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All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
This story is dedicated to the real "William", even if he doesn't like
creme de menthe.
Deception
by [email protected]
*
"Brandy and soda, please - and could you add just a touch of Midori?"
William looked up from his magazine to look at the woman who had
seated herself a few stools down the bar. Perhaps just a little
different from the sort one would usually find in the lounge of the
Great Southern Hotel; a little bit of the intellectual about her,
perhaps, more of the studious kind than most. Her hair was done in a
simple style which belied its expensive cut. Red lipstick outlined a
crisply cut mouth which seemed just as inclined to remain neutral as
to smile. She wasn't tall, but leggy nonetheless, and the high heels
she wore accentuated the long expanse of calf flowing smoothly
downward.
The bartender smiled at her as he neatly tossed a highball glass into
the air, letting it spin slowly and fall with a soft sound into his
hand. "First drink I've ever had a lady order that I didn't know the
name of," he said. Ice rattled into the glass and he expertly
measured a jigger of French brandy into it. William hadn't heard her
specify the finest brandy in the house, but wasn't surprised when the
bartender took it upon himself to use it as a matter of course. From
the woman's lack of expression, William imagined she was used to these
sorts of little tributes.
"Oh?" The woman said, smiling back as soda from the well splashed
over the brandy. "It's just something I made up one evening at home."
"Ah..." The barman turned around for a moment, and retrieved the
pebbled bottle of emerald green from a long mirrored shelf of jeweled
liqueurs. "You sound American, is that home?"
"Right on the first guess." She watched as a cocktail napkin was
whisked in front of her and her glass placed carefully in its center,
the barman's hand lingering for just a moment, no doubt to emphasize
the fact he wore no wedding ring. William returned his gaze to his
magazine, his eyes moving mechanically along the lines of type, but
his attention was focused on the woman and her softly accented voice.
Her vowels were long and the consonants blurred, a slow voice, a voice
of drowsy summer afternoons. He had known another woman with a voice
like that once, from the American South. Some absurd Grecian name of
a town, what had it been? Athens? Rome? Sparta? Something like
that. A voice that conjured up images of white marble and vast green
lawns, a slave or two out somewhere picking cotton. William snorted
and turned the page to the letters column.
Whatever the bartender thought of the woman, she didn't seem to think
much of him. She gathered up her drink, wrapping her napkin around
its glass, and her heels tapped smartly on the polished wood of the
floor and then thudded softly on the deep red carpet by the fireplace.
A quick glance to his right showed William that she had settled on a
sofa there, the one in the back corner of the room.
He closed his magazine and signaled the barman for another Guinness.
No special favors for William, no chatty comments; the bartender
simply filled his glass, waited a moment, then topped it off without a
word. William nodded to him and slid a note across the bar and stood,
aimed in the direction of the far corner of the room. He thought he
saw the bartender smirk at him, but possibly not.
William sat in a wing-back chair opposite the woman. She either took
no notice of him or pretended that she didn't; her head was leaned
back against the soft pillows of the sofa back, her eyes closed, her
long fingers curled around her glass, steadying it on the sofa arm.
Her legs were crossed high, her skirt barely coming half-way to her
knees; William noted with interest that she wore stockings instead of
hose. The dark bands of their elastic melted into the shadows under
her skirt.
He turned the page of his magazine, rattling the stiff, shiny paper as
much as possible as he did. It had its intended effect: she leaned
her head forward and opened her eyes. Brown eyes, with long black
lashes. Silver earrings swayed with the movement of her head.
"Did I disturb you? I'm sorry." He smiled at her, asking
forgiveness. Actually, now that he had caught her attention he was a
bit flustered, and the color rose in his cheeks, making him, as he
knew it would do, look quite a bit younger than he really was.
She smiled back, although a little warily. "That's okay. Just sort
of resting my eyes." She took a sip of her drink and seemed to roll
it about in her mouth, as if cooling its interior, and then swallowed.
"You have a very lovely voice." William closed his magazine and
placed it in his lap. "You sound remarkably like a friend of mine,
someone from the South. You're Southern too, aren't you?"
