silk scarves

Author’s Note: Positive feedback from readers for my last submission in this category tempted me to try my hand at another one. This story however has a different feel. It is edgier – more erotic journey than romantic interlude. Enjoy.



*****




I rested my neck on the edge of the bathtub and stretched my limbs, luxuriating in the warmth of the foamy water. I surveyed the unfamiliar opulence of my surroundings and sighed with satisfaction. I had learnt on my arrival at the resort hotel in Maui where I was to stay that my confirmed reservation had been deleted by a mysterious glitch in their system and that no rooms were available. Either my panic stricken face or more probably the fact that I am a claims agent for a major marine insurance company persuaded the management to get rid of the problem by upgrading me to a beach side cottage.



I wasn’t unhappy with the solution. The cottage was huge, lavishly appointed and barely meters from the sand and surf. Today, I had spent an hour walking barefoot on the beach, the golden sand spilling over my toes. I had then lingered in the patio, savoring the most magnificent sunset I had ever seen, before gliding gratefully into my marble bathtub. I had no plans to move any time soon, at least not until it was time for the massage that I had ordered for myself in a moment of self-indulgence.



My back arched and my nipples broke the surface, slick and wrinkled. I gently twisted a nipple between my thumb and forefinger and felt my pussy lurch in sympathetic response as my body began to inch up its familiar curve of arousal. I am proud of the fact that, despite being in my 40s, I have the body of a woman several years younger. The passage of the years has not dimmed my desires. If anything, they have grown in intensity; my needs now more urgent, more demanding.



But my body was not always so sensitive or so erotically charged nor was I always so accommodating of its needs. I had married early, at the age of 20, and had two children in quick succession. During our courtship and the early years of our marriage, my husband couldn’t keep his hands off me. He would take me in the most unexpected of places, at the most unexpected of times. He would come up behind me while I was at the kitchen sink rinsing off the dishes, rip my clothes off, toss me on the kitchen table which he would empty with a careless sweep of his hand, tear my thighs apart and bury his already hard cock into my yearning cunt. Or he would surprise me in the shower, bend me over and fuck me without preamble. I enjoyed his hunger, the fact that he could not resist my body; that I turned him on so much that he could not bear to wait to have me.



After a few years, however, the passion petered out. The sex became mechanical, a Saturday night ritual that seemed driven more by duty than by desire. Gradually, even that pretence at passion fizzled out. He seemed perfectly comfortable spending the evenings in an emotional cocoon that seemed impenetrable, reading or fiddling with the TV remote. The trouble was, while I loved him to distraction, I wanted passion in my life … and heart stopping, toe curling, pussy clenching sex.



I wasn’t getting it and it was driving me crazy. I was torn apart – by the desperate, ungovernable urges in my body and the beating that my self esteem had taken because the only man in my life did not appear to find me attractive enough to want me. In hindsight, the fact that he is more than two decades older than me probably had something to do with his loss of interest, but I was not in the frame of mind to be logical or rational. I honestly don’t know if I would have found a way out of my agony if Andrew hadn’t happened to me.



*****




That day, my husband had already left for work. The children were at school. I had just stepped out of the shower. Since there was no one in the house, I had not troubled to pull on a gown or wrap a towel around myself. I sat down naked, in front of the bedroom mirror, a few beads of water still dribbling down my back, and began to run a brush through my shoulder length hair.



It was then that I saw him or at any rate, his reflection in the mirror. The next door house belonged to a widow, Mrs. Stevens, who lived with her young son, Andrew, who had just finished High School. My bedroom window overlooked his and both were now open. I saw him standing in the shadows of his bedroom, half hidden by the curtain, the bare flesh of his naked torso glistening in the sunlight that slanted into his window. His right arm was jerking rhythmically and from where I was sitting, the meaning of that movement was unmistakable. He was masturbating to the vision of my naked body, oblivious to the fact that I had seen him.



