For the first time in hours, we had a chance to catch our breath and relax.
She stared at me with a smile on her lips. “If you really want me, then finish your coffee and take me to bed before I change my mind.” Her big brown eyes travelled from my face to the bulge in my pants. “And unless I’m wrong, I’m guessing you’ve got something there that needs my urgent attention.”
“I’m not really all that thirsty.” I placed my mug on the table and waited for her next move. It seemed wise to let her dictate the pace. “But I am feeling peckish.” I grinned mischievously.
She sat her mug with mine, threw her arms around my neck and crushed me to her body. “I’ve very nervous,” she said in my ear, “but I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time.” She kissed me full on the lips, her tongue making inroads into my mouth. For several long minutes they intertwined like snakes mating, while our hands explored one another’s bodies with ever-growing intimacy. The only sound in the unit came from the air conditioner on the far side of the room.
Her fingers grasped my engorged cock through the material of my jeans, and I almost blew my load. Meanwhile, my hand travelled down her back and into her panties. I cupped her arse, then slid my fingers towards the slit between her legs. When they encountered wetness, I knew she was ready for me.
“I need you to be gentle with me,” she said when the kiss ended, and we came up for air. Her nails raked across the material covering my cock, making it throb. “Take it slow and show me how much you want me.”
I took her hand and led her to the bedroom.
Enjoy this? You'll love my latest novel.
Broometime Serenade
“I thought I’d slip into something more comfortable to celebrate our first night together.”
I turned from the bench where I was making coffee. Fiona stood in the doorway of the bathroom wearing a sheer red nightie with tiny matching panties underneath. Pert breasts pushed against the flimsy material, and I could see that her nipples were hard and erect. I already had a hard-on as a result of our anticipated coupling, but the sight of her made my penis push even harder against the material of my pants. I took a deep breath to steady my hammering heart. “You look fantastic.” I handed her one of the mugs. “White with no sugar, is that right?”
“Thank you.” She stepped into the main room of our motel unit and took her coffee. Briefly her fingers brushed against mine, sending a shiver through my body. “Red is your favourite colour, I take it?”
“It certainly is.” Without taking my eyes from her fabulous figure, I raised my mug and sipped my drink. “How are the panties?”
“They feel kind of strange. I’ve never worn edible undergarments before.” She lowered her eyelashes, parted her red lips and slid her tongue back and forth over them.
My cock throbbed at this overtly sexual act. I longed to shove it into that sensuous mouth, but Fiona had demonstrated a naiveté concerning sex that warned me to proceed with caution. I didn’t wish to frighten her by engaging in acts her husband had forced upon her on our first night together. “I somehow don’t think you’ll have to suffer their discomfort for long.”
Six months had passed since Fiona had told me she intended leaving her husband. In that time, we’d become very close, as close as a man and woman can without having sex. We’d meet on a regular basis, always in secret, plotting the best way to dissolve her current relationship. She said she had money of her own--left to her in her father’s will--but her husband had insisted in putting it into an account to which they were joint signatories. He’d taken control of her finances when they’d married as he’d done every facet of her life. When they went out or entertained, she wore what he chose. He had a fetish for short skirts and made her take up the hemline of everything she owned. Although she had a drivers’ licence, he forbade her from driving his car unless he accompanied her. To break free of his control, she needed to transfer funds into an account of her own without him finding out. I’d told her this was risky, that he’d discover what she was doing, but she wouldn’t deviate from her plan.
Although we conducted our meetings in secluded woodlands outside town, Fiona refused to have sex with me. She said she longed to, but couldn’t be unfaithful until she’d made a clean break with her husband. Reluctantly, I accepted this, settling for passionate kisses and heavy petting sessions whenever we met in private. Aroused to the point of bursting by these encounters, I released my sexual frustrations on Sharon, hating myself once my urges were satisfied. Sharon seemed more than satisfied with the sex, although we argued more and more as her suspicions concerning another woman grew.
Bizarrely, Fiona’s husband hadn’t discovered the transfer of funds from his account, but today he’d arrived home unexpectedly from a golfing afternoon and caught her packing a suitcase in preparation for her departure. There’d been an awful scene, resulting in much shouting and threats of violence. When she refused to explain her actions he’d slapped her several times, then locked her out of the house, telling her she could only come back inside when she got down on her knees and apologised. Refusing to kowtow to his demands, she’d rung me from a neighbour’s house, and I’d hurried out to my car. Sharon had followed me, shouting questions and abuse, but I simply ignored her. I left her standing in the driveway, her mouth opening and shutting as I raced towards town. Fiona was waiting for me on the corner of her street. I’d picked her up, and we’d driven past her house just as her husband appeared on the front porch and shaken his fist at us.
Neither Fiona nor I had any belongings other than the clothes on our backs, but we were happy simply to be together. And we each had a little money tucked away in the bank. Without any thought to the partners we’d left in the lurch, we’d driven to the next town and done a little shopping. She’d asked me what I wanted her to wear in bed, and I’d suggested a shortie nightie and, feeling adventurous, matching edible undies. She’d blushed and hesitated at my recommendation, but purchased the outfit without comment. Finally, we’d selected a motel and booked a room for the night. For the first time in hours, we had a chance to catch our breath and relax.
She stared at me with a smile on her lips. “If you really want me, then finish your coffee and take me to bed before I change my mind.” Her big brown eyes travelled from my face to the bulge in my pants. “And unless I’m wrong, I’m guessing you’ve got something there that needs my urgent attention.”
“I’m not really all that thirsty.” I placed my mug on the table and waited for her next move. It seemed wise to let her dictate the pace. “But I am feeling peckish.” I grinned mischievously.
She sat her mug with mine, threw her arms around my neck and crushed me to her body. “I’ve very nervous,” she said in my ear, “but I’ve been waiting for this moment for a very long time.” She kissed me full on the lips, her tongue making inroads into my mouth. For several long minutes they intertwined like snakes mating, while our hands explored one another’s bodies with ever-growing intimacy. The only sound in the unit came from the air conditioner on the far side of the room.
Her fingers grasped my engorged cock through the material of my jeans, and I almost blew my load. Meanwhile, my hand travelled down her back and into her panties. I cupped her arse, then slid my fingers towards the slit between her legs. When they encountered wetness, I knew she was ready for me.
“I need you to be gentle with me,” she said when the kiss ended, and we came up for air. Her nails raked across the material covering my cock, making it throb. “Take it slow and show me how much you want me.”
I took her hand and led her to the bedroom.
Enjoy this? You'll love my latest novel.
Broometime Serenade
March 8, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART IX
For months afterwards I haunted the street where Fiona lived. I’d leave early for work and cruise past her house, hoping to see her. I’d take off after school as soon as classes ended and park around the corner and wait for her to appear. Not once did I see her. Did I imagine meeting her and offering her a ride? Had our first meeting been nothing more than a dream? Is she nothing more than a figment of my fertile imagination? I didn’t know, but the memory of the dungeon and the sex we’d shared was too vivid not to be real. And the fact that she was married hadn’t stopped me lusting after her. My moral upbringing classified her as unattainable, off-limits. For the second time in my life, my carnal desire overrode the values with which I’d been raised.
Of course, Sharon couldn’t understand my change in routine. She questioned me relentlessly about who I was seeing and when. She refused to believe I wasn’t meeting another woman and renewed her efforts to please me, inventing new games on a daily basis. I, for my part, kept up my end more often than not, but the interrogations never ceased. There was always another question I couldn’t answer, another look that said she didn’t believe a word I was saying. As we’d done before I met Fiona, we began to argue more and more.
My dreams were filled with images of my mystery woman. Sometimes she was naked, but I frequently dressed her in something skimpy, something that showed off her breasts and her long, tapered legs. “Fuck me,” she’d say in my fantasy. “Fuck my juicy wet cunt.” And when I was feeling more adventurous, I’d have her say, “Bend me over the end of the bed and fuck me in the arse.” In the past, I hadn’t contemplated anal intercourse, had never tried this with Sharon, but with Fiona it seemed the most logical thing in the world for her to request.
1974 passed into history with its celebration parties and increased sexual promiscuity among my colleagues. A new year began with a fresh intake of students, different classes and a shuffling of staff members. None of the new arrivals piqued my interest or took my mind off Fiona. Life with Sharon continued, but I grew more and more disgruntled with this arrangement. I longed for it to end, but the prospect of living alone was even more daunting, and I remained in what I knew was a doomed relationship. Sharon, for her part, grew more and more inventive in ways to keep our sex life alive. In one such scenario, she’d send me to stand outside the bedroom window while she lay on the bed wearing only a see-through nightie. When she began to masturbate, I would climb through the window, pretend to be a rapist and ravish her. In my mind it was Fiona’s window I stood outside, and it was Fiona whom I fucked.
And then came the afternoon when Fiona’s and my paths crossed again.
I was running an errand for Sharon and happened to drive past the doctor’s surgery. Who should come hurrying out of the building? None other than the woman of my dreams. Although it was a hot afternoon, she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, tracksuit pants and flat-heeled shoes. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Not the picture of loveliness and sexuality I’d been pining over for almost six months. Notwithstanding her dowdy appearance, my heart skipped a beat.
“Fiona!” I called from my car. “Fiona, it’s me, Dane.”
She lifted her head and stared at me, as if she didn’t recognise me. She had dark smudges under her eyes, and her face was pale. “Dane?” Her mouth creased in a hint of a smile. “Dane, I haven’t seen you for so long I thought you’d left town?”
“No, I’ve been around. How are you?”
“All right.”
“You look a bit under the weather.”
“I’m okay.” She hung her head and stared at her feet.
“Can I give you a lift?”
She looked up, as if about to refuse, then changed her mind. “Why not?” She climbed into my car and fastened her seatbelt. The aroma of ‘Charlie’ assailed my nostrils, as intoxicating as ever. I felt a familiar stirring in my groin. “Where to?” Somewhere private where we can make love?
“Can we go somewhere for a drink?”
Her answer surprised me, but I tried not to let it show. “Sure. Coffee, or something stronger?” I waited with the motor idling.
She thought for a long time before finally coming to a decision. “I could really do with a whisky. Do you know somewhere quiet?”
I didn’t right off the bat, but then I had a brain wave. “The lounge at the pub is usually empty at this time of day.”
