Archive-name: Affairs/red-cuf1.txt

Archive-author: 

Archive-title: Red Cuffs, revised



11/21/89





And now for a kindler, gentler sort of erotic fantasy.

[The Writer reminds the Reader that the contents, ideas, themes and events

of this story are fantasy and are not to be mistaken for real thoughts or

events.  Reality makes the barest suggestion and the Writer creates the

rest from imagination, fantas y, and a desire to titillate the Reader

(with strong emphasis on "Reader"!)  Also, if the Reader finds the

sequence of experiences and fantasies excessively long, the Writer

suggests reading them over a period of several quiet moments.  Or several

quiet days.]





The Red Cuffs, revised



     She lay in bed motionless.  She had awakened a few minutes earlier,

langourous, her body thick with sleep.  Her first thoughts had been about

her husband, how he had just left for two days and she didn't remember

kissing him good-bye, although she knew she must have.  Certainly, she

must have.  There were certain conventions to adhere to.  If even they

began to deteriorate.  The thought annoyed her.  It hadn't gone this far

without keeping to some sort of routine.  Or had he just crept out in the

early morning, leaving her deep in her dreams about...  She had dreamt of

her lover and now her thoughts turned to her friend, the man she had,

perhaps mistakenly, indulged with on her living room carpet...years ago.

It wasn't that it hadn't been fun.  Actually the thought made her frown

and smile simultaneously.  The look of shock on his face when she had

asked him, "How long have you wanted to fuck me?" His look of stupified

delight had vanished and, stunned, his cock hard, his face a few inches

above her cunt where he had been licking her into a lather, he looked at

her, amazed...

     It was warm and sunny in the bedroom and she felt pleased that her

husband would be away.  Today she had lunch with her friend and tomorrow

she was to see her lover.  All day tomorrow.  Wonderful.  It had been two

weeks since they last saw each other, and she was looking forward to

spending the day in his arms.

     A light breakfast and she was sitting at the dining room table

reading over some mail and preparing to work on a presentation for the

next week.  The doorbell rang.  He was early.  Not so surprising.  For

years he had had a crush on her, serving and servicing her as she allowed.

He was a nice person, odd, creative, always sexualizing.  It made her

smile.  There were some things she could always count on, things that made

her feel happy and ... feminine.

     Today he had a bottle of champagne.  "Two years," he said, "two years

since we last had lunch."  She wondered if he had come anticipating

resuming where they had left off.  Several times he had given her full

body massages.  They had been nice--pleasant and fun.  But if he expected

to resume such familiarity or, even more unlikely and preposterous,  enact

one of the fantasies he used to tell her on the phone, he was due to be

disappointed.

     And, of course, a few months ago he had related a fantasy which

included mild violence.  It had surprised her.  She didn't equate anger

and violence with sexual excitement. Never had.  But when she expressed

dismay and wondered at his motivation , he had taken great pains to assure

her that it was all a fantasy, something he had thought she would find

exciting.

     "If it bothers you, forget it," he told her on the phone.  "My

imagination runs wild sometimes.  You know I'm really a wimp.  Overeager.

Your devoted sycophant.  Why else would I go to the trouble of creating

seventeen or eighteen fantasies for you?"  He made a noise, ostensibly

clearing his throat.  "Of course in college I was different.  In those

days I was a monster, a macho bully whose only desire was to sexually

abuse helpless women.  But I've changed.  You must believe me.  I've

reformed!"

     They had both laughed at that.  In college he had been quiet,

unwashed, and amusingly insecure.  And his phone fantasies had been fun,

an enjoyable moment in her sometimes boring days.  And he had always made

her the center of the action.  That was the best part.  She imagined that

if she wanted, he could be persuaded to do some fun things for her.  So

long as it somehow involved sex.  He was a sexual obsessive.  Luckily, she

had better control of her life and thoughts.

     He had moved into the kitchen, working open the champagne cork.  "I

can't drink," she said.  "I have a meeting this afternoon at four."