Her eyes lost some of their guard, and she smiled again, this time a
genuine smile. "Yes, I am. I'm from Atlanta. That's about as South
as you can get." She laughed, very quietly, her lips barely parting.
"Is your friend from thereabouts?"
"I think so, I was never very keen on American geography in school."
He gave a quick self-deprecating smile. "Athens, perhaps? Does that
sound familiar?"
"Yes, it certainly does - that's where I went to college." Her smile
widened. "Perhaps I know her? Wouldn't that be spooky? What was her
name?"
William thought quickly, and decided. "George. Valerie George.
Name ring any bells with you?"
She seemed to think for a moment, and then shook her head. "Sorry,
but no. I know a man named George, Michael George. No Valerie,
though. Maybe they're related. Not many people named George in
Athens. Not exactly a fine old Southern name." There was a pause and
she looked at William's face, as if she were studying it. "Speaking
of names, mine's Jan." She leaned forward and held out her hand.
William wondered for a split second if she expected him to kiss it,
and then remembered that even American women were very big on shaking
hands. He stood and crossed to her, shaking her cool hand in his warm
one.
"I'm William." He gave her hand one last squeeze, making the rings on
her fingers click together. A quick look told him that all her rings
were on her right hand.
"Hi William. Have a seat." She proffered the sofa perpendicular to
hers with a wave of her hand; William ignored it and sat next to her.
Her eyes flashed for a moment but she smiled and turned so that she
could face him.
"Been in Galway long?" William took a long draught of his stout,
watching her face over the rim of his glass. Her face was rounded,
her mouth full and painted a brilliant red. Short wavy hair fluffed
out around her face in a cloud.
"Just a couple of days, actually." She swirled the ice in her drink.
"I came here to meet someone."
"Ah." William put his drink on his knee and looked regretful. "Perhaps
I should leave you then. I wouldn't want to cause any problems when
your friend arrives."
"Well, he's not going to arrive." Her smile withered for a moment,
and then resumed. "So stay as long as you like. Don't let me run you
off."
He looked at her for a moment, his gaze catching hers, then nodded to
her knowingly and grinned. "Don't mind if I do." He gestured to her
glass. "May I get you another one of those, whatever they're called?"
"Oh, no thanks." She drained the last of her drink and put the empty
glass on the table in front of them. "I just came down here to forget
my woes. I really don't drink all that much."
"Surely you eat though. Would you like to go to dinner with me, Jan?"
"Dinner?" She seemed surprised, as if she had never been asked that
particular question before. "Well I - well, yes. That would be nice."
She put her hand briefly on his arm. "Thank you, William. How nice of
you to ask."
"Shall we say seven thirty?" He looked at his watch; it was a quarter
past five. Plenty of time for her to do whatever women did before
accepting a dinner date with a stranger.
"How about seven?" She laughed and stood up. "Meet you right here at
seven then?"
"Seven it is." He said, looking up at her. "I think I'll finish this
before I go home and change."
She turned to go, giving him a last look over her shoulder. "See you
in a little while." She smiled at him again, and then left the bar,
her long legs flashing.
William threw a glance at the bartender on the way out. The bartender
was not amused.
*****
"You look lovely, Jan." And she did, he thought, not lovely in the
way he was accustomed to American women looking, with bleached hair
and sunlamp tans, but lovely in an individualistic sort of way. She
was certainly well-dressed; that was a Chanel gown, he had seen one
like it in his wife's fashion magazines. From the rich, warm smell of
her floating across the table, he guessed that her perfume was from
the same house. He couldn't place the number, but it wasn't Number 5.
"You certainly are complimentary." She looked at him from under her
lashes as she pierced a bit of escarole on her fork. "First I have a
lovely voice, and now I look just the same."
"Do you mind being told that you're lovely?" William poured more wine
in his glass.
She laughed and put her napkin to her lips. "No, not really."
"Well then. I shall just keep on saying it."
The waiter appeared with their entrees, and talk turned to trivia as
they ate. She was a vegetarian, he loved nothing better than seafood.
They had both visited the same pub in Edinburgh, only two years apart.