She shrugged. “The pub it is, but I’d prefer that no one saw us.”
“Oh?”
“It’s... it’s my husband.” She lowered her gaze and stared at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. “He wouldn’t understand.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I engaged first gear and headed towards the hotel. My heart felt as if it was on fire. Simply being in the company of this gorgeous woman had turned my blood into molten lava.
The lounge was empty as I’d predicted, but I selected a table in a far corner of the room, where we wouldn’t be noticed even if someone did come in. When we were seated and our drinks were in front of us, I took Fiona’s hand and looked into her eyes. They were deep brown pools filled with sadness. My heart went out to her. “Something’s wrong,” I blurted. “Why are you rugged up like that when it’s hot outside?”
She held my stare and made no move to withdraw her hand. “Can I trust you? Really trust you?”
“Of course you can. What’s up?”
For the longest time, she simply stared into my eyes. Then she sighed. “Yes... yes, I think perhaps I can. Besides I have to tell someone.” With her free hand, she picked up her glass and drained it. I waited while she set her tumbler on its coaster and wiped the back of her hand across her lips. “He beats me.”
I had no idea what she meant. “Who beats you?”
“My hus... my husband.” Her bottom lip trembled, and a tear formed in the corner of one eye. “He tries to make me do things, and when I refuse he... he... he beats me.” She grabbed the sleeve that covered her arms and tugged on it. “I’m dressed like this so that the bruises don’t show.”
“He makes you do things?” I swallowed. After months of not seeing one another, this wasn’t the way I’d envisaged our meeting might go. “What sort of things?”
“He demands things, kinky things. When I refuse, he twists my arm up my back until I can no longer bear the pain. Then he makes me....”
“Makes you do what?”
“He forces himself upon me, makes me... makes me....” Tears ran down her cheeks and plopped onto the table top. “I don’t think I can say it,” she ended lamely.
“Trust me.” I patted her hand and offered her a smile. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me.
“He....” She sniffed and hung her head. “He.... I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” I sensed she needed more encouragement, but wasn’t sure what I could offer. “I promise you I won’t repeat anything you tell me.”
She raised her eyes and gazed into mine again. I saw such hurt in them my heart went out to her. I ached to take her in my arms and comfort her.
“He... he...he forces me to have.... Please don’t hate me for saying this, but he forces...he forces me to have anal sex.”
“He forces you to...? How despicable!” I raised my glass and drank, not sure what to think, certainly not about to admit I’d been fantasising about doing exactly the same thing. “And of course I don’t hate you.” I set my glass down and patted her hand. “Have you told anyone else about this?”
“The doc... the doctor. That’s where I’d been when you picked me up.”
“And what does your doctor say?”
“He says I should leave before my husband does something worse than cover me in bruises and cigarette burns.”
I swallowed several times, not sure whether I’d lapsed into some sort of nightmare or not. My stomach felt hollow, and my heartbeat quickened. How dare her husband lay a finger on his gorgeous wife. The woman of my dreams. How dare he torture her just to have his wicked way. I wanted to jump up, go to his house and punch him in the face. Instead, I controlled my anger and signalled the bartender for refills. “Your husband burns you, too?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to leave him and go somewhere he can’t find me.”
The bartender brought fresh drinks and I paid for them. I waited until he’d returned to the other side of the room. “When?” I asked. “Today?”
She shook her head. Auburn curls caressed her shoulders, making my pulse race. “Not today,” she said. “I have to make plans first.”
“Okay.” I sat there, not saying anything for several minutes, just studying her beautiful face, lost in the fathomless depths of her eyes. Then I came to a decision. I loved this woman, had done since the night of my accident. I wanted to take her away from her troubles. I wanted to protect her as much as I wanted to make love to her. “If I can be of any assistance, I’ll do anything I can.”
“Thank you, Dane.” She smiled, and the colour began returning to her cheeks. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
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Broometime Serenade
For months afterwards I haunted the street where Fiona lived. I’d leave early for work and cruise past her house, hoping to see her. I’d take off after school as soon as classes ended and park around the corner and wait for her to appear. Not once did I see her. Did I imagine meeting her and offering her a ride? Had our first meeting been nothing more than a dream? Is she nothing more than a figment of my fertile imagination? I didn’t know, but the memory of the dungeon and the sex we’d shared was too vivid not to be real. And the fact that she was married hadn’t stopped me lusting after her. My moral upbringing classified her as unattainable, off-limits. For the second time in my life, my carnal desire overrode the values with which I’d been raised.
Of course, Sharon couldn’t understand my change in routine. She questioned me relentlessly about who I was seeing and when. She refused to believe I wasn’t meeting another woman and renewed her efforts to please me, inventing new games on a daily basis. I, for my part, kept up my end more often than not, but the interrogations never ceased. There was always another question I couldn’t answer, another look that said she didn’t believe a word I was saying. As we’d done before I met Fiona, we began to argue more and more.
My dreams were filled with images of my mystery woman. Sometimes she was naked, but I frequently dressed her in something skimpy, something that showed off her breasts and her long, tapered legs. “Fuck me,” she’d say in my fantasy. “Fuck my juicy wet cunt.” And when I was feeling more adventurous, I’d have her say, “Bend me over the end of the bed and fuck me in the arse.” In the past, I hadn’t contemplated anal intercourse, had never tried this with Sharon, but with Fiona it seemed the most logical thing in the world for her to request.
1974 passed into history with its celebration parties and increased sexual promiscuity among my colleagues. A new year began with a fresh intake of students, different classes and a shuffling of staff members. None of the new arrivals piqued my interest or took my mind off Fiona. Life with Sharon continued, but I grew more and more disgruntled with this arrangement. I longed for it to end, but the prospect of living alone was even more daunting, and I remained in what I knew was a doomed relationship. Sharon, for her part, grew more and more inventive in ways to keep our sex life alive. In one such scenario, she’d send me to stand outside the bedroom window while she lay on the bed wearing only a see-through nightie. When she began to masturbate, I would climb through the window, pretend to be a rapist and ravish her. In my mind it was Fiona’s window I stood outside, and it was Fiona whom I fucked.
And then came the afternoon when Fiona’s and my paths crossed again.
I was running an errand for Sharon and happened to drive past the doctor’s surgery. Who should come hurrying out of the building? None other than the woman of my dreams. Although it was a hot afternoon, she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, tracksuit pants and flat-heeled shoes. She wasn’t wearing makeup. Not the picture of loveliness and sexuality I’d been pining over for almost six months. Notwithstanding her dowdy appearance, my heart skipped a beat.
“Fiona!” I called from my car. “Fiona, it’s me, Dane.”
She lifted her head and stared at me, as if she didn’t recognise me. She had dark smudges under her eyes, and her face was pale. “Dane?” Her mouth creased in a hint of a smile. “Dane, I haven’t seen you for so long I thought you’d left town?”
“No, I’ve been around. How are you?”
“All right.”
“You look a bit under the weather.”
“I’m okay.” She hung her head and stared at her feet.
“Can I give you a lift?”
She looked up, as if about to refuse, then changed her mind. “Why not?” She climbed into my car and fastened her seatbelt. The aroma of ‘Charlie’ assailed my nostrils, as intoxicating as ever. I felt a familiar stirring in my groin. “Where to?” Somewhere private where we can make love?
“Can we go somewhere for a drink?”
Her answer surprised me, but I tried not to let it show. “Sure. Coffee, or something stronger?” I waited with the motor idling.
She thought for a long time before finally coming to a decision. “I could really do with a whisky. Do you know somewhere quiet?”
I didn’t right off the bat, but then I had a brain wave. “The lounge at the pub is usually empty at this time of day.”
She shrugged. “The pub it is, but I’d prefer that no one saw us.”
“Oh?”
“It’s... it’s my husband.” She lowered her gaze and stared at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. “He wouldn’t understand.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I engaged first gear and headed towards the hotel. My heart felt as if it was on fire. Simply being in the company of this gorgeous woman had turned my blood into molten lava.
The lounge was empty as I’d predicted, but I selected a table in a far corner of the room, where we wouldn’t be noticed even if someone did come in. When we were seated and our drinks were in front of us, I took Fiona’s hand and looked into her eyes. They were deep brown pools filled with sadness. My heart went out to her. “Something’s wrong,” I blurted. “Why are you rugged up like that when it’s hot outside?”
She held my stare and made no move to withdraw her hand. “Can I trust you? Really trust you?”
“Of course you can. What’s up?”
For the longest time, she simply stared into my eyes. Then she sighed. “Yes... yes, I think perhaps I can. Besides I have to tell someone.” With her free hand, she picked up her glass and drained it. I waited while she set her tumbler on its coaster and wiped the back of her hand across her lips. “He beats me.”
I had no idea what she meant. “Who beats you?”
“My hus... my husband.” Her bottom lip trembled, and a tear formed in the corner of one eye. “He tries to make me do things, and when I refuse he... he... he beats me.” She grabbed the sleeve that covered her arms and tugged on it. “I’m dressed like this so that the bruises don’t show.”
“He makes you do things?” I swallowed. After months of not seeing one another, this wasn’t the way I’d envisaged our meeting might go. “What sort of things?”
“He demands things, kinky things. When I refuse, he twists my arm up my back until I can no longer bear the pain. Then he makes me....”
“Makes you do what?”
“He forces himself upon me, makes me... makes me....” Tears ran down her cheeks and plopped onto the table top. “I don’t think I can say it,” she ended lamely.
“Trust me.” I patted her hand and offered her a smile. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me.
“He....” She sniffed and hung her head. “He.... I can’t.”
“Of course you can.” I sensed she needed more encouragement, but wasn’t sure what I could offer. “I promise you I won’t repeat anything you tell me.”
She raised her eyes and gazed into mine again. I saw such hurt in them my heart went out to her. I ached to take her in my arms and comfort her.
“He... he...he forces me to have.... Please don’t hate me for saying this, but he forces...he forces me to have anal sex.”
“He forces you to...? How despicable!” I raised my glass and drank, not sure what to think, certainly not about to admit I’d been fantasising about doing exactly the same thing. “And of course I don’t hate you.” I set my glass down and patted her hand. “Have you told anyone else about this?”
“The doc... the doctor. That’s where I’d been when you picked me up.”