However, for me, what was more shocking than the discovery that my neighbor’s 18 year old son was playing with his cock as his eyes drank in my nakedness was my reaction to it. To my surprise, I found that I was not shocked or embarrassed. I was shamelessly aroused – aroused by his arousal, by the idea that he found me desirable and attractive and that in his young, lust befogged mind he was probably fantasizing about fucking me, about burying his hard, throbbing cock in my sopping wet pussy.



Instead of getting up and closing my window, I found myself shifting in front of the mirror to turn my naked body partly towards him. From his bedroom window, he could now see the soft, firm swell of my right breast as it rose and fell in rhythm with the strokes of my hairbrush. I watched him in the mirror as his hand continued to rise and fall, his eyes now glued to my naked frame, until finally his body went rigid, the stroking ceased and I imagined his young straining cock spouting its load of cum on the curtain and the window sill. By then, my nipples were hard and quivering and my thighs were awash with the juices that had leaked from my aching pussy.



As I strummed my clit wildly in the bathroom to the memory of Andrew’s fist wrapped around his hungry, throbbing cock as he stroked it to a cum, I knew with complete certainty that something in my life had changed forever. The force of my orgasm caught me unawares. My knees buckled and I doubled over on the bathroom floor as waves of pleasure radiated from my clit to every part of my body, suffusing it with a sudden warmth.



It became a morning ritual. I would sit naked in front of my mirror, my window open, brushing my hair slowly, languorously as he feasted his eyes on my naked torso – on the lines of my back, my heaving breasts, my soft pink nipples. After I saw his young body tremble in the mirror in the throes of his release, I would dart into the bathroom and claw myself to one explosive orgasm after another.



This went on until one morning as I struck my usual pose, one naked arm dragging the brush through my hair, I knew with that certainty of decisions that have long been made without our knowing it, that I had to up the stakes. That day, when his orgasm hit him, I did not sit still as I was wont to do, watching his face contort in the exquisite agony of his release. In a single blur of movement, I swung around to face the window. I caught his eye and held it as his cock jerked in his hand and his body trembled with the aftershocks of his release.



He knew he was trapped. I had caught him when he was at his most helpless, his body too languid and heavy to react swiftly. Myriad emotions chased each other across his face – shock, guilt, confusion and then unmistakably, hot panting desire. I pulled the curtain closed, leaving him in an agony of suspense.



The next morning, I walked across to their house and knocked on the door. Mrs. Stevens was happy to see me. She always welcomed the company. We were sitting on the couch, chatting amiably about one thing and another when I asked her casually, “Do you think you could spare Andrew for a couple of hours in the morning tomorrow? I need a few things fixed around the house.”



“Sure,” she replied.



She was fixing me coffee in the kitchen when Andrew walked into the house. There was fear in his eyes when he saw me – fear and an indefinable something else which was struggling to find its way through. He was about to say something when I stopped him.





“I just asked your mom if you could come around in the morning tomorrow to help me with a couple of things. I hope you don’t mind.”



I winked as I finished and his shoulders visibly relaxed.



“No, I don’t mind at all,” he said, as Mrs. Stevens walked in with the coffee.



He seemed uneasy as his mother and I resumed our conversation – uncertain as to what he wanted. Did he want me to leave, so he could sort out his raging emotions? Or did he want me to stay so he could run his eyes over me with a hunger that he could barely conceal? I enjoyed his discomfiture.



When I opened the door to him the next morning, I was dressed casually – in a jeans and t-shirt. I smiled warmly and stepped aside to let him in. To anyone who might have been looking, it would seem nothing more than a neighborly visit. But after the door closed behind him, I grabbed his wrist without a word and dragged him towards the stairway and the upstairs bedroom. I sat him down on the edge of my bed, then stepped back and began to strip off my t-shirt.



“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice shaking.



I stopped, with the hem of my t-shirt pulled half way up my torso. He was nervous. Good. It was also obvious from the way that his eyes drank in my bare flesh that he desperately wanted me to go on and never stop.