     "No problem.  But you won't mind if I have a sip myself then."  He

walked to the cupboard in search of a glass.  Over his shoulder he said,

"What a beautiful house!  I had no idea.  When you said it had won awards,

well, I couldn't even have imagined."  He opened the refrigerator.  "Would

it be all right if I used some orange juice?  How about a mimosa,

champagne with orange juice.  Does that sound healthy and mild enough?"

     "Fine," she said, "but not too much champagne."

     They sat and talked about whatever came to mind.  He asked her lots

of questions, about her husband, about work, about her daughter.  Today

her daughter and the house girl had gone for a day trip.  The little girl

was talking quite intelligently already and could do her ABC's and count

to twenty.  She had benefited from the genetic strengths of her and her

husband.

     He asked about her lover.  She told him about the recent afternoon

when she and her lover had taken a bath together.

     They sat in the bubble-filled tub facing each other.  First they

splashed each other with bubbles.  Then, with a lascivious smile, she had

reached beneath the bubbles into the water between his legs.  Taking his

limp cock in her hand, she had slowly stroked him, and, when he was hard,

his body trembling with desire and excitement, her hand sliding up and

down on his soapy cock, he had stood and soaped her also, lathering her

breasts and her stomach, her ass and her cunt.

     Still covered with bubbles they stepped out of the bathtub, pulled

the plug and turned the shower on full hot.  As the bathroom filled with

steam he put a warm towel on the sink, pressed her backwards against it,

and they kissed and stroked each other, their stomachs and chests and

hands slipping and sliding over each other's soapy bodies as they

caressed, probed and slithered, her lover's hard cock pinned to her

stomach, sliding up to her breasts, slipping between her ass cheeks and

anywhere else her lover could manage.

     When they showered off, he had turned her around, and, as she leaned

forward, her hands on the wall, he made love to her from behind.  The warm

shower water ran in long tickling strings of wetness off her back as he

rammed his hardness into her wet secret place.  Her breasts shook and she

could feel him in her stomach on every stroke.  They came together, his

arms wrapped around her waist, his cock shooting and spasming inside her

pulsing cunt, the bathroom steamy and hot, the water streaming off them.

     At the end of her story, her friend asked, "What are we going to

eat?"

     "Well, I have some..." and she described the contents of her

refrigerator.  They made do with some vegetables and cold pasta...and he

indulged in another mimosa.  After he had washed the dishes they sat in

the study.  The food and drink gave the room a warm glow in the early

afternoon light.

     "How's your back?" he asked.

     "Fine.  It hasn't bothered me in months."

     "May I rub your shoulders?"  He moved her onto the floor and she sat

in front of him as he rubbed her shoulders and neck.  As always his touch

was warm.  Strong and gentle.   He moved down to the center of her back.

After a few minutes he guided her down to lie on her stomach.  The carpet

was warm, comfortable.

     He was good, attentive and sensitive to her tiniest stiffness.

Surprisingly he found many little tight spots, little circles of tension

in her neck, shoulders, back and arms.  Her body sank heavily into the

carpet, scraps of thoughts and memori es flitting through her langourous

mind.  As his touch lightened slightly, she wondered if his intent had

changed and his thoughts had become sexual.  It wasn't going to work this

time, she smiled to herself.

     But his massage remained direct and unlascivious and, after a few

minutes, her suspicions were allayed.  Beneath his touch, her muscles

melted.  She felt content and pleased with life.  She felt contented in

the languour of sunlight, lunch and t he slight hum of the champagne.

     He massaged her ass, but carefully, not moving onto her legs as she

had expected.  "Here," he said, "I'm going to stretch your arms," and he

moved away from her ass and began rubbing her arms.  There was a rustling

in the bag he had brought and left under the coffee table, but she thought

nothing of it.  The sun through the window was on her legs and it felt as

though it was warming her very bones, heating her legs and flowing over

them like a thick warm liquid.  The weight of her breasts a nd pelvis in

the carpet felt good.  She smiled vaguely.  After two years, he hadn't

lost his touch with her.  His massage was fulfilling, relaxing.

