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Archive-name: Dreams/tastcum3.txt

Archive-author: Holly Lynn Johnson

Archive-title: A Taste of What's to Cum - Part III

Hey folks,


Here it is, finally, Part III, which, according to all the mail I've

been receiving, you've all been waiting for. Contrary to what I predicted 

last time, this is not the last chapter of this story. I just couldn't 

fit all of it into one chapter without destroying the style. Which, also

according to mail you've sent, you seem to all really like. I'm very

flattered. Keep up the good reading!! 





== A Taste of What's to Cum - Part III ==



Immediately after Brian left, I bravely determined to keep myself busy 

until his return. And for the space of about five minutes, which was

how long it took me to unpack my clothing and few belongings, that was

all well and good. But less than ten minutes after he had left, I found

myself sitting at the foot of the bed, staring blindly at the blank 

television screen before me, wondering what to do next. 


The sex-fog placed over my mind had hardly lifted through the mundane 

chore of transfering my stuff from bags to drawers, and so there was 

little I could think of that didn't somehow involve masturbating 

myself silly. I literally ached with pent-up fuck lust, and my pussy

was noticeably throbbing in protest. But as much as I craved release,

simply the thought of having my appetite satisfied by Brian's hot

cock made the thought of being satisfied by my fingers, well, 

unsatisfactory. I was determined to wait this one out, and I was sure 

the results would be rewarding.


However, that did not alleviate the present problem of how to occupy 

my time. Finally, I heaved a big sigh and dug the book I had been reading

on the plane out of my bag, flopped stomach-first down onto the bed, and

tried to interest myself in the plot.


For a while it seemed to be working. The book was a spy thriller, one 

that I had picked up at the airport before I had left, written by some

author I had never heard of. The characters were likeable, the story

line interesting, and with only a monumental effort, I was able to turn

my attention from my rampant pussy to the book.


Several pages later, however, the book blew my benign intentions out

of the water. There, on page 134, the hero character, Jack, was locked 

in a passionate embrace with the heroine, the sensuous Darlene. At that 

point I half hoped, and half hoped not, that Jack would get into 

Darlene's pants. One part of me instinctively knew that the scene would 

not help my agitated state any, and the other part of me whispered vile 

suggestions to Jack. "Fuck her, Jack. Pull her to the floor, shred her 

panties, and stick it to her!" I was almost embarrassed at my own 

lewdness, but I had long ago accepted the fact that the hornier I get, 

the dirtier my mind gets. And at that moment, I was so damned horny, a 

simple fade-to-black or sweet, tender lovemaking was just about as 

effective as a children's story.


By page 135, Jack was lapping at Darlene's pussy, and poor Darlene was

biting the back of her hand to keep from moaning. By page 136, Darlene

was snarling and grabbing Jack by the ears, demanding he screw her 

thoroughly. Jack, being a man's man, started page 137 by poising his

prick at Darlene's steaming pussy. The author was apparently a tease,

however, and devoted the rest of 137 to a complete analysis of the

thoughts and feelings of both characters, complete with intrigue and

less-than-honorable intentions. It wasn't until page 138 that Jack 

actually FINALLY drove his cock into Darlene's hungry snatch. 


From pages 138 to 140, Jack fucked Darlene on top, his lean form

covering hers as he ground his cock in and out of her, while she 

wrapped her legs around him and cried, "More! More!" From 140 to 143, 

Darlene rode him, skewered on his prick, deeply embedded in her, while 

he alternately stroked her ass, her tits, and her clitoris. Darlene 

cried out, "More, Jack, more!" From 143 to 145, Jack rammed into her 

from behind, jolting Darlene with each thrust, and manhandled her ass 

while she stuttered, "M-m-m-more! M-m-m-more!"  On the bottom of page

145, Jack pulled his cock out of her slippery cunt, flipped her around

and pinned her down, and drove mercilessly into her again as he had 

way back on page 138, letting her have it with both barrels. Finally,

on page 147, Jack's Herculean endurance gave out, and he ground his

teeth and grunted in a manly way as he spewed his hot cum into Darlene's



The entire ordeal took a total of 13 steamy pages, during which Jack

brought Darlene to an astounding 6 orgasms. 


