## Archive-name: A.Taste

From: holly@glia.biostr.washington.edu

Subject: NEW STORY: A Taste of What's to Cum - Part I

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

Hey folks,

Just so you know, this is my first attempt at writing erotic fiction. I hope you like it, because I certainly enjoyed writing it. I am interested in responses, especially of the kind with critical input, but please know that I did not post this because I am receptive to offers. If you want to reply, reply responsibly.

Thanks, and enjoy!

Holly

== A Taste of What's to Cum ==

It had been months since I had seen him. Three months to be exact, three months of loneliness and frustration of the emotional and sexual kind. The intensely sexual kind. Three months of becoming literally a mistress of the art of masturbation and self-pleasuring. Three months of experience which I couldn't wait to share with Brian.

These were the thoughts that filtered through the sleepiness of my jet-lagged brain as I stared out the tiny fiberglass window of the plane. Not that there was anything to see but the fluffy whiteness of clouds, so there was no view to distract me from my contemplation. And considering the reunion soon to be at hand, I could think of little else but finally ending three months worth of gruelling celibacy.

I checked my watch again. Still an hour and a half remaining in the flight. With a sigh I lowered the window shade and nestled my head against the pillow I had stuffed between the seat and the wall of the airplane. My gritty eyelids inexorably lowered, and I dozed...

He stroked my face and gazed into my eyes as I squirmed underneath him. I gazed back earnestly, all of the need and desire mirrored blatantly there for him to see. But still he teased me. Lifting his hips, he probed my pussy with just his cock head, and in my sensitized condition, could almost feel the slit slide like a custom- made groove over my clit. I arched against him further, seeking to suck him inside of me, needing the penetration so badly I thought I would die.

Although I knew he wanted it almost as badly as I did, he still withheld. "Just a second," he said, "Need to make sure you're wet enough." Then his mouth was on mine, his tongue plunging into my mouth aggressively. My eyes were closed, my head swam, but still I could feel his hand snake down between our two sweating bodies, inch into my damp muff, and slide a finger slowly over my clit and down between the cleft of my slick pussy lips. He pushed his finger inside of me, up to his bottom knuckle, and wiggled it around, testing the waters, as his knuckles continued to grind into my hot mound.

"Oh God..." I moaned shakily, "Please..." His hand left my soaking cunt, and slithered up between our torsos, leaving a slimy trail up my abdomen. He stopped to cup one heavy breast, and roughly pinched my nipple. I gasped.

"Please...?" he said.

"Please..." I cleverly repeated. I could take his teasing no longer. My hands raked a trail down his back to his ass, gripping it fiercely. For once, he obliged me by repositioning the head of his cock to the entrance of my pussy, nestling the hot tip between my hotter lips. I tried to pull his hips into mine, aching to feel the familiar spreading of his fat prick as it forged into my hole. But although I, to my credit, am a strong woman, he was still a stronger man. His buttock cheeks clenched tightly in my straining hands, and he remained poised just outside my throbbing cunt.

"Please...what?" he urged.

"Please...fuck me now!!" I sobbed, the words tearing from me. I was never a very vocal person when it came to sex, and he was never very insistent on hearing me voice my carnal needs. But this time it seemed he needed to hear me verify how much I needed him as much as I DID need him: desperately.

Without reply, he crushed his lips down on mine once again, and the tension of his ass under my hands abruptly released as he sank down into me. He literally sank. His cock was so thick, even with my relatively spacious pussy, the first time he entered me was always a stretch, his penis literally pushing the walls of my cunt out of the way as it broke new ground. And the sensation, prolonged all this time, felt so goddamned good I thought I would faint. Oh, if only I could have that first thrust, over and over again, every time.

He started slowly, rocking against me, his cock sliding out and in rhythmically, alternately filling and emptying my pussy, only to stuff it once more with his considerable girth again, and the excruciating pleasure of it quickly brought on the familiar tingle of my impending orgasm. I always feel my orgasms well in advance, and enjoy considerable buildup before the release. But once I felt it start, I turned into a wild woman, clutching and groping at Brian with unchained fervor, my hips arching up to lock against his, such that every forceful thrust ground his pelvis into my aching clit. Which only made me crazier, more desperate.

Brian responded to my frenzy by picking up the pace, no longer sinking and withdrawing, but slamming and jerking, fucking me with increasing speed and force. Both of us were out of control, and strained against each other, grasping each other as we both approached orgasm. We were two perfectly orchestrated instruments, playing each other expertly. My melody: crescendo, crescendo, crescendo...FORTE!!! I came with a vengeance, my body stiffening, my breath catching in my throat, only barely audible whimpers of pleasure a staccato to the rhythm of our bodies. And as I came, my cunt spasmed forcefully around his pounding prick, squeezing him, encouraging him, and with a few more grunts and thrusts, he responded with his harmony: a moan of a deeper timbre, long, drawn out, his cum blasting hotly inside of me like a clash of cymbals, loud, then softer, softer, softer...to fall silent as the symphony wound down to its conclusion. Our bodies and breathing playing decrescendo, decrescendo, decrescendo...pianissimo.