“And what does your doctor say?”
“He says I should leave before my husband does something worse than cover me in bruises and cigarette burns.”
I swallowed several times, not sure whether I’d lapsed into some sort of nightmare or not. My stomach felt hollow, and my heartbeat quickened. How dare her husband lay a finger on his gorgeous wife. The woman of my dreams. How dare he torture her just to have his wicked way. I wanted to jump up, go to his house and punch him in the face. Instead, I controlled my anger and signalled the bartender for refills. “Your husband burns you, too?”
“Yes.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to leave him and go somewhere he can’t find me.”
The bartender brought fresh drinks and I paid for them. I waited until he’d returned to the other side of the room. “When?” I asked. “Today?”
She shook her head. Auburn curls caressed her shoulders, making my pulse race. “Not today,” she said. “I have to make plans first.”
“Okay.” I sat there, not saying anything for several minutes, just studying her beautiful face, lost in the fathomless depths of her eyes. Then I came to a decision. I loved this woman, had done since the night of my accident. I wanted to take her away from her troubles. I wanted to protect her as much as I wanted to make love to her. “If I can be of any assistance, I’ll do anything I can.”
“Thank you, Dane.” She smiled, and the colour began returning to her cheeks. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
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Broometime Serenade
February 27, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART VIII
For the next four weeks, I went about my life as if in a dream. My old Torana was a write-off, but the insurance company came to the party with a replacement. I turned up to work, managed my classes and drove home taking a different route every afternoon, always searching for the house where Fiona had taken me after my accident. I even cruised past the hospital. She’d said she was a nurse, and I wondered if she worked there. She was all I could think about. Memories of our sexual romp haunted me day and night, but though I checked out all the dwellings in the area, I couldn’t find a two-storey house of any sort, dilapidated or not.
At night I ate my meals--although I had little or no appetite for food--and joined Sharon in her regular ‘fuck-me’ games. I learned to survive by superimposing Fiona’s features over those of the women lying under me and remembering my time in the dungeon of the house I couldn’t locate. Thankfully, Sharon seemed more than satisfied. I knew this to be true because she smiled a lot more than she had in the past few months. And we didn’t argue once.
And then, out of the blue, it happened.
I was driving through town one afternoon after work, not going anywhere in particular, just killing time really, delaying my arrival home where Sharon would be waiting to jump my bones. Although I was still up for the sex, the effort of playing ‘happy families’ was taking its toll. Up ahead, a woman was walking down the footpath, a supermarket bag in each hand, but my mind was elsewhere, and I barely noticed her. As I was about to drive past, my thoughts returned to the present, and I realised she looked familiar. I slowed the car, taking in her auburn hair, long shapely legs, high heels and a mini skirt so short it should have been declared illegal. That’s her!
“Fiona!” I called and braked. She hadn’t heard me and didn’t even glance in my direction. I wound the window down and called her again. “Fiona?”
She stopped and turned towards me. She looks absolutely fantastic!
“Are you talking to me?” Her breasts strained against the material of her blouse, begging me to set them free.
“Sorry.” I imagined her naked, sitting in my lap and had to swallow several times before I could say anything more. “It’s Fiona, right?”
“Yes.” She screwed up her eyes and regarded me suspiciously. “Yes, it is. How do you know that?”
She doesn’t remember me. How is that possible? I swallowed again. “It’s a long story.” I hesitated, not sure how to continue. I could hardly ask her if she’d like to fuck. Or could I?
“And?”
“And I was wondering whether you’d like a ride home.”
“I beg your pardon?” She looked to right and left, as if searching for an escape route.
In desperation, I pointed at the bags hanging by her sides. They looked heavy. “I wondered if you wanted a hand with those.”
“Oh!” She smiled.
I felt my cock growing hard and pushing against my pants. She has the same effect on me as she did all those weeks ago, but why is she pretending she doesn’t know me?
“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t know if I should.”
“Come on, what can it hurt?” Surely it can’t hurt if we go to your house and fuck each other’s brains out.
Again she hesitated. “Oh, all right. It is hot, and these bags are killing my arms.”
I opened the rear door, and she placed her shopping on the back seat. Then she climbed in the front of the car. Her skirt rode up, exposing a hint of red knickers. My heart skipped a beat. My erection throbbed. “Fasten your seatbelt.”
She pulled the belt across her shoulders and clipped it at her hip. The strap divided her breasts, pulling her blouse tight and accentuating their perfect shape. “Do you know where I live?”
My cock was as hard as an iron rod, but it was trapped inside my pants. I wanted to set it free, but didn’t even dare shift in my seat in case the bulge became obvious to my passenger. Whatever game she was playing, it didn’t seem to include grabbing my penis and milking it. More’s the pity. “I haven’t a clue. Somewhere out of town perhaps.”
She laughed, displaying a hint of perfect teeth, the same ones that had teased my shaft on the night we’d first met. “No, I live several streets from here.”
“By yourself?” Please, please, please say yes.
“No, with my husband.”
Bugger! My mind was spinning with tortured emotion. I breathed in her perfume, trying to think of something to say. ‘Charlie’, right? Then I remembered her telling me she was in a relationship. A relationship was one thing, but I hadn’t figured on marriage. Whoever her husband is, I hate him! “He’s a lucky man, then.” I swallowed the bile that had risen in my throat, put the car into first and started down the street.
She turned her head and stared at me. “Why do you say that?”
I found it difficult to take my eyes off her and watch the road. She’s just as beautiful as she was on the night of my accident, but why doesn’t she remember me? Was our liaison just a one-time fling, something she’s embarrassed about in the cold, hard light of day? “Just thinking aloud.” I engaged second gear. Disappointment had drained me beyond belief, although it had done nothing to deaden my throbbing erection. “Tell me where to turn.”
“Take a right up ahead and then the next left.”
As if in a fog, I followed her directions and dropped her off in front of her house, but I didn’t offer to carry her groceries inside. It seemed she didn’t want to admit that we’d met previously. Perhaps her husband’s home. Perhaps he’s the jealous type. If that’s the case, I don’t wish to cause a scene.
“Thanks for the lift.” She grabbed her shopping from the back seat, affording me a generous glimpse of her cleavage as she leaned forward. She closed the door and stood by the side of my new car, staring at me with her big brown eyes. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Angry that our meeting had not gone as planned and confused by her offhand manner, I threw the car into gear and drove off. All the way down the street, I studied her in the rear-view mirror. She stood outside her house, watching me leave. Is that a wistful expression on her face, or just my imagination? I almost turned around and went back, but couldn’t quite summon up the courage to do so. When I turned the corner she was still standing in the same place. Despite my disappointment, my cock was still begging for attention. I hope Sharon’s in the mood for hot sex tonight!
Enjoy this? if you did, you'll like my latest novel.
Broometime Serenade
For the next four weeks, I went about my life as if in a dream. My old Torana was a write-off, but the insurance company came to the party with a replacement. I turned up to work, managed my classes and drove home taking a different route every afternoon, always searching for the house where Fiona had taken me after my accident. I even cruised past the hospital. She’d said she was a nurse, and I wondered if she worked there. She was all I could think about. Memories of our sexual romp haunted me day and night, but though I checked out all the dwellings in the area, I couldn’t find a two-storey house of any sort, dilapidated or not.
At night I ate my meals--although I had little or no appetite for food--and joined Sharon in her regular ‘fuck-me’ games. I learned to survive by superimposing Fiona’s features over those of the women lying under me and remembering my time in the dungeon of the house I couldn’t locate. Thankfully, Sharon seemed more than satisfied. I knew this to be true because she smiled a lot more than she had in the past few months. And we didn’t argue once.
And then, out of the blue, it happened.
I was driving through town one afternoon after work, not going anywhere in particular, just killing time really, delaying my arrival home where Sharon would be waiting to jump my bones. Although I was still up for the sex, the effort of playing ‘happy families’ was taking its toll. Up ahead, a woman was walking down the footpath, a supermarket bag in each hand, but my mind was elsewhere, and I barely noticed her. As I was about to drive past, my thoughts returned to the present, and I realised she looked familiar. I slowed the car, taking in her auburn hair, long shapely legs, high heels and a mini skirt so short it should have been declared illegal. That’s her!
“Fiona!” I called and braked. She hadn’t heard me and didn’t even glance in my direction. I wound the window down and called her again. “Fiona?”
She stopped and turned towards me. She looks absolutely fantastic!
“Are you talking to me?” Her breasts strained against the material of her blouse, begging me to set them free.
“Sorry.” I imagined her naked, sitting in my lap and had to swallow several times before I could say anything more. “It’s Fiona, right?”
“Yes.” She screwed up her eyes and regarded me suspiciously. “Yes, it is. How do you know that?”
She doesn’t remember me. How is that possible? I swallowed again. “It’s a long story.” I hesitated, not sure how to continue. I could hardly ask her if she’d like to fuck. Or could I?
“And?”
“And I was wondering whether you’d like a ride home.”
“I beg your pardon?” She looked to right and left, as if searching for an escape route.
In desperation, I pointed at the bags hanging by her sides. They looked heavy. “I wondered if you wanted a hand with those.”
“Oh!” She smiled.
I felt my cock growing hard and pushing against my pants. She has the same effect on me as she did all those weeks ago, but why is she pretending she doesn’t know me?
“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t know if I should.”
“Come on, what can it hurt?” Surely it can’t hurt if we go to your house and fuck each other’s brains out.
Again she hesitated. “Oh, all right. It is hot, and these bags are killing my arms.”
I opened the rear door, and she placed her shopping on the back seat. Then she climbed in the front of the car. Her skirt rode up, exposing a hint of red knickers. My heart skipped a beat. My erection throbbed. “Fasten your seatbelt.”
She pulled the belt across her shoulders and clipped it at her hip. The strap divided her breasts, pulling her blouse tight and accentuating their perfect shape. “Do you know where I live?”
My cock was as hard as an iron rod, but it was trapped inside my pants. I wanted to set it free, but didn’t even dare shift in my seat in case the bulge became obvious to my passenger. Whatever game she was playing, it didn’t seem to include grabbing my penis and milking it. More’s the pity. “I haven’t a clue. Somewhere out of town perhaps.”
