To be filled. That was her desire. To be filled deeply. To be impaled. To bounce. To be bounced, bounced by big strong hands on her strong wide hips, a long thick cock becoming part of her, part, and then not, and then part again. She imagined her cunt as a shaft of energy reaching straight out through the top of her head, the light of the world, the candle in the dark.

She liked women, got off on women, on their mouths and their hands on her clit and her tiny conical breasts. She had even entertained thoughts of her piano-playing friend. But there was still nothing like a hard warm cock. Vibrators and strap-ons, while enjoyable, were just not quite the same thing.

Unfortunately her boyfriend, such as he was, had lost interest. and her musical partner's boyfriend who was lounging on the couch watching them rehearse, looked very interested indeed.

She had a good view of him over the top of the piano. He was watching her play, watching the way her hands and mouth interacted with the flute, and she could see, quite plainly, that his cock was very interested, very jealous, and very hard.

She drew power from his excitement and used it in her playing, swaying to the music, looking him in the eye, picturing the connection between flute and cock.

For half an hour he watched her, enraptured, as the sky drew dark outside the window behind her.

Finally they stopped playing. She looked at her friend. She looked at her friend's boyfriend. She looked at the dark window. "May I borrow him to walk me home?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course!" said her friend, always happy to do a friend a favor, proud of the fact that she had a boyfriend to lend out, even if she didn't really know what her friends were borrowing him for.

"Of course," echoed the boyfriend with a smile she could, and did, interpret as lewd and anticipatory.

After hugging her friend goodbye she walked to the door of the apartment where the boyfriend stood trying not to look too eager, but eager none the less, his erection clear beneath his pants to anyone who chose to look, and look she did.

They were behaved on the walk from the apartment to the elevator, conscious of the peepholes in every door, his door especially. The silent wait for the ancient elevator was interminable, but when they were on it they were on it alone, with a four floor creakingly slow journey to enjoy.

There was no pretense, no coyness, no shyness, no preliminary flirting chit-chat. They simply turned and grabbed each other, her body pressing him back against the wall of the elevator, her head turned up to meet his head turned down, his lips crushing hers, their tongues entwined, his hands on her hips a promise of near future bouncing.

The leaving of the elevator, the walk down the hall, out the door, down the street, were both interminable and thrilling. She could not touch him, hold his hand, kiss him, in any way display the affection, the anticipation, the secret awesome knowledge that they were going to her apartment to satisfy their intense forbidden lust, to make out naked, to bounce rapturously, to fuck joyously, to come together in the light.

The act of turning the key in the lock of pushing open the door to her apartment that first inch, that moment of chaos between the outside world and her sanctum, between decorum and sexual insanity seemed to last forever before it all sped up and he was on her, pushing her through into the hall, spinning her around and back into the door, his hands on the hem of her t-shirt lifting it over her head, unfastening her bra behind her back as he kissed her, the bra falling to the floor of the hall, his hands on the waistband of her shorts and her underpants, pushing them both down until she could step free and naked before him.

He stopped then. Stopped for just a second to step back and admire her. She did a little pirouette for him and he whistled appreciatively.

It was enough to slow things down, to turn the mood from something insane and uncontrollable, to allow her to take charge, to use him for the purpose borrowed, if not the purpose lent. She held out her hand and he took it, followed her down the hall to her bedroom, stood in shorts and t-shirt and sandals before her nakedness, watched as she undressed him, as he had undressed her, standing very close, her small bare conical breasts jiggling over her cylindrical torso, her straight brown hair brushing the curves of her bare shoulders, her lips curled in a small appreciative smile, her eyes dancing, as she stood on tiptoe to pull his shirt over his head, as she lowered her arms to unfasten his shorts, as his shorts fell, as she grasped his erection in both hands and leaned up and in to kiss him.

The kiss was intense but brief. They were both ready for the fucking and the bed where the fucking would surely occur was only a few short steps away. With no reluctance whatsoever she broke away, sank from her toes to the balls of her feet, her hands still grasping his erection, and pulled him by it, not quite gently, there would be nothing gentle about their time together, pulled him by his cock to her bed, turned him around and pushed him back on to it, never letting go.

But then she paused. Not out of hesitation, but to savor the moment, the look on his face, the joyous leer that encompassed his mouth and his eyes, his ears, his hair, and his whole body, a leer that affirmed her, that warmed her, that made her even wetter than she had been while she played, in the elevator, on the walk, and in the brief moments since they had entered her apartment.

Still focused on his face, leering back down at him she swung her leg over him, knelt for a moment without touching, her hand still on his erection and guided herself down on to it with a small gasping scream of pleasure. He was in her. Her friend's boyfriend was in her, filling her, his hands on her hips, his own hips moving beneath her, his hands lifting her and dropping her and lifting her and dropping her, the heat of his cock and her cunt the light and energy of their souls merged into the pre-imagined shaft, their beacon in the darkness of ignorance and fear, their gift to the world, their gift from the Great Spirit, from the muses of the flute, joined and parting, impaled and filled, lifted and dropped, over and over, crimson and clover, chaos and pleasure mingled forever, tenser and tenser and trembling and coming, his seed spurting into her the orgasm shooting from the top of her head with the force she lived for, her body quivering and shaking and trembling and collapsing on top of him.

She lay there, feeling the shared pounding of their hearts, savoring the bliss, breathing together, high together, spirits soaring through the dreamtime together.

But it had to end. He was, after all, only borrowed, and must to her friend be returned. Reluctantly she rolled off, lay next to him, still panting, and nudged him in the ribs, encouraging him to go.

With equal reluctance he stood, gathered his clothes, watched her sprawled and naked breathing as he dressed, his face a mixture of happiness from the fucking and sadness from the sudden parting.

"Hey!" she said as he turned toward the door.

"Yes?" he answered, turning half way back toward her.

"We're rehearsing again tomorrow."