I, however, had had none, save the one earlier on the plane, and by

the end of the sex scene in the book, I found myself obliviously

thrusting my hips into the bed, with a section of the cover blanket

wadded up into a lump under my pussy. The book fell from my hands,

which flailed for a second before grabbing fistfuls of blanket, nearly

ripping it from the bed. I ground my cunt against the knob, pressing

my clitoris into it, rocking back and forth over the little mound of

bedding, until I felt my orgasm well up from my pelvis and just start

to sneak outwards. The pleasure was excruciating! Another second, just

one more second, and it would explode all through me...!


But just then I stopped, stock still, and hovered over the brink, my

entire body shaking, sweat popping out in beads on my forehead. The

intense ecstasy receded reluctantly, almost as if it were looking back

at me, shaking its head, knowing that it could have been the best one

ever if only I had held on a moment longer. The breath shuddered out

of me, and I collapsed in a heap. My hands gradually unclenched the

blanket. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling.


I loved doing that. One of the tricks I had learned over the last three

months was to bring myself, literally, to the very brink of orgasm, 

and then utterly stop. Getting there, and being there, was almost as

fun as the release itself, but it always left me writhing for more. 

Sometimes, pleasuring myself, I would stop myself three or four times, 

then let it wash over me in a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

This time, I had given myself some desperately-needed pleasure, but had

saved the best for later. Consequently, I felt both better and worse, 

and unbelievably hot. Brian wouldn't have a chance when he got back. 

Not that he wanted one. 


As I descended, inch by inch, from the pleasure hill of lust, I became

uncomfortably aware of my damp clothes, plastered to my skin with sweat.

I felt sticky, and I felt smelly, and naturally decided to take a shower.

After all, I would be squeaky clean for when Brian returned, it would

blow some time, and perhaps cool me down a little.




I stepped into the shower, with the water moderately hot, and for several

long moments, simply let the water douse me thoroughly, standing under

the full blast and literally inundating myself. Finally, I moved from

the spray, took up a bar of soap, and began to lather my body.


This was a mistake, for two reasons. First, my hands, gliding slickly

over the sensitive skin of my body, felt too damn good. I sighed as I

lathered the soap through the hair between my legs, and dragged a soapy

hand between my cunt lips. I shuddered as I soaped up my stomach and

breasts, my nails scraping through the slick layer of soap and tittilating

my nipples. I bit my lip as I lathered the cheeks of my ass, and groaned

as I pushed a slippery finger up my hole.


The second reason was the soap. It was a scented soap, and smelled richly

of sandalwood. I had brought this soap with me on purpose, because the

scent of sandalwood does certain THINGS to me. Sandalwood is my own 

personal sexual pheremone, it seems; it has an exaggerated and inexplicable

effect on my libido. It excites me. And as the rich, balsamic scent wafted

up from the bar in my hands and from the lather on my body, I became

heady with lust again.


So, with the combined stimulation of my self-stroking, and the wildly

exciting scent of sandalwood making my stomach flutter, it was no wonder

that images of an excruciatingly erotic nature began to assault my mind,

which was by then as fogged by lust as the shower was by steam.


My eyes closed, I leaned helplessly against the wall of the shower, and 

slowly, inexorably, my motions blurred to myself as if in some erotic 

dream sequence, I slid downward, lowering myself to a sitting position 

on the floor of the tub. My head floated back to rest against the wall, 

and, the steam surrounding me like a shroud, the stream of water battering 

my body, I surrendered myself to the insistent tug of fantasy...


Brian and I used to play a game in the shower, back in the early days

of our relationship, when we were just starting to explore each other

sexually. One time, as I lathered the soap in my hands, I instructed

him to close his eyes, and as I cleansed him, to focus all of his 

attention to how I touched him. My intention was to heighten and

intensify his perceptions, and become in tune with how I moved with him.