He was an engineer, she worked for an American telephone company.
"So where did you hear of this place?" William asked her as their
plates were cleared away and liqueurs poured. She had been the one to
suggest the restaurant.
"Out of a pamphlet, actually." She sipped at her liqueur. "From the
hotel, you know."
"Nice place. I've never been here before. Lived here for years and
never it knew it existed."
"Really?" She smiled. "I picked it because the brochure said they had
dancing. I love to slow dance, don't you?"
"Well." He drank half of his creme de menthe. "In a manner of
speaking."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.
"If you love to dance, maybe we could take a turn now?" He rose from
his chair and took her hand. "May I?"
"Yes, you may." A wry smile was on her face, and he returned it.
Her body was warm next to his; he wondered if it was all his doing or
partly the wine and liqueurs. He preferred to think the former, but
laughed inwardly as he told himself that it didn't really matter; she
smelled nice, and her breasts quivered inside of her dress invitingly.
She didn't seem to be wearing a brassiere.
She moved against him, deliberately it seemed at times, brushing her
pelvis against his. His cock stirred at the nearness of her, his
hands only a layer of cloth away from her ample breasts, her arm
pressed into the small of his back as they danced, linking her body to
his. When his hand brushed over her derriere she did not pull away,
but moved in closer to him. He thought for a fleeting moment what it
would be like to feel her body pressed against his, naked in the dark.
He kissed her ear lightly. She murmured something and laid her head
on his shoulder.
When the song ended, the dancers applauded lightly, and while she
looked toward the orchestra he took her in his arms swiftly and
pressed the full curve of his lips to hers. She seemed startled for a
moment, as if the sight of his dark blue eyes so close frightened her,
but at the tiniest touch of his tongue to her lips they parted, and
her eyes closed, and she gave herself up to his kiss. He felt her
hands grip his arms.
He broke the kiss and put his lips to her ear. "Thank you for the
dance."
"My pleasure." Her voice wavered just the smallest bit, and she
blushed, the color rising from the tops of her breasts and flowing
into her face.
"Would you like another drink?" He led her back to their table and
held her chair for her, sliding it under her deftly as she sat.
"That would be nice," she said, "but I have a craving for a champagne
cocktail, ice cold, and I know the bartender at the hotel stocks
Southern Comfort. Makes me think of home." She looked at him
innocently, her eyes sparkling.
"Then let us go there, by all means."
The night outside was cool; the rain had ended just a little while
before. Pools of rainbows glittered on the black pavement of the
parking lot, oil refracting beauty into the watery night. He unlocked
the passenger door of her car; she had a rental Mercedes but admitted
she was none too comfortable driving, as she put it, on the wrong side
of the road. Her simple dress framed her hips, and the heavy chain
she wore about her neck made the silk jersey mold her breasts
perfectly. His gaze took her in appreciatively, and she seemed to be
slightly amused by his stares. Emboldened, he pressed her against the
car, her back arching against the cold metal, and he rubbed his
stiffened crotch against her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as
he kissed her. Her mouth tasted of creme de menthe, cool and sweet.
Her arms went around him and she moaned as she felt his erection press
against her.
"Let's go back to the hotel." She whispered, her arm going around his
waist.
He drove back slowly, his hands a little unsteady on the wheel; her
hand was pressed to his crotch, kneading it, tracing the outline of
his hardness under the cloth.
"Let's order our drinks upstairs." She said as they entered the hotel
foyer. "I'm in a suite, it has a very nice sitting room. Much
quieter up there." She punched the button for the elevator and he
smiled.
She took a key from her sequined clutch and fitted it to the lock and,
giving him a quick smile, opened the door and walked in. He followed,
and turned to shut the door.
The suite was done in blue; thick blue carpets, blue moire upholstery,
blue walls. The lights shining from the floor gave him the feeling of
being underwater.
She took off her shawl and let it hang carelessly from the back of a
chair.
"Do you mind if I change out of this dress?" She gave a slight shrug
as if embarrassed. "It's a bit uncomfortable, to tell you the truth."