She laughed, displaying a hint of perfect teeth, the same ones that had teased my shaft on the night we’d first met. “No, I live several streets from here.”
“By yourself?” Please, please, please say yes.
“No, with my husband.”
Bugger! My mind was spinning with tortured emotion. I breathed in her perfume, trying to think of something to say. ‘Charlie’, right? Then I remembered her telling me she was in a relationship. A relationship was one thing, but I hadn’t figured on marriage. Whoever her husband is, I hate him! “He’s a lucky man, then.” I swallowed the bile that had risen in my throat, put the car into first and started down the street.
She turned her head and stared at me. “Why do you say that?”
I found it difficult to take my eyes off her and watch the road. She’s just as beautiful as she was on the night of my accident, but why doesn’t she remember me? Was our liaison just a one-time fling, something she’s embarrassed about in the cold, hard light of day? “Just thinking aloud.” I engaged second gear. Disappointment had drained me beyond belief, although it had done nothing to deaden my throbbing erection. “Tell me where to turn.”
“Take a right up ahead and then the next left.”
As if in a fog, I followed her directions and dropped her off in front of her house, but I didn’t offer to carry her groceries inside. It seemed she didn’t want to admit that we’d met previously. Perhaps her husband’s home. Perhaps he’s the jealous type. If that’s the case, I don’t wish to cause a scene.
“Thanks for the lift.” She grabbed her shopping from the back seat, affording me a generous glimpse of her cleavage as she leaned forward. She closed the door and stood by the side of my new car, staring at me with her big brown eyes. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Angry that our meeting had not gone as planned and confused by her offhand manner, I threw the car into gear and drove off. All the way down the street, I studied her in the rear-view mirror. She stood outside her house, watching me leave. Is that a wistful expression on her face, or just my imagination? I almost turned around and went back, but couldn’t quite summon up the courage to do so. When I turned the corner she was still standing in the same place. Despite my disappointment, my cock was still begging for attention. I hope Sharon’s in the mood for hot sex tonight!
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Broometime Serenade
February 22, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART VII
I dreamed I was back in the dungeon. This time I was lying on some sort of wooden bench with padding under my head and buttocks. Fiona was sitting astride me, bouncing up and down on my cock like a bareback rider at the rodeo. Her body was arched, and her head was thrown back so that I couldn’t see her face. Her long auburn hair hung over her shoulders, and her perfectly shaped breasts bounced each time she slid up and down on my shaft. I fitted inside her as if I’d been bred for just that purpose.
“You’re the best fuck I ever had,” I mumbled.
“I know I am,” said a voice I recognised. “That’s why I thought I’d wake you up this way.”
My eyes snapped open. For a moment I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A sickening feeling developed in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t Fiona riding my cock, but Sharon. I should have guessed. It was how she liked to wake me most mornings. “Fuck!” I said and felt my erection begin to go limp. Sharon possessed a great body, and the sight of her naked had always made me ram-rod hard. Not this morning. Seeing her today made me feel as though I’d been doused with a bucket of cold water.
“That’s what I do best.” She kept riding me, seeming not to notice that my trusty truncheon had suddenly begun to lose its rigidity.
Determined not to disappoint--I’d never hear the end of it if I failed to deliver--I closed my eyes and resurrected my recent encounter with Fiona. I visualised her face and breasts, her warm mouth on my member and the way she looked at me while she fucked. To complete the image, I recalled her perfume. In seconds I’d regained my earlier firmness.
I took a long time for me to come--I had little in reserve following the hectic activities of last evening--but by the look on Sharon’s face I could tell this pleased her immensely. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she moaned. “Fuck me like you’ve never fucked me before!”
Still thinking of Fiona, I did my best to comply. One of the things that had made my relationship with Sharon more than just a couple of quick bangs was the way she cursed whenever I had my cock buried inside her. I’d never met a woman with such a foul mouth before and, aside from her great body, it had always been a great turn on. When I finally did come, she moaned like a wounded bull and rolled off me. With her hot breath fanning my neck, I lay there gasping, not sure what day of the week it was. They only thing I did know was that I desperately wanted to hook up with Fiona again. I wonder if I can find her house in daylight.
“Where did you leave the car?” Sharon’s voice brought me back to the present.
“Huh?”
“I said where did you leave the car? It’s not parked outside.” She trailed her fingers through my chest hair and then moved downwards.
I figured she was heading for my genitals, intent on prepping me for a repeat performance. This was a game we often played, a game which usually made me late for work. Until today, my tardiness hadn’t bothered me all that much. “Oh, the car.” I grabbed her hand, brought it up to my mouth and kissed her fingers. Of course, it wasn’t really the idea of getting to work on time that had me rejecting her offer. No, that was solely down to Fiona. “I told you last night I had an accident.”
“I know that, silly.” She giggled and pulled her hand free. “But where’s the car?”
“At a T-intersection about three kilometres away. Lying upside down on its roof, I guess.”
“Oh, I thought....” Her fingers started a new trek towards my navel. “How did you get home?”
“Someone gave me a ride.” I tried to roll out of bed, but she pinned me to the sheets.
“Who?” Her fingers worked their way through my pubic hair.
I took a deep breath. There is was. The question I’d been dreading since last night. If I told her a woman had given me a lift, the interrogation would be relentless. No man alive can withstand the scrutiny of women with a bee in her bonnet about a rival, imaginary or not. And Sharon was the sort who saw every woman I spoke to as a threat. I had to lie or I’d end up blurting out everything. “Some bloke. I didn’t ask his name.”
“Pity. I’d like to thank him.” She scraped her pink fingernails along the side of my limp dick.
I knew she didn’t believe me, but I didn’t really care. I did know that if I didn’t pull away from her touch now, she’d have me hard again and in her mouth. Crazy as it seems, I wanted to get dressed and begin searching for Fiona. “It was an old car, a Ford I think. If I see it around town I’ll point it out.”
“If you say so.” She began working more vigorously to restore my ardour. “What are you going to do about yours?”
“Call a tow truck and have it taken to a panel beater.” I tried not to think about what she was doing, but those pink fingernails had always been able to work wonders at restoring my virility.
“How will you get to work?” She lifted her head and moved it in the direction of my groin.
“I’ll think of something,” I said. Her questions were starting to piss me off. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to take a shower and get ready for work.” Time to escape while I still can. I tried to push her head away.
“Want me to join you?” She resisted and began kissing the head of my penis.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! I pushed more forcibly, this time with more success. “Not this morning. I don’t have time.”
She shot me a foul look, bit her bottom lip and fluttered her eyelashes. “You’re sure?”
I’d had enough of her attention for one morning. Fuck the consequences. I swung my feet over the side of the bed and stood. Besides, the sooner I find Fiona, the sooner I can end my relationship with Sharon. “Positive.”
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Broometime Serenade
I dreamed I was back in the dungeon. This time I was lying on some sort of wooden bench with padding under my head and buttocks. Fiona was sitting astride me, bouncing up and down on my cock like a bareback rider at the rodeo. Her body was arched, and her head was thrown back so that I couldn’t see her face. Her long auburn hair hung over her shoulders, and her perfectly shaped breasts bounced each time she slid up and down on my shaft. I fitted inside her as if I’d been bred for just that purpose.
“You’re the best fuck I ever had,” I mumbled.
“I know I am,” said a voice I recognised. “That’s why I thought I’d wake you up this way.”
My eyes snapped open. For a moment I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A sickening feeling developed in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t Fiona riding my cock, but Sharon. I should have guessed. It was how she liked to wake me most mornings. “Fuck!” I said and felt my erection begin to go limp. Sharon possessed a great body, and the sight of her naked had always made me ram-rod hard. Not this morning. Seeing her today made me feel as though I’d been doused with a bucket of cold water.
“That’s what I do best.” She kept riding me, seeming not to notice that my trusty truncheon had suddenly begun to lose its rigidity.
Determined not to disappoint--I’d never hear the end of it if I failed to deliver--I closed my eyes and resurrected my recent encounter with Fiona. I visualised her face and breasts, her warm mouth on my member and the way she looked at me while she fucked. To complete the image, I recalled her perfume. In seconds I’d regained my earlier firmness.
I took a long time for me to come--I had little in reserve following the hectic activities of last evening--but by the look on Sharon’s face I could tell this pleased her immensely. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she moaned. “Fuck me like you’ve never fucked me before!”
Still thinking of Fiona, I did my best to comply. One of the things that had made my relationship with Sharon more than just a couple of quick bangs was the way she cursed whenever I had my cock buried inside her. I’d never met a woman with such a foul mouth before and, aside from her great body, it had always been a great turn on. When I finally did come, she moaned like a wounded bull and rolled off me. With her hot breath fanning my neck, I lay there gasping, not sure what day of the week it was. They only thing I did know was that I desperately wanted to hook up with Fiona again. I wonder if I can find her house in daylight.
“Where did you leave the car?” Sharon’s voice brought me back to the present.
“Huh?”
“I said where did you leave the car? It’s not parked outside.” She trailed her fingers through my chest hair and then moved downwards.
I figured she was heading for my genitals, intent on prepping me for a repeat performance. This was a game we often played, a game which usually made me late for work. Until today, my tardiness hadn’t bothered me all that much. “Oh, the car.” I grabbed her hand, brought it up to my mouth and kissed her fingers. Of course, it wasn’t really the idea of getting to work on time that had me rejecting her offer. No, that was solely down to Fiona. “I told you last night I had an accident.”
“I know that, silly.” She giggled and pulled her hand free. “But where’s the car?”
“At a T-intersection about three kilometres away. Lying upside down on its roof, I guess.”
“Oh, I thought....” Her fingers started a new trek towards my navel. “How did you get home?”
“Someone gave me a ride.” I tried to roll out of bed, but she pinned me to the sheets.
“Who?” Her fingers worked their way through my pubic hair.
I took a deep breath. There is was. The question I’d been dreading since last night. If I told her a woman had given me a lift, the interrogation would be relentless. No man alive can withstand the scrutiny of women with a bee in her bonnet about a rival, imaginary or not. And Sharon was the sort who saw every woman I spoke to as a threat. I had to lie or I’d end up blurting out everything. “Some bloke. I didn’t ask his name.”
“Pity. I’d like to thank him.” She scraped her pink fingernails along the side of my limp dick.