     His rubbing moved to her wrists and she noticed that he was rubbing

her forearms and wrists with some soft material, something of velvet or

felt.  As he rubbed he lifted one wrist and then the other and put the

material around them, gently lower ing the arms back to the floor.  There

was the sound of a belt buckle and she wondered if he was taking off his

pants, perhaps to masturbate over her.  She wasn't sure she minded if he

wanted to masturbate, but he was going to be disappointed if he expected

her to help in any way.  And he damned well had better not cum on my

blouse, she thought with a start.

     With that annoying thought she lifted her head to see what he was

doing.  Her wrists were held by straps of velvet, red velvet.  As she

moved to sit up she was surprised to find her wrists were fastened to the

foot of the desk.

     "What are you doing?" she asked.  "~This is stupid.  I have to go to

a meeting at four o'clock."

     "I know.  And it's only one o'clock, which gives us two hours to

relax and enjoy the afternoon sun.  So lie down, take a few slow deep

breaths, and let me make you feel good.  Please.  I promise you'll only

enjoy yourself.  The moment you feel t hreatened or unhappy, I'll take

them right off.  Of course, with the handcuffs you have to trust me.  Some

people like having someone serve them, having someone lead their pleasure.

There are even slave and master love games.  One person is the slav e for

an afternoon, the next time that person gets to be the master.  'Course,

slave-master is not a game I expect you'd enjoy.  Unless you get to be the

master.  But try this with the red cuffs.  Trust me."

     "You had better not do anything hurt me or upset me.  I'll be awfully

angry"  She gave him a stern look.

     "Don't worry.  Have I ever done anything to you that scared you or

hurt you?"  He was creative and sexually obsessed, but he wasn't a hurtful

person.  Her stern look softened.  Perhaps she should relax a little.

Perhaps this would be interestin g, even enjoyable.

     He moved her gently to lie down and once again went to work on her

neck, stretching the muscles, working slowly down her back.  With a sigh

she gave up and decided to see what happened before making a fuss.  With

her head to one side on the carp et she noticed a pen that had rolled

under the desk.  But she forgot about it as her back again warmed under

his touch.

     He worked with slow broad strokes of his hands, gently pulling the

blouse out of her skirt, sliding it up to the nape of her neck.  He

unfastened her bra.  "You have a beautiful back, you know.  Nice muscles."

With his hands he drew and worked the muscles in a ripple down her back,

just to the waist of her skirt and then back up, tracing circles around

her shoulder blades.  His hands were warm and his touch strong but gentle.

     Warm repeated strokes on her back, each time a little lower until

they were almost to her buttocks.  She took a breath and released it with

a sigh.

     His hands left her back.  There was a pause.  And then a touch on her

ankles.  Almost a tickling followed by a slow, firm skittering scraping of

fingernails drawn gently up the insides of her legs. "Wouldn't it be nice

to have a tongue crawling up the inside of your legs.  An erotic slug, so

to speak, seeking refuge and haven.  Somewhere above the Tropic of the

Knees."

     "You're being silly," she said, laughing.  Sliding her skirt up to

her ass, he scratched gently up and down on the insides of her thighs,

moving closer and closer to her crotch, the panty hose accentuating the

tingling sensation.

     "Does this feel good?"  And she started as she felt his tongue,

ambiguous through the nylon, but a tongue clearly, on the back of her leg.

The sun had moved and she could feel its heat on her naked back.  The

tongue, damp and warm through the n ylon, moved in slow circles, advancing

gradually upwards until he was licking the fabric at her crotch.

     His hands worked her buttocks, massaging deeply into them, releasing

the muscles in her hips, muscles she had never really noticed before,

muscles pleased to be released.  Her legs moved gradually apart as he

worked.  His hands kneading her buttocks, his tongue massaging happily the

crotch of the panty-hose.  The wetness of his mouth was beginning to be

joined by a slight wetness of her own.

    Moments later his hand reached under the waistband of the skirt to

pull down the panty hose, and a second after that she felt the tongue on

the inside of her thigh, again making its way upwards.  She felt his

scratchy cheeks on the tender skin immediately below her cunt.

     A pause and then his tongue plunged inside her, pressing the lips of

her secret place apart, his hands on her thighs, then her ass, his fingers

pressing her ass, molding it, rolling the muscles of her cheeks even as he

slowly licked her.