"Take it off, I don't mind." He smiled at her slyly.
"Um, yes." She shot him an amused look. "I'll go change. Would you
order me a champagne cocktail? Make sure you ask for it with Southern
Comfort." She turned toward the bedroom and then stopped. "Make that
two. Be sure and get something for yourself." She went into the
bedroom and closed the door.
He ordered her cocktails, and another pint for himself. He looked
around the suite, wondering if any of the little trinkets lying around
were hers, would speak anything about her personality. Some envelopes
on the desk, addressed to a Jan Hawkins, with absurd American stamps -
what other country on earth would immortalize Elvis Presley on a
stamp? The second sheet of a letter lay almost obscured under its
envelope; a hastily scrawled signature was all that was visible,
right under the words "Your Loving Husband".
Hmm.
He took off his jacket and put it over the back of the chair at the
writing desk and stood there, waiting for her, one hand idly turning
the tiny silver earring in his ear, listening to her bumping about in
the next room and he wondering what to expect. He cursed when he felt
the back slip from the earring post. There was no way he could find
it in the deep pile of the carpeting. Perhaps it would stay in of its
own accord.
A knock came on the door, and he opened it; a maid stood there with
three drinks on a silver tray. He signed the ticket and tipped the
girl, and closed the door in her face. He would be happy to service
milady from this point. More than happy, in fact.
"Oh good." Jan stood in the doorway of the bedroom. Her hair was
swept back from her forehead in a silver filigree clasp, taking off
years of age and sophistication from her face. "I'm thirsty."
She walked barefoot across the carpet, her feet sinking slightly into
the nap. She wore a man's dress shirt, hopelessly large for her; she
took a cocktail from the tray and curled up against one arm of the
sofa, snuggling herself down into the pillows. William saw black
spandex shorts peeking from under the tails of her shirt.
"Mmm. That's good." She patted the sofa cushion next to her in
invitation. "You can have a seat without being asked, you know. We
can be informal, nobody can see us." She twirled her glass by its
stem.
He sat next to her and put his drink on the table in front of them.
"This is probably a very odd question, but would you have an earring
back I could borrow?" He took the little stud from his ear and showed
to her with a grin. "I seem to have lost mine. Unless it would be
too much trouble..."
"No, not at all." She handed him her glass. "Back in half a moment."
She trotted across the carpet to the bedroom, and William watched for
her return, anxious to witness the display in reverse.
"Here you go." She held out her hand, the tiny piece of curved metal
resting on her palm. "Need some help getting it back in? I used to
have a lot of trouble doing that without a mirror." She smiled and
held his eyes for a moment longer than he would have expected.
"That would be nice." He handed her the earring. "Usually takes me a
number of tries. I have no idea where the thing fell, I didn't see it
on the carpet."
Jan put one hand on his breastbone, inside the open collar of his
shirt, holding him still. "Don't fidget." She gave a breathy little
laugh, and pushed the earring in and slid the back onto the post.
"There you go." She put her hand back inside the collar of William's
shirt. "Maybe it fell and got caught in your pocket?"
"I didn't think to look there." Her hand was very warm against his
skin, and her fingers tickled the soft fan of hair there.
"I'll be glad to look." She put her hand in his shirt pocket, her
fingers brushing lightly against his nipple. It instantly hardened at
her touch. Her lips quivered at the corners, a covert smile. "Nope,
nothing there... maybe in your collar?" She ran her long-nailed
fingers across the back of his neck, making him shiver as she stirred
the dark wisps of hair there.
She moved in a little closer to him, one hand massaging the occipital
ridge under his hair, the other continuing her search inside his
collar. She slid her hand as far as the buttons of his shirt would
allow, and leaned forward, her lips close to his ear.
"Shall I continue?" She whispered.
"Please do."
She parted each button from its slit, and kissed down his breastbone
as she uncovered his chest. The fan of hair narrowed to a line
pointing downward, soft as a snowfall. Her fingers followed its
direction, parting the opening of his shirt, pulling it from the
confines of his belt. She slipped the shirt down his arms and tossed it
onto the seat of a chair, where it caught for a moment and then
slithered into the floor. His chest naked, her tongue wormed over each
nipple briefly, and they sent little shivers down to his groin. When she
came to his navel she darted her tongue into it, and he laughed.
