Archive-name: Couples/anticip4.txt

Archive-author: Holly

Archive-title: Anticipation - 4



 

And so I slept. And if I dreamed, it was too deep to remember. I have 

VAGUE memories of perhaps a quiet click of a door, maybe a soft rustle

of clothing, or the slight settling of the bed as a weight eases down

on it. If I noticed them while I slept, it was most likely in the 

context of a dream.

 

I woke slowly and languidly, my body arching in a fluid, feline stretch 

as my muzzy brain tried to figure out where I was. When I remembered, I 

sat up in a flash and fixated on the space next to me. The covers had been 

thrown back, and the bed had been slept in. A dark object tugged at the 

edge of my vision, and I turned to see a large black duffle tossed on the 

easy chair. 

 

He had come back. Brian had come back. And the hushed silence of the 

room attested to the fact that he was no longer there. 

 

"SHIT!" I pounded the covers futilely, my face flushing with frustration.

I couldn't believe he had come and gone without waking me! I was livid!

I was furious! I was...

 

...deflated. As quickly as my anger flared, so it died. My intellect 

reasoned that he had probably come back late and exhausted and, seeing

me fast asleep, had decided it was the best idea for both of us. I

heaved a deep sigh, and slumped against the headboard. Last night, as

I had fallen asleep, I would have given anything to be with a man that

had no concern for my fatigue or his, a man that would not have hesitated

to wake me and ravage me immediately, him giving no quarter and me taking

none, tearing at each other like wild animals in heat...

 

I was letting my imagination, and my continued frustration, get the

better of me again. I lounged for several more moments, luxuriating in

the richness of my self-pity. The pulsing fire and need between my legs

had cooled during the night, but there was a distinct tension in my body,

a universal tautness of muscle and sinew, which betrayed my latent desire,

coiled like a spring inside me, capable at any moment to erupt into 

full-blown fuck-lust.

 

I extricated myself from the twisted sheets of the bed and freshened

myself up in the bathroom, splashing water on my face, combing my hair,

and brushing my teeth. I pulled my robe off its hanger and onto me,

tying it loosely about my waist. Now I looked decent enough to order

breakfast. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone.

 

I rang room service and ordered a bowl of fresh fruit, a couple of 

muffins, and an orange juice to be sent up. Then, feeling slightly more

awake and industrious, I picked up strewn clothes and made the bed, 

tidying up here and there simply because I had nothing better to do.

When the knock at the door came, I received my food and forked over

a tip to the pimply-faced kid that delivered it, then sprawled out

again on the bed with my food, my juice, and the remote control to the

television. A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou. Hardly.

 

I thumbed on the t.v. and began flipping through the numbers, perusing

channel after channel of increasingly insipid programming, while

idly nibbling on my food. It quickly became obvious that the motel's

vaunted 'deluxe cable' was a lost cause, and I was about to turn the

t.v. off when a computerized data screen caught my attention. It was

a listing of pay-per-view offerings available by phone-order. I scanned

the listings, and noticed with some surprise that one of the p.p.v. 

channels offered was an adult movie channel. And according to the

timetable, a feature had just started.

 

I distractedly gnawed a piece of fruit, a slice of juicy honeydew melon,

while I considered this new option. As I stared blankly at the screen,

contemplating, the possibility of a little visual titillation seemed

increasingly attractive. I hesitantly picked up the receiver to the 

phone, glanced once more at the screen, and resolutely dialed the listed

number. 

 

I was answered by a computerized voice, much to my relief - thoughts of

sleazy motel managers exploiting the knowlege of my horniness and my 

room number made me extremely uneasy - and made my selection by touch

tone. Then I quickly hung up the phone. Suddenly I was seized by an

inexplicable and delicious sense of naughtiness, accompanied by a tiny

fluttering of guilt. I quickly abandoned the guilt. After all, for a 

woman in my condition, a nice cheezy porno flick could probably be

considered therapeutic. The naughtiness, however, I kept for later use.

 

I again made myself comfortable on the bed, piling both the large pillows

behind my back, leaning back against them such that I could watch the

television at a comfortable angle. Then I relaxed and sucked the juice 

out of my slice of melon while I waited for the show to begin.

 

Abruptly it did. The data screen winked out, the screen blanked for a 

moment, then flickered back on again to reveal the feature already 

in progress.

 

The scene was a game room, with a big green billiard table dominating the

center of it. Bending over the bumper board, cue stick in hand, was a

gawdily painted woman of luscious proportions, dressed in a short pink

dress. I'll call her Jane. Then a tall, lean man, whom I will call John,

clad only in a tight pair of jeans, moved into view and pressed himself 

against her rear, ostensibly to help guide her grip on the stick as she 

aimed for the cue ball. This action, of course, included the mandatory 

pelvic grind, where the young stud rubs his groin against the girl's ass.

 

I stopped eating my melon, and watched fixedly.