     She shivered when his lips found her clitoris and he sucked on it,

pulling in gently, first with his lips and then with a gentle nibble of

his teeth, sucking on it, licking it as his hands pressed her pelvis

forward, pulled her ass up to give his insistent tongue better access.

From the clit he moved upwards to the sensitive spot between ass and slit

and he toyed there, the tip of his tongue teasing her, waiting for a

reaction, waiting for her to move her pelvis in response.

     She was looking to the left, her nose in the carpet.  It smelled

clean, the carpet smelled like the vacuum cleaner.  She could see the legs

of the chair a few feet away, sunlight spilling over the chair onto the

floor.

     His tongue still doing its service to the gateway of her melting

insides, he slid a finger into her cunt.  She moaned and moved to make his

access easier.  He added a finger and began to love her wet secret place

with two fingers.  She moaned.  "This is only the warm-up, the preview to

the main event," he said breathlessly.

     Still sliding his finger in and out of her moist cunt, he finally

moved his head away.  His other hand took hold of her shoulder and pulled

her onto her back.  She looked up at the ceiling, and, closer, the edge of

the desk.  They seemed miles a way, years in the past.  He reached to his

left, took a cushion from the couch and propped it under her head so she

was looking across the room at a picture she and her husband had bought

several years ago.  Her friend's head disappered once again between her

legs.

     She felt his hot wet lips on her clit, pulling it, working it around

and around, letting it slide out and then diving back onto her cunt a

second later.  She bent her knees and slid her feet up, opening her knees

apart.

     "I'm going to take you on a fantasy, alright?  See if you like this

well-hung man you're going to meet without so much as a word."

     "You're going to visit your lover," he said, "and you're at his

house, for some reason or another.  His wife and kids are away for the

week, so you go into his house to surprise him.  But he's not there, so

you change into a t-shirt and shorts and sit at the kitchen table to wait

for him. There's a knock at the door and when you answer there is a man

standing there you've never seen before, a very handsome man in a blue

pinstripe suit with a blue cotton shirt and a lawyer's tie.  He's surpr

ised to see you, and, in his shock, he steps into the kitchen.  He is

surprised, nonplussed, obviously very taken by your wholesome

attractiveness."

     "You're staring at him, admiring his square jaw, his red-brown hair,

when he looks up.  Your eyes meet and you know that he wants you and that

you want him.  You say, "Hi," and he says, "Hi," and the two of you move

towards each other until he's holding you in his arms.  You press yourself

against him and you can feel his cock getting hard, your own pelvis

rolling and swaying against him, urging him, encouraging him.  His hand

moves to your breast and he holds it, playing with it, moving sl owly to

squeeze your nipple through the thinness of the t-shirt, the palm of his

hand feeling it, pressing it, wanting it.  "

     "You put your hand on his cock.  It's hard and hot through the wool

fabric.  You clutch it, squeeze it in your hand several times as he gasps,

taking your other breast in his free hand, fondling it, searching for the

nipple so he can roll it bet ween his fingers.  He presses you backwards

against the kitchen table so that the two of you are grinding against each

other, your hand kneading his cock, his hands fondling your breasts."

      "Suddenly, without a second thought, you drop to your knees, open

his pants and take his cock in your mouth.  You suck him, his hands

caressing your hair, touching your face.  He is almost ready to come, when

he pulls you up, pulls down your sh orts.  He parts you with a finger and

spreads your juice over the outside of our slit and lifts you to sit on

the table.  He maneuvers his cock to touch you, to slide it around the

edge of your cunt.  And then he slides his cock into you, standing in

 front of you in his suit with his fly open, his eight-inch ramrod cock

probing into your eager sex."

     "Your arms are around his neck, holding him as he makes love to you.

You both come together, the toaster and microwave, visible over his

lurching shoulder, blurring in your ecstatic vision.  For thirty seconds

you hold it, he slowly shrinking i nside you, you feeling the drops of cum

falling to the polyurethaned oak table beneath you.  He pulls away and

puts himself into his pants.  You pull up your shorts."

     "'He's not home?' he asks quietly, his square jaw hardly moving, his

eyes turning sleepy from spent passion."