I knew she didn’t believe me, but I didn’t really care. I did know that if I didn’t pull away from her touch now, she’d have me hard again and in her mouth. Crazy as it seems, I wanted to get dressed and begin searching for Fiona. “It was an old car, a Ford I think. If I see it around town I’ll point it out.”
“If you say so.” She began working more vigorously to restore my ardour. “What are you going to do about yours?”
“Call a tow truck and have it taken to a panel beater.” I tried not to think about what she was doing, but those pink fingernails had always been able to work wonders at restoring my virility.
“How will you get to work?” She lifted her head and moved it in the direction of my groin.
“I’ll think of something,” I said. Her questions were starting to piss me off. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to take a shower and get ready for work.” Time to escape while I still can. I tried to push her head away.
“Want me to join you?” She resisted and began kissing the head of my penis.
Oh, for heaven’s sake! I pushed more forcibly, this time with more success. “Not this morning. I don’t have time.”
She shot me a foul look, bit her bottom lip and fluttered her eyelashes. “You’re sure?”
I’d had enough of her attention for one morning. Fuck the consequences. I swung my feet over the side of the bed and stood. Besides, the sooner I find Fiona, the sooner I can end my relationship with Sharon. “Positive.”
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Broometime Serenade
February 16, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART VI
My current partner, Sharon, was in bed but awake when I reached our bedroom. I couldn’t remember leaving Fiona’s home, nor could I recall her driving me to mine, but I was fully clothed and still smelling of beer. My mind was in a whirl, a confusing array of overlapping images that scrolled back and forth, repeating over and over again. What the fuck happened to me? I know I rolled my car, but what about the woman? What about Fiona? Did I dream the sexual encounter in the dungeon, or was it real? Judging by how sore my knob was and the way my testicles ached, I was betting on the latter.
Sharon placed her book on the bedside table and turned to stare at me with wide, angry eyes. “You’re late!” she snarled. “And you stink of beer!”
I knew that look, recognised that tone of voice. I’d encountered them both often enough in recent times. Their presence usually meant we were in for a hell of a row. Sharon liked arguing, but she enjoyed making up afterwards even more. Tonight I wasn’t in the mood for either. “The meeting ran overtime.” I stood there, ready to accept whatever vitriol she was prepared to throw at me. “And I haven’t had anything to drink.”
“Then why do you...?” Her next words floored me, made me more confused than I already was. “Oh, my God, Dane? What’s happened? You’re covered in blood.”
I glanced down at my shirt. It was stained down the front, just as it had been immediately following the accident. I thought Fiona was going to rinse that out. But wait, if the sex encounter actually happened, there couldn’t have been time. I touched the large splotch of red. It was still fresh, as if it had just flowed from my head wound. What the fuck?
“Car accident.” I shrugged, turned and slumped onto the edge of the bed. At least I no longer had a headache. I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was sleep.
“Car accident? Where?” She threw back the bedclothes and crawled across the bed, her sheer white nightie riding up her thighs. Her black hair looked freshly brushed, and her pink lips glistened with freshly applied lipstick. She wasn’t wearing panties.
One of Sharon’s favourite pastimes was to dress up in something sexy, hide somewhere in the house--the wardrobe, under the bed, in the shower, behind a door--and then ambush me as soon as I got home. The sex that followed after I’d found her was unbelievably good. One time I found her hiding inside the washing machine. How she’d managed that I could never figure out. She was naked, and I had to pour baby oil all over her to get her out. We’d giggled a lot and finally fallen on the floor where we’d fucked each other senseless. It seemed that tonight she was in just such a mood. How long has she been waiting, all made up like this? Or did she hear the car that dropped me off outside and rush to get ready?
“Are you hurt? Are you still bleeding?” She knelt beside me and started examining me for injuries. Although she meant well, I found her actions rough, so unlike Fiona’s delicate touch.
I shook my head and raised a hand to the wound. The bleeding had stopped. “It’s nothing. I banged my head when the car rolled, but I’m fine. I just need to rest.”
“Oh, you poor thing. Let me kiss it better.” She threw her arms around my neck and slobbered on my neck. Her fingers fumbled for my shirt buttons, and she began undressing me. Yesterday, I would have found her actions endearing, but not tonight. Not since I’d met Fiona. I didn’t love Sharon. I’d never told her I did, but I enjoyed the sex.
We’d met at my previous school and hit it off immediately. It was purely an animal attraction, and our liaisons had taken place any time we could engineer a few minutes on our own. We’d fucked in some unbelievable places--on a blanket in the nearby forest, on the backseat of her car in a secluded parking spot, on the floor in one of the classrooms late at night, on her kitchen table when her husband wasn't home. Sharon was insatiable, unlike my frigid wife of seven years, and I’d traded one for the other. To avoid the public outcry that followed, we’d moved to a new town, looking for a fresh start. Now that I’d met Fiona, I wasn’t sure I wanted Sharon to touch me ever again.
“Please,” I said, brushing her hands away. “I’m tired. I need sleep.” I stood and removed my clothes, trying not to look at her. My conscience had other ideas, and I couldn’t help shooting glances in her direction, curious about her reaction. “I’m sorry.”
She sat on the bed, watching me, her mouth turned down, her eyes crestfallen. I’d seen that pouting expression before, whenever she didn’t get her own way about something. Before I’d met Fiona, I would have countered this with hot, wet kisses, taken off her clothes and fucked her until she begged me to stop. Tonight, her behaviour just pissed me off, and I concentrated on undoing my shoelaces.
When I didn’t respond in the manner she’d anticipated, Sharon changed tack. She lifted the hem of her nightdress and displayed her fanny. Unlike my ex-wife, she never wore underwear to bed. “A little taste of this will make you feel soooo much better.” Sharon’s answer to all life’s crises was to engage in wild mind-blowing sex. Up until tonight, that had worked for me. She’d taught me a lot about oral sex, and for that I was thankful, but I’d known the relationship was on the rocks for some time. I suddenly realised I’d been going through the motions, letting familiarity keep me in a dead-end relationship.
“I’m really far too tired. Could you please move?”
She grunted, scooted to her side of the bed and sat there, watching me, scowling like a thunderstorm was brewing inside her head. It probably was.
“Thank you.” Dressed only in my jocks, I grabbed a t-shirt, pulled it over my head and slid into bed. “Maybe in the morning. Okay?” I lowered my head to the pillow and closed my eyes. I preferred to shower in the mornings, but normally I would have brushed my teeth before retiring, especially if I anticipated having sex.
“You’re sure you don’t want to make love?” she asked.
“I told you, maybe in the morning.”
“If that’s what you want.”
I could tell she wasn’t happy. I turned my back on her and filled my mind with images of the auburn-haired woman I’d met tonight. As sleep claimed me, I replayed the scenes of Fiona with my erect penis in her mouth, giving me the best blowjob I’d ever had.
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Broometime Serenade
My current partner, Sharon, was in bed but awake when I reached our bedroom. I couldn’t remember leaving Fiona’s home, nor could I recall her driving me to mine, but I was fully clothed and still smelling of beer. My mind was in a whirl, a confusing array of overlapping images that scrolled back and forth, repeating over and over again. What the fuck happened to me? I know I rolled my car, but what about the woman? What about Fiona? Did I dream the sexual encounter in the dungeon, or was it real? Judging by how sore my knob was and the way my testicles ached, I was betting on the latter.
Sharon placed her book on the bedside table and turned to stare at me with wide, angry eyes. “You’re late!” she snarled. “And you stink of beer!”
I knew that look, recognised that tone of voice. I’d encountered them both often enough in recent times. Their presence usually meant we were in for a hell of a row. Sharon liked arguing, but she enjoyed making up afterwards even more. Tonight I wasn’t in the mood for either. “The meeting ran overtime.” I stood there, ready to accept whatever vitriol she was prepared to throw at me. “And I haven’t had anything to drink.”
“Then why do you...?” Her next words floored me, made me more confused than I already was. “Oh, my God, Dane? What’s happened? You’re covered in blood.”
I glanced down at my shirt. It was stained down the front, just as it had been immediately following the accident. I thought Fiona was going to rinse that out. But wait, if the sex encounter actually happened, there couldn’t have been time. I touched the large splotch of red. It was still fresh, as if it had just flowed from my head wound. What the fuck?
“Car accident.” I shrugged, turned and slumped onto the edge of the bed. At least I no longer had a headache. I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was sleep.
“Car accident? Where?” She threw back the bedclothes and crawled across the bed, her sheer white nightie riding up her thighs. Her black hair looked freshly brushed, and her pink lips glistened with freshly applied lipstick. She wasn’t wearing panties.
One of Sharon’s favourite pastimes was to dress up in something sexy, hide somewhere in the house--the wardrobe, under the bed, in the shower, behind a door--and then ambush me as soon as I got home. The sex that followed after I’d found her was unbelievably good. One time I found her hiding inside the washing machine. How she’d managed that I could never figure out. She was naked, and I had to pour baby oil all over her to get her out. We’d giggled a lot and finally fallen on the floor where we’d fucked each other senseless. It seemed that tonight she was in just such a mood. How long has she been waiting, all made up like this? Or did she hear the car that dropped me off outside and rush to get ready?
“Are you hurt? Are you still bleeding?” She knelt beside me and started examining me for injuries. Although she meant well, I found her actions rough, so unlike Fiona’s delicate touch.
I shook my head and raised a hand to the wound. The bleeding had stopped. “It’s nothing. I banged my head when the car rolled, but I’m fine. I just need to rest.”
“Oh, you poor thing. Let me kiss it better.” She threw her arms around my neck and slobbered on my neck. Her fingers fumbled for my shirt buttons, and she began undressing me. Yesterday, I would have found her actions endearing, but not tonight. Not since I’d met Fiona. I didn’t love Sharon. I’d never told her I did, but I enjoyed the sex.
We’d met at my previous school and hit it off immediately. It was purely an animal attraction, and our liaisons had taken place any time we could engineer a few minutes on our own. We’d fucked in some unbelievable places--on a blanket in the nearby forest, on the backseat of her car in a secluded parking spot, on the floor in one of the classrooms late at night, on her kitchen table when her husband wasn't home. Sharon was insatiable, unlike my frigid wife of seven years, and I’d traded one for the other. To avoid the public outcry that followed, we’d moved to a new town, looking for a fresh start. Now that I’d met Fiona, I wasn’t sure I wanted Sharon to touch me ever again.