It was searingly hot in the room, our bodies covered with a sheen of perspiration. But after he slowly pulled out of me, he held me close, plastering me to him, ignoring the sticky heat of us both.

We shared a langorous moment of silence, then, "I'm going to miss you."

I turned to face him, saw the sincerity in his eyes, and kissed him softly. "I'm going to miss you too. I love you so much..."

"I love you too."

We cuddled for a few moments longer, then began the painful process of packing...

A jolt of turbulence woke me up. I blinked my eyes hastily, and noticed that I had curled up into the narrow seat, facing the window. Furthermore, one arm had stolen surreptitiously into my folded lap, and the heel of one palm was pressed into the cleft between my legs. I blushed as I remembered about women not being able to experience orgasm in a dream unless there is some physical stimulation outside the dream. I sniffed tentatively, and sure enough, there was the faint but tangible smell of arousal wafting gently around me. Oh God.

I lifted my head from the pillow and craned my neck to peek at the passenger seated next to me, separated by an empty seat in the triad. The man was youngish, and nice-looking...and staring intently at me. I tried not to blush furiously. After all, I didn't know how much of my activities were visible, or how much of those activities he had noticed.

I quickly averted my eyes, and began to straighten myself out. I eased my hand and arm from between my legs, and slowly untwisted my cramped body. I straightened my hair and patted down my rumpled clothes, and then half-stood and cleared my throat, indicating to my seat-mate my need to pass by. He quickly - almost too quickly - rose from his seat and moved into the narrow aisle to allow me enough room. I scrambled awkwardly by, my eyes bashfully downcast, and as I slipped into the aisle I couldn't help but notice the disturbance in his loose pants. Specifically, the sizeable bulge in his pants.

I mumbled a brief thank you and hurried down the aisle to the miniature bathrooms in the rear of the plane. I slipped into an unoccupied stall, engaged the bolt, and sat down with a whomp on the toilet seat. Moments later, I was seized by a fit of uncontrollable giggling, and had to clench my aching sides as they heaved with my laughter. I don't know whether my seat-mate had noticed me masturbating myself to orgasm as I napped. It was conceivable that he could simply smell my heat. Brian had often told me that when I was horny, it was obvious. I almost hoped that he had witnessed me indulging myself, then I would at least know that he got a good show for his frustration.

I spent the next few minutes putting myself back in order, urinating with much relief, and wiping up some extremely copious juices of another sort from my soaking pussy, adjusting my clothes, coming my hair, and splashing some cold water over my face. In short order, I felt human again, calm and composed, albeit extremely relaxed. I felt good.

I almost whistled as I made my way back to my seat, and was even able to smile pleasantly at my seat-mate - and at his still-obvious erection - as I maneuvered myself back into my seat. I buckled myself in and made myself comfortable for the duration of the flight, which, by my watch, was now only a half-hour short of ending.

I finished my flight much as I had started it: by staring out the window, my thoughts on my impending reunion with Brian, now only minutes away. The man next to me made no attempt at communication, which was just as well. As impressive as his bulge had been, I only had thoughts of Brian as the plane flared in for its landing. A short taxi later, and the population of the plane was concertedly collecting its belongings and filing out into the gate of the airport. I smiled at my seating partner one last time as I stepped into line in front of him, and eagerly debarked the plane.

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

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

From: holly@glia.biostr.washington.edu Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: NEW STORY: A Taste of What's to Cum - Part III Summary: The one you've been waiting for! Date: 26 Aug 92 08:52:12 GMT Organization: University of Washington

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!!

Thanks!

Holly

== 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 pussy.

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.

Right.

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 bit.

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 had...to 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: holly@glia.biostr.washington.edu "I get mail, therefore I am." -me

>> No junk mail or bills please! <<

From: holly@glia.biostr.washington.edu Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: NEW STORY: A Taste of What's to Cum - Part IV Summary: The vaunted conclusion Date: 29 Aug 92 11:30:35 GMT Organization: Dept Biological Structure-University of Washington

Hey folks,

*whew* Here it is, the much waited-for, and much slaved-over Part IV. I hope it pleases. Usual disclaimer: Input is great, it's wonderful, it's fabulous. But keep the more private offers private. Meaning: to yourself.

And one more thing. Thanks to everyone that has stayed with me through the whole thing. You guys are the best.

Enjoy!!

Holly

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

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 home 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 bred, a jug of wine, and thou. Hardly.

I thumbed on the tv 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 tv 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 ppv 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 tittillation 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 blank 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 - A Taste of What's to Cum

Last modified (10/09/96 12:14:09) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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