     "'No, but I expect him any minute,' you reply."

     "'I'll call him tomorrow,' he says, and he leaves by the kitchen

door.  Your lover comes home five minutes later and as he walks from his

car to the house, you rush into the bathroom to freshen up."

     As he told the story, he slowly opened her blouse, button by button.

He pulled her bra up around her neck, exposing her breasts to the

afternoon sunlight.  The nipples stiffened as they both watched.

"Beautiful," he said.  As he looked up, their eyes met and they both

laughed.  "Warm in here," he said, and he took off his shirt.  "Very warm

in here," he said, and he pulled off his pants.

     He had on black bikini underwear.  She could see the cock, hard and

bent downwards through the taut black fabric.  He stood over her, his feet

on either side of her and he slowly rubbed his cock through the cotton

fabric, slowly, hypnotized by the sensations he gave himself, sliding his

hand up and down on its hardness.  He slowly lowered himself to his knees

so that he sat lightly on her belly.

     "I don't want you to have to dryclean your skirt," he said.  And he

unzipped it, slid it down her legs and put it over a chair.

    She flinched as he quickly reached out of sight over her pillowed

head.  His hand reappeared holding a bottle of massage oil.  He poured it

onto his hands, rubbed them together and began to work them over her

breasts.  The oil smelled like sandel wood and as he applied it to her

body she felt stimulated, sensitized.  It was a wonderful feeling, the hot

slippery oil on her breasts, on her belly, on her shoulders and neck.

     She felt so calm, so relaxed from the massage and the warm sun

through the window.  She revelled in the rush of sensation from his oily

touch on her nipples.  He rolled them, squeezing them, gently spinning

them free from his grasp.

     "Good?" he sighed.  She barely nodded.  His palms flat on her

breasts, he massaged them, the slippery contact electric through her skin,

her breasts aching to be held, cupped, worshipped.  They needed attention,

they needed to be relieved of thi s arousal which made them ache.  With

his forefinger and thumb he gently flicked the nipples as though they were

marbles, tiny drops of the scented oil flying each time his finger touched

them.  He leaned his head down and drew the nipples between hi s lips,

teasing them, letting them pop free.  He pulled them, sucking and licking

them and the puckered aureoles around them.

     Pleasure built inside her, flowing from her breasts to her cunt and

down through her tingling legs.  "Do you want to fuck me?" she asked.  She

realized a second later that her next words were going to be, "But I don't

want you to."   He simply shook his head "no" and rubbed her breasts in a

wide sensuous circle with his hands.

     His right hand travelled downwards and he gently placed his fingers

below her slit and drew them upwards, spreading the wetness and sending an

electric shock through her body. Suddenly she wanted something inside her,

a cock, even fingers assuag e the aching she now felt.  As he stroked the

entrance to her sex, her pelvis arched off the floor in time to his

stroking.

     He coordinated the stroking with the sucking of her nipples.  Stroke!

and he lifted his head, letting her left nipple release, her breast

shivering, the nipple hard and erect.   Stroke! his finger teasing just

inside, sliding up and past the clitoris.  Pop! he released the other

nipple from his lips.

     "I don't want to fuck you.  I just want you to feel good.  Think of

men's cocks and your cunt and your beautiful breasts and the warm

afternoon sun."

     His cock bulged beneath the black fabric.  Suddenly,  she wanted  him

to touch it.  "Take off your underwear and show me your cock.  Touch it

for me.  And I'll sit on your face.  And you'll make me cum.  But first,

touch yourself.  You can masturbate yourself, if you want."

     He stood up and took off his underwear.  His cock was rigid.  He

licked the palm of his hand and slowly began to masturbate for her,

stroking his cock as he stood beside her.  His hand moved in slow strokes,

the cock pulsing with each rhythmic s troke of his hand.  She lay

mesmerized.  His balls swinging slowly beneath the cock, the purple head

getting larger and darker each time he stroked his hand up its length.

     His face became tense with pleasure, his mouth open, his breath

whistling hoarsely at the end of each stroke.  For a second he stopped and

a tiny clear drop of fluid quivered on the tip of his bulging cock.  His

legs were locked and Maryann saw the muscles of his thighs clenched, their

shape hard beneath the skin.