“Please,” I said, brushing her hands away. “I’m tired. I need sleep.” I stood and removed my clothes, trying not to look at her. My conscience had other ideas, and I couldn’t help shooting glances in her direction, curious about her reaction. “I’m sorry.”
She sat on the bed, watching me, her mouth turned down, her eyes crestfallen. I’d seen that pouting expression before, whenever she didn’t get her own way about something. Before I’d met Fiona, I would have countered this with hot, wet kisses, taken off her clothes and fucked her until she begged me to stop. Tonight, her behaviour just pissed me off, and I concentrated on undoing my shoelaces.
When I didn’t respond in the manner she’d anticipated, Sharon changed tack. She lifted the hem of her nightdress and displayed her fanny. Unlike my ex-wife, she never wore underwear to bed. “A little taste of this will make you feel soooo much better.” Sharon’s answer to all life’s crises was to engage in wild mind-blowing sex. Up until tonight, that had worked for me. She’d taught me a lot about oral sex, and for that I was thankful, but I’d known the relationship was on the rocks for some time. I suddenly realised I’d been going through the motions, letting familiarity keep me in a dead-end relationship.
“I’m really far too tired. Could you please move?”
She grunted, scooted to her side of the bed and sat there, watching me, scowling like a thunderstorm was brewing inside her head. It probably was.
“Thank you.” Dressed only in my jocks, I grabbed a t-shirt, pulled it over my head and slid into bed. “Maybe in the morning. Okay?” I lowered my head to the pillow and closed my eyes. I preferred to shower in the mornings, but normally I would have brushed my teeth before retiring, especially if I anticipated having sex.
“You’re sure you don’t want to make love?” she asked.
“I told you, maybe in the morning.”
“If that’s what you want.”
I could tell she wasn’t happy. I turned my back on her and filled my mind with images of the auburn-haired woman I’d met tonight. As sleep claimed me, I replayed the scenes of Fiona with my erect penis in her mouth, giving me the best blowjob I’d ever had.
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Broometime Serenade
February 14, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART V
As if I’d conjured her up simply by thinking about her, Fiona stepped from the shadows. She was naked except for red shoes with the tallest, skinniest heels I’d ever seen. Her hands were on her hips, her legs slightly apart, her entire body displayed before me. My mouth was dry, and I licked my lips to moisten them. She copied my actions, her red tongue sliding across her thick, red lips. There was a wicked gleam in her big brown eyes, and her auburn hair gleamed with life and vitality. I ached to be free so that I could explore her body for real, rather than simply fantasise about it.
“How did I get here?” I tugged against the bonds securing me to the wall, but the bindings on my wrists and ankles refused to budge. “Why am I restrained like this?”
“So that I can get to know you better.” Her smile was big and broad, her mouth open wide enough to display perfect white teeth. She stepped forward, reached out and grasped my cock. Her fingers were soft and warm, her strokes tender, designed to enhance my arousal, to bring me to the point of release, only to ease off and let me regroup. I moaned and lapped up the attention. After several minutes, her actions grew more vigorous, pulling and tugging on my member so roughly I thought she meant to tear it off at the roots.
I arched my back and gritted my teeth, my nervous system caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. I’d had many hand jobs in the past--my current partner was particularly adroit at bringing me to a peak in this manner--but no one had shown this level of expertise. “Why are you doing this?” My breath rasped in my throat, and I struggled to breathe.
“Because I want you. I have since the moment I saw you sitting by the side of the road.” She continued tugging on my member with one hand while the other cupped my testicles. Ever so gently she squeezed them.
Oh, fuck! I sucked in a lungful of air. The feeling was beyond belief. Part of me wanted to blow my load. Another part didn’t want her ministrations to end--ever. “You didn’t have to bind me,” I managed to mutter.
“Oh, but it’s much more fun this way, don’t you think?” She stopped pumping my erection, raised my balls and traced a long, red fingernail down the length of my scrotum.
I took a deep breath and clenched my arse cheeks when the nail hovered around my anus. I guessed her intent and wasn’t sure I wanted her to continue. On the other hand, I was in no position to refuse. No one had ever done that to me before, so I held my breath and waited for her to take away my anal virginity with a finger fuck. After teasing me for several minutes, she finally licked her finger and inserted it into my arsehole. Even though I’d been expecting this, I almost jumped out of my skin. Again, I strained against my bonds, my cock growing more rigid each time her finger thrust inside me. It was strange sensation, a violation, but mind-blowing all the same.
Before I had time to regain my breath, she dropped to her knees. I watched, knowing instinctively what was coming next. She intended to suck me off. Oh please, yes! As if sensing my desire, she took a different approach. She extended her tongue and stroked it up and down my penis, paying particular attention to the head. All the while her eyes held mine. I wanted to touch her, caress her body, kiss her all over and ram my cock inside her, but the bindings holding me in place prevented all but minimal movement. I tossed my head from side to side and hoped I wasn’t losing my mind.
Just as I thought I could stand no more, she opened her mouth and filled it with my engorged organ. My mind exploded in another fireworks display, a cascade of exploding starbursts, spinning Catherine Wheels and sputtering sparklers. Those perfect teeth scraped against the sides of my cock, driving me close to the edge. I thrust with my hips and closed my eyes, happy to accommodate her in any way I could. Again and again and again I rammed her mouth, each time plunging deeper. She never gagged. She never pulled away. When I grew too tired to continue, she grabbed my arse and manipulated my actions with her hands.
Eventually, I came in her mouth, my entire body shuddering from head to toe. There were more fireworks, and sweat dripped from my upper body and onto her head. Had I not been manacled to the wall, I would have collapsed to the floor. I closed my eyes and sighed.
When I opened them again, I was standing, breathing heavily, on my back porch. Sweat ran down my face as if I’d just run a marathon in thirty degree heat.
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Broometime Serenade
As if I’d conjured her up simply by thinking about her, Fiona stepped from the shadows. She was naked except for red shoes with the tallest, skinniest heels I’d ever seen. Her hands were on her hips, her legs slightly apart, her entire body displayed before me. My mouth was dry, and I licked my lips to moisten them. She copied my actions, her red tongue sliding across her thick, red lips. There was a wicked gleam in her big brown eyes, and her auburn hair gleamed with life and vitality. I ached to be free so that I could explore her body for real, rather than simply fantasise about it.
“How did I get here?” I tugged against the bonds securing me to the wall, but the bindings on my wrists and ankles refused to budge. “Why am I restrained like this?”
“So that I can get to know you better.” Her smile was big and broad, her mouth open wide enough to display perfect white teeth. She stepped forward, reached out and grasped my cock. Her fingers were soft and warm, her strokes tender, designed to enhance my arousal, to bring me to the point of release, only to ease off and let me regroup. I moaned and lapped up the attention. After several minutes, her actions grew more vigorous, pulling and tugging on my member so roughly I thought she meant to tear it off at the roots.
I arched my back and gritted my teeth, my nervous system caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. I’d had many hand jobs in the past--my current partner was particularly adroit at bringing me to a peak in this manner--but no one had shown this level of expertise. “Why are you doing this?” My breath rasped in my throat, and I struggled to breathe.
“Because I want you. I have since the moment I saw you sitting by the side of the road.” She continued tugging on my member with one hand while the other cupped my testicles. Ever so gently she squeezed them.
Oh, fuck! I sucked in a lungful of air. The feeling was beyond belief. Part of me wanted to blow my load. Another part didn’t want her ministrations to end--ever. “You didn’t have to bind me,” I managed to mutter.
“Oh, but it’s much more fun this way, don’t you think?” She stopped pumping my erection, raised my balls and traced a long, red fingernail down the length of my scrotum.
I took a deep breath and clenched my arse cheeks when the nail hovered around my anus. I guessed her intent and wasn’t sure I wanted her to continue. On the other hand, I was in no position to refuse. No one had ever done that to me before, so I held my breath and waited for her to take away my anal virginity with a finger fuck. After teasing me for several minutes, she finally licked her finger and inserted it into my arsehole. Even though I’d been expecting this, I almost jumped out of my skin. Again, I strained against my bonds, my cock growing more rigid each time her finger thrust inside me. It was strange sensation, a violation, but mind-blowing all the same.
Before I had time to regain my breath, she dropped to her knees. I watched, knowing instinctively what was coming next. She intended to suck me off. Oh please, yes! As if sensing my desire, she took a different approach. She extended her tongue and stroked it up and down my penis, paying particular attention to the head. All the while her eyes held mine. I wanted to touch her, caress her body, kiss her all over and ram my cock inside her, but the bindings holding me in place prevented all but minimal movement. I tossed my head from side to side and hoped I wasn’t losing my mind.
Just as I thought I could stand no more, she opened her mouth and filled it with my engorged organ. My mind exploded in another fireworks display, a cascade of exploding starbursts, spinning Catherine Wheels and sputtering sparklers. Those perfect teeth scraped against the sides of my cock, driving me close to the edge. I thrust with my hips and closed my eyes, happy to accommodate her in any way I could. Again and again and again I rammed her mouth, each time plunging deeper. She never gagged. She never pulled away. When I grew too tired to continue, she grabbed my arse and manipulated my actions with her hands.
Eventually, I came in her mouth, my entire body shuddering from head to toe. There were more fireworks, and sweat dripped from my upper body and onto her head. Had I not been manacled to the wall, I would have collapsed to the floor. I closed my eyes and sighed.
When I opened them again, I was standing, breathing heavily, on my back porch. Sweat ran down my face as if I’d just run a marathon in thirty degree heat.
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Broometime Serenade
February 13, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART IV
This time when I looked through the windscreen there was no mist. It had miraculously cleared as if it had been swept away by a strong wind. Yet everything seemed eerily still. A building loomed before us, displayed in the harsh glare of the headlights. It was a two-storey affair, dark and foreboding. It reminded me of something from ‘The Adams Family’. Not a light showed in any of the windows. The curtains were drab and drawn back from glass that merely reflected the car’s lights. A long, dilapidated veranda on which sat several canvas chairs without seats, a table with deep gouges in its edges and several shrivelled pot plants added to its derelict look.