He quickly agreed, and closed his eyes. With soapy hands, I reached out

to very lightly touch his chest, then to spread my fingers across it. I

massaged the soap over his pectorals, letting my thumbs weave small 

circles around his tightening nipples, scraping them delicately with my

nails. I kept my hands moving at all times, and slowly I worked my way

down his stomach. I stopped as I reached the level of his hips, and ran

my hands up his sides, lathering under his arms as well. With excruciating

patience I slid my arms around him, working the soap over his back. As my

hands approached his spine, my body edged closer and closer.


As I worked on him, I tried to tune myself into him, imagining the 

sensations he must be feeling. I imagined now that he could feel the

warmth of me as I neared him, could anticipate my flesh touching his, 

wanting it, his senses straining to catch that first contact. Finally,

the pointed nipples of my breasts lightly touched him, then pressed more

firmly against him as I encircled him with my arms to wash his back. 

Lower, I could feel his cock, protruding from his pelvis, probing at

my navel. I pressed myself closer, and undulated slowly against him,

stroking my body against his shaft, the soap slickening the contact

between us. I wondered if he ached to put his arms around me, slide

his cock into me, and end this sensual journey here and now. But that

was against the rules, and we both knew it. 


I pulled away from him, and gently pushed him back into the spray of

the shower, my hands lightly stroking him as the water sloughed away

the lather on his body. Then I pulled him back out, and proceeded to

wash his shoulders, and down his arms. I worked the soap down his left

arm, until I reached his fingers, I smeared a copious amount of lather

in his hand, and then gently lifted it and placed it on my right breast.

Now I had added another element to our little game. Now, with eyes still

closed, he would explore me, learning me and my body by feel.


With my left hand, I began to smooth the soap over his right arm as I  

had his left. My right hand I rested on his upper arm as he tentatively

began to stroke my right breast. He slid his hand under it, cupped it,

and lifted it gently, as if guaging its weight. Then he moved his palm

across my hard and soapy nipple, tracing a pattern into the heel of his

hand. He took my nipple then between thumb and forefinger, and pinched

and twisted it gently.


Now I closed my eyes as he touched me, allowing myself to be intoxicated

by his inquisitive exploration. Not only his touch, but his manner, 

excited me. He was touching me as if he had never touched me before, 

perhaps never noticing that I felt just that way. It was almost innocent,

slightly boyish, and it turned me on unbelieveably.


I opened my eyes and had him lower his hand as I continued washing him.

I had finished his arms, and was again stroking his hips. I slathered

the soap across his lower belly, and slowly worked a lather into the 

thick hair surrounding his eager shaft, yet not touching his cock itself.

I continued down his legs, massaging the soap over them with firm

hands, until I was on my knees, rubbing soap between his toes, his

cock bobbing at face level.


I looked up to Brian's face, and saw that his eyes were still closed, 

his head tilted back slightly, and he was wearing a look of intense

concentration as I washed his feet carefully. I leaned forward, placed

my lips next to the head of his penis, and breathed a little hot air

on it. I wasn't sure, through the drone of the shower, whether I heard

him moan or not, but I WAS sure I saw his cock twitch, just a little



Finishing his feet, I stood and embraced Brian and slid my soapy hands

up to lather his neck, simultaneously pulling his head towards mine.

He quickly got the idea that the game was over, and he slipped his arms

around me and kissed me ardently, his lips slowly, sweetly caressing

mine. His tongue wandered lazily into my mouth, and the slow,

langorous kiss continued with much mutual exploration.  


I let one hand trail soapily down his chest, then lower, over his 

stomach. This time, I did not stop, but drifted lower to gently grasp

his throbbing shaft in my slick hand. I slowly stroked his cock, the

soap lubricating his hard length, and Brian showed me his appreciation

by kissing me ever more fervently. The pace still slow, but the tension

high, every movement seemed drawn out for maximum pleasure.