     Slowly, he resumed.  And as he worked, he began to move down,

kneeling over her so that his cock was almost between her oiled breasts.

"I'm going to make love to them, I'm going to make love to your beautiful

breasts," he whispered.

     And he put his cock between her shining breasts, the sunlight

relfected by the oil and sweat that now covered them.  He took a breast in

each hand and pressed them together around his cock.  And he began to

slide himself between them, the oil an d sun blanketing them, the breasts

and cock and his hands a marvelous passionate focus of attention.

     She arched her back so that her breasts were higher, so he could get

his cock totally wrapped in her oiled breasts.  The unbidden thought, that

what would feel best was his cock in her cunt, crossed her mind.  She

turned her attention back to her breasts, to the slippery work of his

cock, to his ass sliding on her stomach, the muscles hard beneath his

weight, her breasts hot, the nipples pressing into his palms.  Again she

thought of how it would feel to have his hot hardness slide slowly in and

out of her sex, her insides sucking him up, taking his cock from him and

making it her own.

     He moved to hold her breasts in place with one hand, putting the

other hand behind himself and between her legs.  With his finger he began

to gently stroke her clit.

     "Ohhh," she said, "ohhh, that feels good.  Put your fingers inside of

me.  Please."  He moved them down and slid them inside of her.  He slid

his hips forward and with the tip of his cock he teased her lips.  She put

out her tongue and licked it .  He held it there while she slid her tongue

around the tip, pursing her lips so she could take it between them and

feel and taste the salty smooth skin.  He slid further forward and put his

cock in her mouth.

     However uncomfortable she may have felt an hour ago at that thought

of his cock in her mouth, at this moment it felt good, a prelude to things

he would do for her.  As she let her lips slide over him, she tasted the

oil from her breasts, slightl y bitter in her mouth.

     He lightly touched her face, his fingers tracing the outline of her

cheeks, her eyebrows and nose.  He ran his fingers through her hair,

threading his fingers in it, pulling it lightly.  The pulling of her

scalp, the massaging of her hair felt g ood.  With his fingers he touched

her lips around his cock, he slid them over her lips, her saliva wet, a

drop sliding down her chin and onto her neck.

     He pulled his cock from her mouth and moved off of her.   His strong

hands lifted her and turned her so she was sitting up.  Sliding beneath

her, he lay on his back and slid under her so she sat on his chest.  Her

hands lay on the top of his head, the cuffs dangling through his hair.

     He began to move his tongue slowly around her clit.  "Ohhh," she

said, "ohhh, that's good.  Go slow."  As his tongue teased her clit he

brought his hands around under her arms to fondle her breasts.  His chest

felt oily and as he fucked her with his tongue she began to slide her

forward and back on his chest.  Her ass on his oily chest felt slippery

and warm and his hair tickled between her ass cheeks.  Now that she was

sitting up she could see the top of the desk.  The books and papers wer e

scattered about.  "I'll have to pick up later," she thought.

     Still eating her, he massaged her ass with one hand, kneading it and

massaging the muscles deep inside.  Sliding his tongue in and out of her

slit, he also began to press with his upper jaw on her pelvis.  She began

to fuck his mouth, his tongue inside her cunt, darting over her clit, his

mouth pressing forward rhythmically against her.

     With her arms in the cuffs she was unable to use her hands, unable to

do anything except pull his hair, pulling his head forward to her,

pressing her cunt and hips and ass and pelvis into his mouth, her oily hot

body fucking him.  She pressed her tits forward into his hands, her

nipples standing hard and dimpled, her breasts sliding and shivering

beneath his caresses.  He cupped her breasts in his hands, he pinched and

squeezed her nipples.

     For a time they loved, rhythmically making time stand still in her

erotic pleasure.  His lips and tongue lead her down a path of contented

pleasure.  After a time he stopped.  And gently moved out from under her.

     There was contentment in the air, a peace, the silence of siesta time

in the afternoon when all the world seems to be napping and the sound of

the random car passing by seems muted and faraway.