“This...?” My voice sounded a little strange even to my ears. I turned my head, coughed and tried again. “This is your place?”
“Of course.” Fiona killed the lights and the engine, opened the door and slid out into the night. “Coming?”
I unlatched my door and exited the car. The air was cold, but there was no wind. “I didn’t know there were any houses as old as this out here.”
“Really? You should be more observant.”
A light came on at the edge of the veranda. One of those automatic security jobs that rich people used, I guessed. It bathed her in its soft glow and, for the first time I got to see what she was wearing.
Her skirt was blood red and rode up her thighs higher than anything I’d ever seen, even in this age of miniskirts. I was surprised it didn’t reveal her knickers. Her legs were slim and tapered and seemed to go on forever. “Lucky legs,” my father would have said. “Lucky they don’t snap off and slide up her bum.” A funny bloke, my old man, he took pride in the fact that he didn’t swear. He was full of witticisms, though, having one for almost every situation. I dragged my eyes from Fiona’s lower extremities and focussed on her blouse. It was short-sleeved, the most delicate blue imaginable, and the front was unbuttoned almost to her navel. Before I could topple headlong into the canyon that was her cleavage, she’d turned towards the veranda.
“Follow me,” she called back over her shoulder.
I stumbled after her, feeling a little like I’d been shanghaied into an episode of ‘The Twilight Zone’, but I could no more walk away than I could pilot a rocket to the moon. Fiona led me up a series of rickety steps, through a paint-flaked door attached by broken hinges and into a darkened room. I heard her clap her hands and an overhead light illuminated our surroundings. I gasped in awe. Forget the crappy state of the exterior. Inside, the place was decorated like something out of ‘Better Homes & Gardens’.
The carpet was pure white and covered the entirety of the floor. It felt soft and deep underfoot, a bit like walking on thick grass. A sofa sculpted in the shape of a mermaid occupied the centre of the room, its surface reflecting the light from a chandelier that glittered as if constructed of diamonds. Could that sofa be made of solid gold, or is it merely covered with gold leaf? Either way, it looks over-the-top, ostentatious, immensely expensive. In front of the sofa was an oval-shaped glass table, the top supported by a large black panther. Carved from marble? Who knew? One wall was dominated by an enormous open fireplace, the others by shelves containing thousands of old books. The curtains, which from the outside had looked drab and colourless, were a deep shade of red, interlaced with gold flecks and swirls. Behind the sofa was a curved staircase leading up to the second storey. I fantasised what her bedroom might look like, all bed, muted lighting and satin sheets.
“Close your mouth and take off your shirt.”
Again, the sound of Fiona’s voice jerked me back to reality. I guess I’d been gob-smacked by the splendour of her house. “My shirt? Why?”
“So I can rinse the bloodstains out.”
“Thanks, but no. It’ll be fine until I get home.”
“Don’t be silly.” She stepped closer and began undoing the buttons. Her presence brought with it an aroma that made my nostrils twitch. It was flowery and strong, but not something I recognised.
“What is that perfume you’re wearing?”
“It’s called ‘Charlie’. Do you like it?” Her hands had slid inside my shirt, and her fingers traced circles around my nipples. The feeling was sensual beyond belief, like she’d invaded my mind and begun pressing all my sensory neurones as once. I knew I should stop her, but somehow that no longer seemed important.
“It’s delightful.” I stood with my hands by my sides, letting her have her way. As she slid the garment off my shoulders and down my body, she peered into my eyes, leaned forward and kissed me full on the lips. My penis grew hard, and my mind exploded like a fireworks display on bonfire night.
Suddenly, I was in some sort of dungeon. I was naked and handcuffed to a wall, my arms and legs spread so that they formed the shape of an X. I glanced down. My cock was standing to attention, a drop of moisture glistening on its tip. There was no immediate sign of Fiona. What the fuck’s happening here?
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Broometime Serenade
This time when I looked through the windscreen there was no mist. It had miraculously cleared as if it had been swept away by a strong wind. Yet everything seemed eerily still. A building loomed before us, displayed in the harsh glare of the headlights. It was a two-storey affair, dark and foreboding. It reminded me of something from ‘The Adams Family’. Not a light showed in any of the windows. The curtains were drab and drawn back from glass that merely reflected the car’s lights. A long, dilapidated veranda on which sat several canvas chairs without seats, a table with deep gouges in its edges and several shrivelled pot plants added to its derelict look.
“This...?” My voice sounded a little strange even to my ears. I turned my head, coughed and tried again. “This is your place?”
“Of course.” Fiona killed the lights and the engine, opened the door and slid out into the night. “Coming?”
I unlatched my door and exited the car. The air was cold, but there was no wind. “I didn’t know there were any houses as old as this out here.”
“Really? You should be more observant.”
A light came on at the edge of the veranda. One of those automatic security jobs that rich people used, I guessed. It bathed her in its soft glow and, for the first time I got to see what she was wearing.
Her skirt was blood red and rode up her thighs higher than anything I’d ever seen, even in this age of miniskirts. I was surprised it didn’t reveal her knickers. Her legs were slim and tapered and seemed to go on forever. “Lucky legs,” my father would have said. “Lucky they don’t snap off and slide up her bum.” A funny bloke, my old man, he took pride in the fact that he didn’t swear. He was full of witticisms, though, having one for almost every situation. I dragged my eyes from Fiona’s lower extremities and focussed on her blouse. It was short-sleeved, the most delicate blue imaginable, and the front was unbuttoned almost to her navel. Before I could topple headlong into the canyon that was her cleavage, she’d turned towards the veranda.
“Follow me,” she called back over her shoulder.
I stumbled after her, feeling a little like I’d been shanghaied into an episode of ‘The Twilight Zone’, but I could no more walk away than I could pilot a rocket to the moon. Fiona led me up a series of rickety steps, through a paint-flaked door attached by broken hinges and into a darkened room. I heard her clap her hands and an overhead light illuminated our surroundings. I gasped in awe. Forget the crappy state of the exterior. Inside, the place was decorated like something out of ‘Better Homes & Gardens’.
The carpet was pure white and covered the entirety of the floor. It felt soft and deep underfoot, a bit like walking on thick grass. A sofa sculpted in the shape of a mermaid occupied the centre of the room, its surface reflecting the light from a chandelier that glittered as if constructed of diamonds. Could that sofa be made of solid gold, or is it merely covered with gold leaf? Either way, it looks over-the-top, ostentatious, immensely expensive. In front of the sofa was an oval-shaped glass table, the top supported by a large black panther. Carved from marble? Who knew? One wall was dominated by an enormous open fireplace, the others by shelves containing thousands of old books. The curtains, which from the outside had looked drab and colourless, were a deep shade of red, interlaced with gold flecks and swirls. Behind the sofa was a curved staircase leading up to the second storey. I fantasised what her bedroom might look like, all bed, muted lighting and satin sheets.
“Close your mouth and take off your shirt.”
Again, the sound of Fiona’s voice jerked me back to reality. I guess I’d been gob-smacked by the splendour of her house. “My shirt? Why?”
“So I can rinse the bloodstains out.”
“Thanks, but no. It’ll be fine until I get home.”
“Don’t be silly.” She stepped closer and began undoing the buttons. Her presence brought with it an aroma that made my nostrils twitch. It was flowery and strong, but not something I recognised.
“What is that perfume you’re wearing?”
“It’s called ‘Charlie’. Do you like it?” Her hands had slid inside my shirt, and her fingers traced circles around my nipples. The feeling was sensual beyond belief, like she’d invaded my mind and begun pressing all my sensory neurones as once. I knew I should stop her, but somehow that no longer seemed important.
“It’s delightful.” I stood with my hands by my sides, letting her have her way. As she slid the garment off my shoulders and down my body, she peered into my eyes, leaned forward and kissed me full on the lips. My penis grew hard, and my mind exploded like a fireworks display on bonfire night.
Suddenly, I was in some sort of dungeon. I was naked and handcuffed to a wall, my arms and legs spread so that they formed the shape of an X. I glanced down. My cock was standing to attention, a drop of moisture glistening on its tip. There was no immediate sign of Fiona. What the fuck’s happening here?
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Broometime Serenade
February 11, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART III
We drove in silence for several minutes, my hands in my lap, hiding my erection. I’d never felt so uncomfortable in my life. I was in a car with a strange woman, and I’d just been fantasising about having sex with her. I stared out the side window, unable to look at my companion in case she read my expression and guessed what I’d been thinking. The mist slapped against the sides of the car like ghostly washing. It seemed like we’d left the road and were driving through someone’s back yard. I shook my head. What the fuck’s wrong with me?
“Fiona,” she abruptly said.
I started, pulled from my reverie. “What?”
“My name’s Fiona. What’s yours?”
I glanced in her direction, but she was staring straight ahead. Thank goodness. I don’t need another of those weird flashes. Both her hands were on the steering wheel, but I could feel them stroking my cock. “Dane.” Although my brain was still mush, I somehow managed to remember my name.
“Pleased to meet you.” Her voice was soft and lilting, without accent. She sounded a little like Elle McPherson.
“Likewise.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
We sped along a series of roads, twisting and turning so often I was soon confused. The fog had grown thicker--if that was possible--obscuring the landscape through which we zipped. I had no idea where we were, no idea in which direction we were headed. Our speed hadn’t diminished. If anything the car was going faster than before. How can she see in this soup? How does she know where she’s going? I grabbed the panic bar, momentarily expecting to plough into some obstacle concealed in the mist.
“What were you doing on these roads at this time of night?”
“Returning home from a staff function. Everything ran later than it should have so that, by the time I set out for home, it was late. And then, just to make life more difficult, this awful fog rolled in. I just didn’t see the intersection until I was through it.”
“Shit happens. So, I take it you live out this way?”
“Yes. Renting a house on one of the farms.”
“What do you do when you’re not rolling your car?”
“School teacher.” I raised my hand to the side of my head. It was still tender, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Fortunately my hard-on had subsided somewhat, so I no longer needed to cover my groin. Thank the gods of Olympus for small mercies.
“Married?”
“No, but I’m in a relationship.”
“Same here.”
“How come I haven’t seen you in town?”
“I rarely go into town?”