After several minutes of luxurious necking and stroking, I decided that

I could wait no longer. My pussy was running like a river, and ached

like a void that needed to be filled. I mumbled my need to Brian, and

without a word he cupped my buttocks and and helped me climb him, at

the same time pushing me up against the wall to ease the strain of 

holding me.


We paused only to trade the soap so that Brian could lather the wall 

behind me - even ceramic tile can give a burn with the kind of friction

we intended to produce - and then I was reaching down to guide the 

head of his cock into me. He pressed me back and down as he pushed up

into me, and his cock slammed in like a bolt. I wasn't prepared for

the impact, and as he hit rock bottom the air exploded out of me, as

if his penis was a plunger and all the air I had was contained in my

groin. A small part of the impact registered faintly as pain. The

rest burst through my body as pleasure so excruciating it took my 

breath away.


Brian must have realized that the initial plunge was a little much, 

because he began to thrust into me with much more restraint. Each time

he pushed his cock into me, it was with slow, deep strokes, using strength

instead of speed to ease in and out of me. For the first few minutes it

was blissful, tender, like a nostalgic memory of a summer rain, falling

lazily with big, fat droplets. But like a parched woman, I needed more,

and with my body I strained against Brian in a mute demand.


He responded like a god and created a storm for me out of the gentle

rain, increasing his tempo until he was thundering into me, his cock

pelting me as a hard sheet of rain would, pummelling me like a hail-

storm. And I was drenched in a deluge of passion, charged with all the 

energy of a lightning bolt as I clutched at him and gasped and took 

with pleasure all he could could give me. 


And somewhere in that incredible tempest of lust loomed a wave of 

monumental proportions which rushed towards me with frightening 

speed. Like a tsunami, my orgasm crashed over me with almost destructive

power, and I was lost, drowning, gasping for air as I lurched against

Brian, my hot, hot cunt spasming around his cock, my juices running

down my legs almost as copiously as the water.


At that moment, Brian reached his own crisis, and his face froze in

orgasmic throes as he pumped load after load of his seed into me, his

last efforts spent at driving into me as deeply as he could. He came

for what seemed like minutes before he finally threw his head back 

and exhaled explosively, pushing into me one last time.


I untangled my trembling legs from his waist and gingerly attempted to

stand, Brian's arms around me for support, and we stood for several

moments simply holding each other, stroking each other comfortingly, 

recomposing each other. Finally, as if to reprimand us for dawdling

so long, the shower turned cold...


...just as it did now. I raised my head from my arms and blinked 

startedly, even as I started to shiver. As usual, I had been carried

away by my fantasy, and had lost all track of time and space. I

hurriedly turned off the frigid water and stepped out of the shower.

I wrapped a huge towel around me and proceeded to dry myself off. 


After a few minutes I realized I was still shivering, but this time not 

with the cold. My fantasy in the shower had worked my body up into

such a passionate frenzy that it could no longer easily contain my

pent up need. Unlike the dream on the plane, I had not descended into

an alternate realm of such profound realism that I could experience

orgasms on both levels. My orgasm this time was fantasized, not realized,

and it was taking its toll.


I shakily returned to the bedroom and lay down on the bed, still in my

towel. Before long, however, the damp towel lost its ability to warm me, 

so I tossed it aside in favor of crawling under the warm, heavy blanket.

I snuggled comfortably down in the covers - well, as comfortably as could 

have been expected under the circumstances - and for many minutes just

stared at the ceiling. I had no idea without looking at a clock how much

time had passed since Brian had left the motel room, and similarly had

no idea how much time would pass before he would return. And as my body

warmed and my pulse slowed, I began to feel increasingly sleepy. 


My last thought as my eyes drifted shut was that I had to stay awake.

I couldn't allow myself to fall asleep before Brian returned. I just stay...


End of Part III - A Taste of What's to Cum


P.S. Part IV to be posted soon - as soon as I write it. Please be

patient. :)


Holly Lynn Johnson - NOW playing at an email address near you:

"I get mail, therefore I am." -me


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