     And in the background of this afternoon haze, a soft click darted

through her reverie, followed by a gentle whine.  She half-opened her

eyes, but he had already turned away from her.

     He gently moved her back from her sitting position, putting a pillow

once again under her head, making her comfortable.  She felt as though she

was at the beach, lying in the sun, having a dream, a fantasy brought on

by a hearty lunch and strong drink.  It felt wonderful lying there

relaxing, her body langourous in the soft warmth of the carpet.  She was

content to lie resting, her breats warm and heavy, her cunt wet and

steamy.

    And then, down in her warm, wet, well-tended cunt, she felt a touch, a

pulsing, a soft singing on the wet lips.   For a second she thought it was

him, that he had put his cock to her sex.  The thought only seemed mildly

disturbing.   She decided she'd wait to stop him only if he tried to put

it inside her.  But he slid it around the edge of her secret place,

teasing her, playing with the lips of her slit.

     It felt somehow odd, somehow not quite what she expected of a hot

thick cock.  The singing humming thing wasn't him, it wasn't a real cock.

The thought crept towards her, arriving she didn't know when, an

inconsequential thought as she lay sunbathing on the beach on this

delightful vacation.

     He moved it longways, and slid it slowly up and down, masturbating

her, teasing her, pressing it for a moment against her clit, then sliding

it downwards across the entrance to her passion-stained cunt.  She arched

against its shivering warmth.  It was hot and big and it made her tingle,

sending waves of excitement through her body.  She began to move against

it, her body enraptured with the stroking hotness against her cunt.

     He changed the angle and slid it into her.  She opened her legs, her

legs pressing outwards, akimbo, to give the widest space for the blessed

pulsing warmth.  He slid it in and out, in and out, making love to her,

sometimes fast, sometimes slow.  He moved his face closer and with his

tongue stroked her clitoris, at the same time loving her shivering cunt

with the humming surrogate penis.  Rhythmically he ran his tongue around

her clit, stimulating her, working her passion higher, moving in slow

circles, building her towards her climax, the mysterious plastic penis

keeping erotic tempo.

     Her passion built and suddenly she was unable to control her body.

Her pelvis arched up to meet every thrust of the vibrator, every circle of

his expert tongue.  The tropical beach were she was lying suddenly became

alive with men, populated with handsome naked men sporting erect penises,

men lining up to serve her any way they could.  The sun gleamed from the

penises as they worshipped her, their cocks saluting her, helping her,

urging her on in her passion.

     Time lost meaning.  In this secret place of fantasitic passion and

excitement they moved together, he making love to her with his mouth,

tongue and surrogate penis, making love to her in the golden heat of the

afternoon sun, the room echoing dis tantly with muted love sounds, the air

passionate with tropical sexual enraptured silence.

     Her face and torso were beautiful in the sunlight streaming through

the window, madonna-like in their white purity, rosy and glistening with

her heightened state, her state of ecstasy.

     Her breasts were gorgeous and heavenly, her nipples standing out in

relief, casting tiny shadows across her breasts.  Her glistening stomach

was outlined with muscle, her smooth-skinned legs knotted with love and

passion.  Her thighs pressing to gether and apart, involuntarily keeping

the rhythm of his loving.  Her toes dug into the carpet, pressing her

pelvis upwards in passionate embrace of the day.

     Her body shivered uncontrollably, and she cried out.  "I'm coming.

Oh, I'm coming!"  With one hand he stroked her breasts and nipples, and

with the other, clutching a singing piece of white plastic, he made love

to her.

     She shook and arched and moaned.  Streams of colors flew through her

vision, the sunlight falling across the two of them, a slash of warm gold

bathing them as they achieved ultimate pleasure, ultimate emotional

release.  And then she exploded, shivering and arching and pulsing and...

And exploding.  The ecstasy lasted a year.  The ecstasy lasted a moment.

Her spirit sang with joy, filled with emotino, with passion and love,

and...  and...  Passion.  Silence came again.  An exhalation.  A sigh.

And she lay warm and fulfilled.

     A pause.  "I have a meeting at four," she said.  "What time is it?"

Her voice quavered slightly.  Which was his pride as he moved to get her

her skirt.



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