"Don't stop there," he said, but she only laughed and leaned back.
"I really don't think it's fair that you can sit here with no shirt on
and I can't. I don't know about here, but we have equal rights where
I come from." Her face held a wicked smile.
"Like me to help?" He reached out to her shirt and quickly unbuttoned
it, anxious to see her full, naked breasts, whose nipples were peaking
against the cool cotton, making little shadows fall underneath them.
She shrugged the shirt off, letting it fall behind her. Her hands ran
palms upward under her breasts, lifting them, offering them to him.
"You like?" She whispered.
"Yes, very much." He leaned over and pulled a nipple into his mouth,
a sound of satisfaction rising from his throat at the feel of its hard
pebbled surface. She kneaded her breasts as he sucked, kissing his
hair.
His hand slid up her thigh to her crotch; he could feel the valley
made by her sex through the form fitting shorts. He pressed at the
hidden opening, and she hummed low in her throat.
"Would you like me to take these off?"
He nodded without taking his mouth from her breast; she gently pushed
him away and stood up, peeling the spandex down like a second skin.
His cock throbbed painfully in its strictures as he noticed that she
was clean-shaven, the skin between her legs white and smooth.
She lay on the sofa, her head in his lap, her cheek pressed against
the bulge in his crotch, raking her nails lightly along the soft down
on his arms. She was smiling.
"Hi."
"Hi yourself." His hand slipped across her stomach and down to the
moist crease between her thighs. She spread them slightly to allow
his fingers to slip inside its opening.
"That feels nice." She closed her eyes and wriggled her head on her
lap, a strand of hair falling across her eyes, which she brushed away.
"Yes, it does. It feels very nice." He pushed his finger gently
inside of her, covering it with her juices, sliding it upward to
lubricate her clitoris. Her hands went to her breasts, holding them,
pressing them together so that her nipples pointed at the ceiling;
she gave a low hum of approval as he made slow circles around her
clit.
The feel of her face so close to his erection was maddening, and he
shifted to ease the feeling of constriction. She had made no move to
free it from his clothing; she had not even touched below his navel
since the long ride in the car when she had teased him unmercifully.
He moved a hand from her breast and laid it on his cock's outline,
pressing it there. "Need some help with my belt buckle?" He asked
softly, smiling down into her face.
"Excuse me?" She opened her eyes and looked at him in puzzlement.
He squeezed her hand between his palm and his crotch again. "There's
someone here who would like to meet you." He shifted his weight
upward, pressing against her trapped hand.
She moved the hand from her crotch and grasped the gently rubbing
fingers, holding them away from her body. She sat up. "I beg your
pardon?" She didn't smile.
A trace of doubt passed across his face, and then cleared. She was,
after all, an American; perhaps they weren't speaking exactly the
same language.
"I just thought you might be interested in seeing how much you affect
me."
She didn't say anything, but seemed to draw her spine a little
straighter, her legs pressing together tightly.
He unbuckled his belt and pulled the zipper pull downward, his silk
underwear gleaming dully in the soft lighting of the room.
"Just exactly what do you think you are doing?" Her face was stony.
"I am showing you the massive erection you've given me." He pulled
down its covering, his hips rising slightly from the surface of the
cushion on which he sat. It was a relief to release his cock from its
tight home, and he held it proudly in his hand, the full, ripe head
shining. He gripped it tightly for a moment, and almost sighed with
pleasure, to be naked and erect in front of her.
"I haven't given you a thing." She retrieved her shirt and pulled it
on first one arm, then the other, and shrugged it into place on her
shoulders, making her breasts shift heavily. "Perhaps we have
misunderstood one another."
"No, I don't think so." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward
him, almost making her lose her balance. He wrapped her hand, covered
by his own, around his cock and thrust it inside of her grip.
"What are you doing?" She looked at him angrily, trying to snatch her
hand away.