 

Mandatory pelvic-grind still in progress, John slid his hands up Jane's

arms and down her sides, then up her stomach to grasp her tits through 

her dress. Jane turned her attention from the targeted cue ball to the 

targeted man, looking over her shoulder with heavy-lidded eyes and 

pouting mouth. Abruptly she turned in his arms, and they went at each 

other. He lifted her easily to sit her on the edge of the pool table 

while she wrapped her arms around his neck, and they began kissing

rabidly.

 

My slice of melon still held to my lips, I began licking it slowly, my 

tongue running around the tip of the succulent, curved spear.

 

The camera flashed in for a closeup of their tongues, twining and lashing

against each other outside their mouths, then flashed back again as they

parted and began groping feverishly at each other. John took hold of

Jane's elastic scooped neckline and yanked it down, revealing full, 

pointed breasts. The neckline snapped back underneath them, framing them

and pushing them up for his inspection. Her hands, meanwhile, were

snaking down his back to clench his ass, pulling his hips into hers. He

ground his pelvis between her legs.

 

I alternated between sucking and licking my melon slice, as my eyes were

transfixed on their enmeshed hips. My pussy had begun to pulsate again,

and I could almost feel the pressure of the man's hard bulge nudging my

clit.

 

John bent to suck and lick at Jane's tits, while she made a great 

show of gasping and moaning encouragements like, "Oooh, that feels

so goooood..." John, with his arms under her back, lowered her to 

lie back on the pool table, her legs still over the edge, while the

camera graced us with a close up of his tongue flicking against her 

hard nipples.

 

With one hand I tugged at the belt of my robe, and it parted to either

side of me, baring my naked breasts and midriff. I slid the melon out of

my mouth and let it trail lightly over my chin, then down my throat, to

slide wetly between my breasts. As I watched the young stud at work, I

started to tease one nipple with the tip of the fruit, the wet, sticky

juice clinging to my turgid nozzle. I treated my other tit to the same,

and gleefully rubbed sticky melon juice all over my breasts, all the

time watching the action on the television.

 

The young stud was now bent over Jane, kissing a trail down her

body as he slowly peeled the dress off of her, pulling it under hips

and pushing it down off her legs. She writhed under his lips as he 

slobbered a path down her stomach, and was clutching his hair as his

face dove between her legs, tongue extended for lapping and diving into 

her lightly furred snatch. His hands slid under her ass and literally 

lifted her pussy to his face as he ate her. 

 

I watched rapturously, rubbing my breasts and torso down with the slice

of melon, part of my consciousness admiring the sticky shine of my 

front, almost reflecting the image of the set. As Jack continued his

oral assault and Jane thrashed and moaned and writhed on the table,

I let one hand stray down to stroke my inner thighs, feeling my moisture

covering a wide area.

 

The camera panned in on the image of John's face as it disappeared 

between the woman's legs, showing quantity if not quality of exposure.

Typical soft porn fare, but my hot and lusty mind was already filling in 

the missing picture of his tongue nudging apart her slick pussy lips

and diving inside, trenching her out, then licking her clit. All this 

in my one-track imagination while the camera maintained its almost 

demure position over the woman's belly, catching glimpses of Jack's 

head snaking back and forth, accompanied by impressive slurping

noises.

 

My slick hand was now firmly embedded between my own legs, and I stroked

myself, my index finger sliding up and down over my clit to the irregular

rhythm of the panting participants on the screen. I watched as John 

lifted one hand, pantomiming the act of slipping some fingers into Jane's

hungry cunt. Again, where the camera neglected to provide a better view,

my imagination obliged with a flashed image of two fingers pushing into

her, spearing between her pussy lips as his tongue continued to lash at

her clit, jamming all the way down to the knuckles of his meaty hand.

At the same time, I shoved two fingers of my hand up my hole, my hips

now writhing much like Jane's were, and started slowly fucking my fingers 

in and out of my cunt.

 

John continued to pretend to lap at Jane's pussy for a while, and Jane

eventually faked a melodramatic orgasm. At this point, John removed his

face and fingers from between Jane's legs, and the camera angle changed

to a shot of John's ass, discreetly and hypocritically avoiding unsightly 

full male frontal nudity, as he unfastened his jeans and pushed them off his

hips to lie in a heap around his ankles. He roughly grabbed Jane's thighs

and pulled her to the very edge of the pool table, stepped up between 

them, and 'fisted' his cock into her pussy.

 

All of it fake. All of it cheezy. But it didn't matter to me. In my mind's

eye, John revealed his prick in all its throbbing glory, and I followed

it mentally all the way to the entrance to Jane's steaming cunt, my 

imagination creating a scene so vivid I gasped as it entered her slowly,

filling her inch-by-turgid-inch.