“Oh?”
“Too many weirdos for my liking.”
“Oh!” I chuckled, but it was a weak effort. I’d started to feel weary. I shook my head in an effort not to fall asleep.
“Sex good?”
I jerked upright, not sure whether I’d nodded off or not, not sure whether I’d heard her correctly. “Pardon?”
“Is sex with your partner good?” She glanced my way and winked.
Suddenly I was no longer sitting in the car. I was naked, on my hands and knees with my face buried in a woman’s hot, moist bush. I raised my head and stared at the naked body displayed before me--up over the flat belly, past twin peaks topped with mesa-like nipples, to the face of the woman who, moments before had been sitting next to me in her car. The delightful aroma of pussy was strong in my nostrils. What have I done to deserve this? I lowered my head and began exploring with my tongue.
“We’re there,” she said, and I jerked upright.
Confused, I turned my head and stared at my surroundings. The car had stopped, but there was nothing outside the windows other than fog. Only the heady aroma of pussy remained. It seemed to be all around me. No way! “Where?” I asked and licked my lips nervously. As strange as it seems, they tasted as if moments before they’d been servicing a woman’s vagina. This can’t be happening.
“My place, silly.” She nodded towards the windscreen. “Where did you think we were going?”
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Broometime Serenade
We drove in silence for several minutes, my hands in my lap, hiding my erection. I’d never felt so uncomfortable in my life. I was in a car with a strange woman, and I’d just been fantasising about having sex with her. I stared out the side window, unable to look at my companion in case she read my expression and guessed what I’d been thinking. The mist slapped against the sides of the car like ghostly washing. It seemed like we’d left the road and were driving through someone’s back yard. I shook my head. What the fuck’s wrong with me?
“Fiona,” she abruptly said.
I started, pulled from my reverie. “What?”
“My name’s Fiona. What’s yours?”
I glanced in her direction, but she was staring straight ahead. Thank goodness. I don’t need another of those weird flashes. Both her hands were on the steering wheel, but I could feel them stroking my cock. “Dane.” Although my brain was still mush, I somehow managed to remember my name.
“Pleased to meet you.” Her voice was soft and lilting, without accent. She sounded a little like Elle McPherson.
“Likewise.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
We sped along a series of roads, twisting and turning so often I was soon confused. The fog had grown thicker--if that was possible--obscuring the landscape through which we zipped. I had no idea where we were, no idea in which direction we were headed. Our speed hadn’t diminished. If anything the car was going faster than before. How can she see in this soup? How does she know where she’s going? I grabbed the panic bar, momentarily expecting to plough into some obstacle concealed in the mist.
“What were you doing on these roads at this time of night?”
“Returning home from a staff function. Everything ran later than it should have so that, by the time I set out for home, it was late. And then, just to make life more difficult, this awful fog rolled in. I just didn’t see the intersection until I was through it.”
“Shit happens. So, I take it you live out this way?”
“Yes. Renting a house on one of the farms.”
“What do you do when you’re not rolling your car?”
“School teacher.” I raised my hand to the side of my head. It was still tender, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Fortunately my hard-on had subsided somewhat, so I no longer needed to cover my groin. Thank the gods of Olympus for small mercies.
“Married?”
“No, but I’m in a relationship.”
“Same here.”
“How come I haven’t seen you in town?”
“I rarely go into town?”
“Oh?”
“Too many weirdos for my liking.”
“Oh!” I chuckled, but it was a weak effort. I’d started to feel weary. I shook my head in an effort not to fall asleep.
“Sex good?”
I jerked upright, not sure whether I’d nodded off or not, not sure whether I’d heard her correctly. “Pardon?”
“Is sex with your partner good?” She glanced my way and winked.
Suddenly I was no longer sitting in the car. I was naked, on my hands and knees with my face buried in a woman’s hot, moist bush. I raised my head and stared at the naked body displayed before me--up over the flat belly, past twin peaks topped with mesa-like nipples, to the face of the woman who, moments before had been sitting next to me in her car. The delightful aroma of pussy was strong in my nostrils. What have I done to deserve this? I lowered my head and began exploring with my tongue.
“We’re there,” she said, and I jerked upright.
Confused, I turned my head and stared at my surroundings. The car had stopped, but there was nothing outside the windows other than fog. Only the heady aroma of pussy remained. It seemed to be all around me. No way! “Where?” I asked and licked my lips nervously. As strange as it seems, they tasted as if moments before they’d been servicing a woman’s vagina. This can’t be happening.
“My place, silly.” She nodded towards the windscreen. “Where did you think we were going?”
Enjoy this? You'll love my new novel.
Broometime Serenade
February 10, 2015
MY WICKED, WANTON LIFE
PART II
Headlights splashed over me, and I shielded my eyes, trying to see what was coming, but the swirling fog dispersed the light, making it impossible to distinguish details. I staggered to my feet just as a dark shape emerged from the mist, looking like a stagecoach pulled by six black horses. I recoiled in disbelief and rubbed my eyes.
What the fuck? Is this another nightmare, or have I been transported back to another time? The leading horses whinnied and reared, pawing the air and blowing steam from their nostrils. I took a step back and rubbed my eyes again. When I looked again, I saw I’d been mistaken. There was no stagecoach. There were no horses. It was just a car. Someone had come along the road, seen I’d had an accident and pulled up to offer assistance. The car sat there, its engine idling, mist swirling around its headlights.
What’s wrong with me? First I revert to my childhood and then I start seeing things. Must be a result of the accident. I touched the spot on my head where it hurt. Again, it came away sticky. In the glare of the headlights I could see that the entire palm was smeared with gore. I glanced down at my shirt. All down one side it had changed from white to red. Christ, that’s a lot of blood. Am I dying?
Suddenly, the passenger side door swung open and pulled me from my morbid thoughts. “Hop in,” said a female voice. “You look like you could use some help.”
Without a backward glance at my upended car, I stepped onto the edge of the road and slid into the seat. “Thank you,” I said as I pulled the door closed. “I’m sorry but I must look a mess.”
“You look fine,” said the driver as the car eased forward.
I turned and looked at her, her face illuminated by the dashboard lights. She had finely chiselled features and full lips that were stained a vivid red. She turned her head, looked at me and winked. I gasped, my heart fluttered in my chest as if it wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and my head felt woozy. Then the whole world teetered. I seemed to be slipping into my old nightmare again.
This time, however, it wasn’t a childhood memory that surfaced. I was an adult. I was lying on a bed with satin sheets. I was naked, and the beautiful woman who’d just come to my assistance was making love to me. I gasped with surprise and delight. She had my cock in her red, sensuous mouth, her long, auburn hair falling forward and caressing my thighs. I threw my head back in ecstasy as she drew my member in and out with slow, sensuous strokes. I closed my eyes as her fingers slowly slid up my chest towards my face.
She touched my cheek, and I jumped as if I’d been stung by a bee. I opened my eyes and stared at darkness. I was no longer in bed. I wasn’t naked. I was back in the car, fully clothed, seated beside a Good Samaritan who’d come to my assistance in the dead of night. The episode in bed had been nothing more than a dream. That was fine, but it failed to explain why my penis was erect and thrusting against the front of my pants. What the fuck’s happening to me. I glanced sideways. At least the woman beside me is real.
“Let me take you to my place,” she said, her red lips curved upwards in a smile. “I’m a nurse, and I have everything there to take care of your injury.”
Enjoy this? Then you're sure to love my new novel.
Broometime Serenade
Headlights splashed over me, and I shielded my eyes, trying to see what was coming, but the swirling fog dispersed the light, making it impossible to distinguish details. I staggered to my feet just as a dark shape emerged from the mist, looking like a stagecoach pulled by six black horses. I recoiled in disbelief and rubbed my eyes.
What the fuck? Is this another nightmare, or have I been transported back to another time? The leading horses whinnied and reared, pawing the air and blowing steam from their nostrils. I took a step back and rubbed my eyes again. When I looked again, I saw I’d been mistaken. There was no stagecoach. There were no horses. It was just a car. Someone had come along the road, seen I’d had an accident and pulled up to offer assistance. The car sat there, its engine idling, mist swirling around its headlights.
What’s wrong with me? First I revert to my childhood and then I start seeing things. Must be a result of the accident. I touched the spot on my head where it hurt. Again, it came away sticky. In the glare of the headlights I could see that the entire palm was smeared with gore. I glanced down at my shirt. All down one side it had changed from white to red. Christ, that’s a lot of blood. Am I dying?
Suddenly, the passenger side door swung open and pulled me from my morbid thoughts. “Hop in,” said a female voice. “You look like you could use some help.”
Without a backward glance at my upended car, I stepped onto the edge of the road and slid into the seat. “Thank you,” I said as I pulled the door closed. “I’m sorry but I must look a mess.”
“You look fine,” said the driver as the car eased forward.
I turned and looked at her, her face illuminated by the dashboard lights. She had finely chiselled features and full lips that were stained a vivid red. She turned her head, looked at me and winked. I gasped, my heart fluttered in my chest as if it wasn’t getting enough oxygen, and my head felt woozy. Then the whole world teetered. I seemed to be slipping into my old nightmare again.
This time, however, it wasn’t a childhood memory that surfaced. I was an adult. I was lying on a bed with satin sheets. I was naked, and the beautiful woman who’d just come to my assistance was making love to me. I gasped with surprise and delight. She had my cock in her red, sensuous mouth, her long, auburn hair falling forward and caressing my thighs. I threw my head back in ecstasy as she drew my member in and out with slow, sensuous strokes. I closed my eyes as her fingers slowly slid up my chest towards my face.
She touched my cheek, and I jumped as if I’d been stung by a bee. I opened my eyes and stared at darkness. I was no longer in bed. I wasn’t naked. I was back in the car, fully clothed, seated beside a Good Samaritan who’d come to my assistance in the dead of night. The episode in bed had been nothing more than a dream. That was fine, but it failed to explain why my penis was erect and thrusting against the front of my pants. What the fuck’s happening to me. I glanced sideways. At least the woman beside me is real.
“Let me take you to my place,” she said, her red lips curved upwards in a smile. “I’m a nurse, and I have everything there to take care of your injury.”
Enjoy this? Then you're sure to love my new novel.
Broometime Serenade