"I'm asking you to reciprocate a little bit." He looked at her, his
brows lowering, wonderment at just what kind of game she thought she
was playing plain on his face. "When you lie naked on my lap and let
me masturbate you, I figure you would be interested in at least
returning the favor."
"Well, I'm not." Her voice was cold. "So since I don't seem to have
what you want, why don't you just go?" She stood up and bent over to
retrieve her shorts, her breasts swaying with her movement, her ass
presented to his gaze.
"But you do have what I want. And I think you want it too, whatever
you say." He rose quickly from the sofa, putting his arms around her
waist from behind, his half-exposed sex feeling like fire against her
cool buttocks.
"You're wrong." She whirled in his arms, her arms crossed in an
instinctive X across her breasts. "I'm not interested in anything
like that."
"How could you not be interested?" He pulled her to him, kissing her
neck, his hands running over her shoulders, confining her in his arms.
"When we were in the car you were about to rip my clothes off."
"I don't remember that at all." She tried to pull away from him, but
his arms were strong. "You are reading things into perfectly innocent
actions. Let me go." Her voice quavered with barely contained fury.
"Innocent actions? You almost pulled my cock right through the
cloth." Her throat was so lovely and cool against his lips, he
nibbled at its skin as she writhed in his encircling arms. "Feeling
guilty, Mrs. Hawkins?" He chuckled and put his lips to hers, his
tongue stabbing through her lips, lips thinned with anger.
"No, I am not feeling guilty." She pulled her head away roughly and
her eyes blazed into his. "I have done nothing to feel guilty about
and I'm not going to, either, so like I said before, perhaps you
should just leave." She freed herself from his grasp with a shove and
walked a few steps toward the door.
"I don't want to leave." He said simply, pulling the elastic of his
briefs up, the head of his cock peeking over the top. "I want to make
love to you."
"I really don't give a damn what you want." Her eyes were wide, her
pupils dilated.
He crossed over to her and tried to take her in his arms, but she
whirled away, retreating toward the bedroom door. He made a lunge for
her, and caught her by the elbow.
"Why don't you want to admit that you want me?" He smiled at her
coolly. "Mr. Hawkins is thousands of miles away. He'll never hear
you while I make you come over and over again."
She tried to pull free of him again, but he held her tightly,
propelling her inexorably toward the bedroom. He pushed her inside
the door and closed it tightly behind him, locking the knob.
"I will ask you reasonably one more time to get out and leave me the
hell alone." Jan's breasts were heaving with her rapid breaths. "If
you don't, I will scream bloody fucking murder and watch them cart
your ass off, do you understand?" Her accent deepened with the rage
in her voice, and William followed her words with difficulty, but her
meaning was clear. He put his mouth to hers, covering it, her breath
singing against him. With a swift movement he toppled her over onto
the bed, her legs over the side; he parted them and stood there
looking down at her as he pulled his trousers and briefs downward.
"Scream? Why? So that someone can come in here and find your dress
gracefully arranged on the valet stand? Your shawl neatly on the back
of a chair? Your shorts in the living room floor where you pulled
them off in your haste to make love with me?" He gave a short laugh.
"And then they could come in here and see that charming little device
there, the one on the night table." He gestured at the thick vibrator
which lay there.
She gave him a look of loathing.
"Yes, sweet one, right next to the little jar of lubricant." He
kicked his clothing away from his feet and massaged his cock. It was
incredibly hard, jutting out at an angle, kicking in time to his
heartbeat.
He grabbed her by the saddle of her hips, sliding her across the
smooth satin of the coverlet. She tried to grab the spread to impede
her progress, her legs flailing against him, her knees trying to meet
but encountering him, squeezing him in a vain attempt to shut him out.
She tried to turn onto her stomach, but he threw himself on her,
grabbing her by one shoulder, his other hand guiding his cock to her
hot, wet sex. She cried out as he penetrated her, her knees coming up
almost involuntarily, trying to writhe away; it made her pussy
excruciatingly tight, and he groaned in pleasure. Her breasts shook
with her movements, the sight fueling his desire. His strokes were
long and hard; she seemed to be sliding upward on the bed from the
sheer force of his movements inside of her. He held her down by her
upper arms and moved his body completely over hers, his cockhead still
buried in her tight flesh, her heels beating against him in staccato
movements.
