 |
|||
|
|
We'd met just weeks before online; playing at first,
checking each other out with a few witty messages back and forth...a circling
foreplay dance...you innocently asking my shoe size, me asking how far up your
legs you shaved.
Before long, we'd switched to Messenger. Then pics of each other. Our lives.
Our thoughts. Our fantasies. It was getting more and more intense, furtive,
urgent. The need emerging. The heat building.
Then shots of our genitals, enflamed, aroused... cumming. Webcams burning the
wires, teasing each other o promises of kinky delirium. Finally, you saying
"Yes. I want to be Yours. Please. Let me be with you."
The phone. Hours of talk about anything, everything. And oh, the phone sex.
Then deciding we had to make the time, clearing the days off. Booking the
flight.
You, nervous as you received the courier package with your instructions the day
before.
Your collar. Dainty. Leather. You wore it while shaving yourself that night for
Me, hands trembling.
An anticipatory sleep, fitful, moist.
The sun is setting the next night and your plane is late. Later than late.
"Damn cheap "deals"...there's no such thing." I'm thinking,
as I lay on the grass outside, my leather pants tight on my wet shaft, my
untucked white linen shirt covering my urge.
I go to the terminal again, buy a coke and then back to the car, topping it up
with some rum in the trunk and returning to watch the skies, the runways,
waiting.
Thirty thousand feet up, the cabin is hot, people are restless and the captain
finally announces your impending descent.
It's time. You slip into the tight little washroom at the front of the packed
aircraft with your knapsack to prepare for Me, as instructed.
Twenty minutes away.
First, the collar.
Then, out of our jeans, damp thong peeling off in hot pursuit.
Sweatshirt and bra follow into the bag.
Naked there but for the collar, standing, stretching, spreading for your new
dildo.
Wet, urgent feelings taking over...wanting to cum, just once.
No.
As instructed, your fingers dipping inside, dildo away.
Your slick sex cologne behind your ears and generously down your neck.
Inside your elbows, knees, circling your nipples hard and rosy in the
mirror...all pulse points adorned, slathered with your musk.
Mascara, black.
Eyeliner, black.
Eye shadow, black.
Lipstick, red and glossy.
A cat, in heat. My sweet pussy. Soon.
The short black skirt, hugging you close.
You marvel at how the fit is perfect.
The black stockings ending not quite above the short hem.
And the black shoes, spiked, open, with lacey ties snaking up your calves.
The black blouse clinging with lycra to your curves, unbuttoned low so your
nipples nearly escape when you move.
You dip your fingers again, pleasing yourself in the mirror taking it to the
edge again.
"Slutty just for Him, as instructed." you think, smiling seductively,
wet and quivering still. Last
juices wiped on your open cleavage, fingers licked clean.
And you sashay back to your seat, dropping the knapsack twice on the way and
bending, wet and bald, as instructed, showing your ass to the businessmen
trapped there going home, seatbelts the only thing keeping them from reaching
out to touch your glistening inner thighs
as you pick the bag up just a little too slowly, your scent unmistakable, libidos
awakened.
A commuter jet full of hard cocks, aroused by your raw sex on a Friday night.
The terminal is packed as you get off the escalator, and soon all eyes are on
your leggy, musky entrance there, with a few of the bolder, older remora fish
from the plane offering to help get your bag, buy you a drink or drive you to
your hotel.
You have no luggage and you have a lift you nervously tell them. Your juices
flow afresh, excited further by all the old, horny, sweaty suits touching your
arm, brushing their rumpled, suited hard-ons against your hips and ass under
cover of the tightly packed terminal
throng, trying their desperate charm, staring down your blouse... but you are
looking for Me.
I'm on the opposite wall, looking over the sea of heads at you there, my coke
can refilled, smiling, calmly waiting for you, meat against leather, hot and
slippery there.
You see Me and advance quickly, stockings slipping, nipples bouncing, lips wet
and red above...and below.
I pass you the drink and you take it heartily, surprised, then smiling slyly at
the boozy taste as I
slip a hand under your waistband at the front, pulling you close, my fingers
teasing the top of your bald, wet mound. You push against me. Hard.
The fish scatter as I kiss your neck and bite you gently, whispering in your
ear, "Finally."
You give me back the can and slide your hand across my leathered meat, hotter
still, but calming quickly, the rum and sugar and desire racing to your
head...and your sex, sending a rivulet down your thigh.
"Finally."
Out to the car in the dark, my hand on your ass in the terminal, then under
your skirt at the car door as we kiss deeply, tongues lashing for the first
time.
"Get in."
Laughing, w roar out of the terminal
parking lot and hit the road, windows open.
I reach over and dip my fingers between your eagerly spread thighs...then you
recline your seat a bit as we pass trucks slowly for show, roof sliding open,
the interior spot light on your flower moist and bloomed, your fingers
spreading your petals wide for them to see
as you drink from your spiked coke.
My sex is slick, twitching, bursting in my tight pants. I pull over wordlessly
and walk to your door, flinging it open. You turn, unsnap and unzip me there,
leathers sliding to my ankles. You take my springing shaft between your red
glossy lips, sucking fast and well. Greed. Hunger.
I pull back from your lips, red gloss on my shaft, and slip on silky swim
trunks for the rest of the ride, liner cut away the night before, so my cock
can be easily reached while driving.
I instruct you to strip there in the car. You obey, only collar, stockings and
shoes remaining as we slip through the night, country roads curvy and dark.
And soon I am naked too, you sucking me, me fucking you, rimming you with my hand,
your legs splayed out the window and the roof at speed, our clothes strewn o'er
the back seat dangled there.
I want to cum. Inside you. And you're whimpering there for my meat. I stop,
engine running as hot as you, high beams knifing the countryside as I bend you
over the nose of the car and become your ultimate driving machine from behind,
balls slapping, you ready to cum in a few
fast, hard strokes.
I take you over the top then whip you around, still squealing, and cum on your
tits, arcs of cream lit by the moon and the halogens there, smearing my sex
over your torso, you licking my hand as I bite your turgid nipples then kissing
again, our juices combining and keeping us wild.
Back in the car, you sucking yet more, slowly now, savoring my hardness
maintained.
We finally arrive. Engine and lights off by the door.
A world of silence but for your lips sliding red, wet on my meat
===============
Hot, huh!
Hi, I’m Faye.
I wrote a (true) story about what I let be done to me by a group of men in 2002 In West Virginia (by my friend’s husband and all his buddies). I posted it on BSDMlibrary, and someone sent me the above email in response. I didn’t reply because his long email doesn’t specifically mention me: he probably mass-mails that to every woman on the net. Nevertheless, it is so hot, that I decided to share it.
If you’re interested, my story, which triggered this response, is at http://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/story.php?storyid=5213
Later,
-- Faye Kane, recursively enumerated, insufficiently remunerated, double data-rated, triple X-rated, psychoactive, hyperactive, hyperbolic, hypergolic, St. Vitus' dancin', pull down her pants and low-class, kiss-my-ass, underemployed, overjoyed, masterpiece-makin', masturbatin', window ledge over-the-edge, screwy, chiral, downward-spiral, ass upended, fair-weather-friended, solid gold, triple-holed, titty-peek girl geek.
My profile and weblog: http://blog.myspace.com/fayekane
3/25/07
|
|
|