 

My imagination wasn't the only part of me that was active. As my fevered

mind created a scene of mind-blowing eroticism, the poor slice of honey-

dew melon was getting more mileage than any fruit deserves. After 

smearing its juice all over my body, mingling it with my own sweat, I

used it to tease my clit, the still-cool flesh of the melon sending

shivers through me, and the slightly gritty texture of it drove me

wild. After I had had all I could stand of this gourmet stimulation of

my clit, I inserted the end of the melon into my clutching snatch and

pushed it slowly in. The sensation was heavenly, and the irregular 

shape of the melon slice stretched my insides in an entirely new way. 

Again I found myself writhing like Jane, only my show was real.

 

John was now making an impressively manly display of grunts and groans,

and his ass cheeks were a sight to behold as he pounded into Jane with

blinding speed, Jane's entire body jarring with each thrust, developing,

I was sure, one hell of a felt burn on her back. I mimicked their 

mimickry by picking up the pace with my fruit dildo, working it vigorously

in and out of my cunt. My breathing was gradually getting out of control,

and when I added my other hand again to play with my clit, I pushed 

dangerously close to orgasm very quickly.

 

On the screen though, John abruptly stopped his maniacle pummeling of 

Jane, and the camera gave the viewers a 'buns-eye' view of John turning

Jane around on the pool table, so that her head hung slightly off the

bumper, tilting backward. Jane lifted her hands to her mouth, and 

conveniently obscured the view of John's cock disappearing between her

lips and filling her oral cavity. Not so with THIS viewer; I saw John's

cock clearly, as a figment of my imagination, sliding between those 

painted, ruby-red lips of Jane's, watched Jane work her throat around

his long prick. While Jane swallowed his meat, John reached down to 

squeeze and maul her tits with his hands, and whispered lewd obscenties

as he fucked her mouth with his phantom penis.

 

I had almost cried with frustration when John had 'pulled out' of Jane's

snatch. But, remaining faithful to the action on the set, I slowly pulled

the melon slice out of my grasping pussy and, my eyes fixed on John as

he went through the motions of pushing his cock into Jane's mouth, slid

the melon spear between my own lips. I sucked on it vigorously, its

juices and mine wetting my tongue and whetting my appetite, as I flicked

my tongue against it. The taste was tangier than it had been, and of

course the fruit wuch warmer than it had been before, but it was my 

favorite part of breakfast, and I gulped it greedily.

 

My hand, however, had not stopped its action against my cunt, 

and took up the slack the melon had left by replacing it with three

fingers, digging deep inside me. I felt my orgasm approaching again,

and finally the pleasure was too much. I closed my eyes, and let the

melon slice fall forgotten from my hand, which I returned eagerly

to assist. My resolve to postpone my orgasm for Brian had completely

dissolved, and I knew that there was no stopping me this time. Jane's

theatrical cries and groans were drowned about by the pounding of my

blood in my ears and my own soft cries of pleasure. The world narrowed 

to this moment on this bed and these fingers and this pussy and I was 

cumming, oh shit, finally, I was cumming...

 

Suddenly strong hands were gripping my wrists, and I felt my arms

being lifted up and pinned by my head, and a heavy weight descended onto

me. The void left by my flying fingers was almost instantly replaced by 

something much larger, much hotter, and infinitely more satisfying as 

it plunged hard into me. I screamed, and came instantly, harder than I 

ever had in my life, and I came, and came, for what seemed like forever, 

the cock in my aching cunt driving into me relentlessly, endlessly. I

shuddered in uncontrollable waves, my body arching up against the form 

straining above me.

 

Just as my climax seemed to subside, the cock in my pussy began slamming

into me with unbelieveable force and speed, and even as my tortured 

clit screamed a protest I was cumming again. As another scream built

in my throat, a mouth descended to mine, and my unvoiced scream seemed

to crash into a similar one welling from the body thrashing against me

and, like waves, cancelled each other out, leaving us liplocked in a

kiss of mind-shattering intensity. I felt the rhythmic spasms in my 

cunt, and I knew he was cumming too, could feel the heat of the thick

jism as it blasted like a cannon inside me, and the sensory overload

of it all spun me away into a vortex of powerful eroticism. My mind

whirled madly, and my last sensation was that of absolute physical and

emotional joy as my world finally went blank in a dazzling display of

light.

 

When I came to my senses again, I was clutching his shoulders tightly

to me, and my body was shuddering, not with climax but with sobbing,

as I cried out, "Brian, oh Brian, Brian, Brian..." He held me gently, 

stroking my damp hair with touching tenderness. Gradually I calmed 

down, and I lifted my head to look into his deep hazel eyes, so full

of love.

 

"Hi," he said.

 

I choked.

 

He smiled at me, then reached behind him to pluck something off the

bed, and held it for me to see. It was my faithful and much-abused

melon slice.

 

"Is this yours?" he said. And we both laughed.

 



THE END - Anticipation



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   |\'.,`/|    Holly Lynn Johnson

 +';_\c0/_:'+  ez002626@chip.ucdavis.edu

     >`'<      holly@glia.biostr.washington.edu

     |`U'      

     | |       "Demented and sad, but social."

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