She screamed at him to stop, and her fists drummed on his back as she
struggled beneath him, the muscles of her cunt contracting around his
cock with her movements. He took a nipple in his mouth and teased it
between his teeth, nipping it lightly, then harder, and she cried out
again and her nails made sharp points into his skin. Her cunt felt so
good on his pulsing shaft, her flesh so hot and soft as his cockhead
opened the way. He settled down to a rhythm matching her struggles,
feeling his balls tighten and swell, the first sweet ache of a coming
flood.
But not to come, not yet. William pulled his hardness from her,
dripping wet. He sat on her thighs, holding her down, one hand on her
breastbone to keep her from escaping. He reached for the little glass
jar by the vibrator and removed the wide cork from its mouth. The
strong scent of mint filled his nose; he dipped two fingers into the
gel and slathered it over his cock. It was cold, so cold, so slippery
and cold. His cock started to feel as if were made of ice. He let
the jar roll to the floor and pulled at his icy hardness, looking down
at Jan.
"Turn over." He said, watching her expression. Her lips parted and
her eyes widened.
"Why?" She whispered. Her eyes pleaded with him.
"Just do it." He whispered back, and lifted himself up from his
sitting position, rolling her roughly under him.
The globes of her ass were round; he parted them slowly to find the
tiny pink entrance he sought. He slipped a lubricated finger into her
and she shrieked into the coverlet of the bed and her hips bucked,
trying to press her cheeks tightly together. It felt so good when he
slipped his achingly cold cock between the warm skin of her buttocks,
and he gasped as he felt the head of his cock slide into the
exquisitely tight opening of her ass.
"Oh god!" She was crying over and over, her voice muffled by the
heavy covers of the bed. He moved up into her slowly, the pinching
tightness giving way to a long smooth expanse of warmth, tight as a
fist. His coldness buried completely in her warmth drove him to a
frenzy, and he fucked her ass in long, smooth strokes, unbroken by her
thrashing underneath him.
He curled his body over hers, his hands reaching under her to find her
breasts. He took a nipple in each hand and pinched them, letting her
heavy breasts sway with his thrusts. Her breathing was ragged, and
she gave a low moan each time his cock submerged itself inside of her,
faint begging cries reaching up to his ears.
He rode her joyously, his cock a long expanse of pleasant agony with
his need to come, to come inside her as she twisted and turned beneath
him. The sweat ran down his face as he threw back his head and closed
his eyes, concentrating on the throbbing in his sex, the rippling feel
of his cock invading her tight ass, her cries as she bit down hard on
a fold of the bedclothes. He felt the gathering of his orgasm, the
inescapable truth of it. He called out to her hoarsely that he was
going to come, and grabbed her ass and shoved his entire length into
her, his climax roaring through him, come flowing from him in jets,
his screams of pleasure ripped from his throat.
He collapsed on top of her; stars swam in front of his eyes. She lay
still beneath him, her breathing as hard as his. His flesh was still
joined to hers, the spasms slowing, but still strong enough to make
her flinch and moan as his ejaculated his last drops into her.
"Did you come?" He whispered in her ear. She groaned in reply, her
fists clenching and unclenching beside her.
He pulled his cock from her gently, lovingly, and turned her over in
her arms. Her hair had come loose from its clasp and obscured her
face.
"Did you come?" He whispered again.
She rolled away from him and struggled to lift herself to her elbows,
her head bowed, her breath coming a little easier now. He reached out
and stroked the side of her face, and she shuddered.
"Did I come?" He saw her face, flushed, partially hidden by her
falling hair. She took a deep breath.
She pushed the hair from her face and smiled up into his. "About ten
times." She giggled, a little breathlessly. "Wow. That was the best
time yet." She snuggled up against him and smirked. Her body was
smooth and warm against his.
"Is it my turn to rape you tomorrow night?"
He grinned at her lustfully in reply.
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