Title: Continuo
Author: Nobilis
Summary: A special story for Ellie of bedroomradio.com
Keywords: Fantasies

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Dislaimers

This story is intended as Adult entertainment.  It contains
material of an explicit, adult, sexual nature.  If you are
offended by sexually explicit content, please do not read any
further.

This story is a work of fiction.  All characters and events
portrayed in it are fictional, and any resemblance to real people
is purely coincidental.  The author does not necessarily condone
or endorse any of the activities described.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without
the written permission of the author.  It may be distributed for
free with all disclaimers attached.

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Continuo

by Nobilis

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Preface:

Ellie, this story is for you.  I realize that setting myself the
task of writing a story to please a woman, about whom I know
nearly nothing, is stark hubris, but I attempt it nonetheless. 
Thank you for all the times your voice has made me cum.

This story is also for your listeners, if you should find it
acceptable.  I hope they enjoy hearing your wonderful voice tell
it as much as I have enjoyed writing it for you.

Finally, this story is for my own small group of readers.  As it
is not very similar to previous stories I have published online,
it may not be terribly well received, but such is the risk of
departing from well-traveled territory.

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It wasn't until recently that I noticed it, a bass note,
underneath, a tone with which my sexual life had always been in
harmony.

There was Manfred, the boy who took my virginity.  We had shared
three intense sessions of exploration with finger and tongue
before he got the courage to ask for consummation.  It was dark
in his father's garage that summer, dark enough that my memory
fails to conjure his face, but it vividly recalls the scent of
his sweat and sex, and the tactile contours of his cock.

I remember his soft whispers in my ear, asking me if I would, if
I could, do this unnamed thing.  The word remained unsaid, but I
knew what he wanted.  I remember the sound of my zipper sliding
down, the sound of his pants, heavy with wallet and keys, hitting
the concrete.  I remember the soft nylon-on-nylon sound as we lay
down on the pile of sleeping bags.  I remember his soft grunt as
my body yielded to his, and the satisfying warmth as his seed
filled the condom.

      . . .

In college, my desires became more diverse.  I sought out
Monique, the exchange student from Belgium.  She sang a solo of
lust on the stage in my mind, guided by the strokes of my fingers
and the music of my mouth.  I imagined the feel of her skin, soft
and smooth, and the sharp taste of her juice.

After a month I had become obsessed with her.  I decided to
either fulfill the demands of my imagination, or find some other
target for my private lusts.  In the back of a theater showing of
"The Hunger", my inhibitions lowered by the smoke she and I had
shared, I confessed my secret.  I leaned in close, and whispered,
"I want you."

She turned and looked at me, surprised at my boldness.  She took
my hand and pulled me from the theater, to the privacy of the
fire escape.  She asked if I was playing a game.  She asked if I
was serious.  I looked into her eyes and saw that my desires were
not unreciprocated.

I spoke with the sincerity of unalloyed desire.  "I want you.  I
want your body.  I want to touch you."

We ran to the car.  I drove to a quiet side road.  We shared a
moment, in the moonlight, looking again into each other's eyes,
before my need overcame me.  I lifted her shirt, and found her
small, unencumbered breasts with my left hand, and her lips with
mine.  My right hand held her to me by the back of her neck as my
tongue explored her mouth.  I felt her first soft moan pass into
my body.

I moved lower.  My lips replaced my hand.  My hand lifted her
skirt.  My fingers pulled her panties down.   Her breathing was
accented by pizzicato gasps, rising slowly in pitch as I drove
her closer and closer to culmination.  Her hands played in my
hair.  Just before her first climax, I paused for a moment,
releasing the catch on her seat and gently setting her on her
back.

I gently raised her left leg, and bent down underneath it, to
echo my fingers with my tongue.  I inhaled the perfume of her
arousal, and tasted her essence.  My strokes were unpracticed,
but sincere, and the sound of her rising passion urged me to
redouble my efforts.  I found her tiny node and focused my
attentions upon it.  Her hands became more insistent, pushing my
face into her cleft, while her cries rose to a hovering
crescendo.

When she finally relaxed, we shared a look of mutual
satisfaction.  We exchanged many orgasms, both that night and in
nights to follow, but none were as gratifying as that first one.

     . . .

After college, I became a phone sex operator.  It paid better
than teaching, and left me with plenty of free time to pursue a
music career.

It didn't take long for me to build up a steady clientele.  I
especially liked the men who were clear about what they wanted,
and vocal when they came.  Hank was the best of them.  He always
had an elaborate story to play out with me, and his low, guttural
moans when he came never failed to stimulate me.  When the time
came for me to quit, I decided to give Hank a very special
going-away present.

I reserved a couple of rooms on the top floor of a hotel
downtown.  Rooms 916 and 902 were on separate wings, facing each
other across fifty feet of open space.     Room 916 was for
him, the other was for me.  On my last day, I told him to come to
room 916 at 8pm; the key would be waiting for him at the desk.  
I went to his room first, preparing it, and then went around to
my own, to wait.

Hank arrived at the room to find a pair of cheap binoculars, and
a note on the bed, giving him a number to call.  It was my cell
phone.  My heart had started racing long before I arrived.  When
it rang, the anticipation had built so high that I nearly jumped
out of my skin.

At my direction, Hank opened the drapes on his big patio doors,
and saw me across the wide gulf that separated us.  I told him
the rules.  If he hung up his phone, or left his room, I would
leave immediately, and that would be it - this was a going-away
present, not an invitation to a relationship.  He agreed.

With the preliminaries out of the way, I began my performance.  I
told him, in intimate detail, just how much I appreciated his
patronage, and that it was no professional lie that his voice
turned me on.  While I praised his vocal prowess, I slowly pulled
the shoulders of my dress down, revealing one breast, then the
other, carefully maneuvering the phone from one hand to the
other.

I suppressed a chuckle as Hank tried to juggle the phone, the
binoculars, and the fly of his pants at the same time.  Finally,
he set the binoculars aside long enough to get his pants open and
his cock out.

I told him how I had always looked forward to his calls, how I
saved some of my sexual energy just for him, every night.  I let
the dress fall from my body, to stand clothed only in my
anonymity and the darkness.  The night was warm, but not warm
enough to keep my nipples from tightening into hard little knots
of flesh.  I caressed one, then the other, slowly, and then ran
my hand slowly down my body, into the neatly trimmed thatch of
black hair at my crotch.

As I slipped one finger into my well-lubricated pussy, between
grunts and gasps, Hank told me how much he was going to miss me,
how he looked forward to every call.    I slid my finger up and
down, and then in and out.  I exaggerated my movements a little,
because of the distance, but the energy was sincere.  I brought
myself to orgasm as Hank's back arched and he juiced the glass
between us with thick strands of his cum.

Breathlessly, I said goodbye to Hank, and turned off the phone. 
I'll admit that a tear came to my eye as I got dressed and left
the hotel, but the time had come to leave.

     . . .

My sex life now is devoted mostly to my lover.  We make time for
sex on a regular basis, in spite of our busy schedules, and he
always makes sure to stay well hydrated.

On special nights, when the mood is just right, I tie him to the
bed, or the sofa, or the refrigerator, or the back porch, and I
tease, stroke, lick, suck and fuck him to one orgasm after
another.  I've finally learned what I like.

"Most of my fantasies are of making someone else cum."

....

End