“I am going to show you what you have been so desperate to see,” I said, in a matter of fact tone and then added, in as stern a voice as I could muster, “But … there are rules. You can look, but you can’t touch. I want you to promise to behave yourself.”



He nodded, swallowing hard. He didn’t seem to be able to trust himself to speak.



I was not wearing a bra and as I lifted off my t-shirt, my breasts swung into view. I heard him gasp. I placed my hands under my breasts and lifted, offering them to his hungry eyes as I moved closer to him. I am petite and when I closed the distance between us, my breasts were at the level of his face. I gently rolled my breasts in my palms, making them shake and wobble, their pink tips dancing in front of his eyes.



I watched the tip of his tongue emerge to lick his suddenly dry lips. He seemed mesmerized by the vision floating before his eyes. His hand lifted of its own accord and reached eagerly for my breasts. I quickly danced out of reach and he groaned as his fingers found empty air.



“You obviously can’t be trusted to behave yourself,” I said in mock anger, my hands on my hips.



“No, please … I am sorry,” he pleaded, his eyes transfixed by the gentle rise and fall of my breasts. He was now so full of longing that there almost seemed tears in his voice at the thought that this might end.



“Oh, well! We will have to do something about you,” I sighed.



“Get up,” I commanded.



He obeyed swiftly as we traded places.



“Get naked,” I said, my voice firm and unyielding.



He once again obeyed without a word of protest. I leaned back on the bed with my hands behind me, naked from the waist up, watching as his body unfurled. His clothes came off swiftly – his shoes, his socks, his belt, his shirt, his jeans – and were discarded in a growing pile on the floor. He paused for a moment, his fingers in the waistband of his boxers, a growing spot of wetness in the front betraying his excitement. I gestured with my eyes and he slid his last remaining garment down to his ankles and stepped out of them.



“Turn around for me,” I said. My voice was now clouded with lust and sounded strange to my own ears.



He obeyed quietly, turning around at my bidding. He was a little self conscious now – at his nakedness. But I also sensed that he wanted to be naked for me, to display himself– his hard muscled thighs, his lean muscular torso, his tight bottom and his thick cock, now hard and throbbing . He anxiously awaited my verdict, his arms by his sides, his cock twitching to betray his need.



“Beautiful,” I whispered. I meant it. It had been a long time since I had looked at a naked young body with desire and it felt unbelievably good.



“Get on the bed,” I ordered, my throat now tight with longing.



He looked at me uncertainly for a moment and then obeyed. I ran my eyes briefly over his beautiful young body splayed out on the bed, his cock erect and throbbing. I then pulled out two silken scarves from my bedside table, lifted his arms above his head and bound one wrist and then the other to the wrought iron headboard of the bed.



“Just making sure you can’t break the rules,” I whispered softly into his ear, “No touching, remember?”



I was surprised at how much I was aroused by his helplessness. I had not given too much thought to what I would do with him once I had him. I had been more concerned with how I would get him alone without arousing suspicion. But to my surprise, the script seemed to be writing itself, filling out with frighteningly vivid fantasies that bubbled up from some hidden place in my head.



He was tugging at his bonds, testing them, testing the limits of his freedom. I stood beside the bed and watched him struggle.



“I love those scarves,” I said in a flat voice, “Something happens to them and I promise you will have hell to pay.”



His struggles ceased and he lay quietly, looking at me with those soft brown eyes, which were now clouded by emotion. There was fear in them, but also anticipation and longing. I decided to really give him something to look at. I unbuttoned my jeans and began slowly to unzip it. His eyes were rooted to the widening V at my crotch now filled with the powder blue of my silk panties. His body was twitching with an eagerness that he could barely contain, his swollen cock bouncing with each jerk of his hips. His eyes were now a silent plea, desperately urging my fingers on as they continued to fiddle with the zipper of my jeans. I finally took pity on him and slid my jeans down my thighs and calves and stepped out of them. As I stood up, I heard a muffled sob escape his throat.



His eyes were riveted to my crotch. I knew what had caught his attention. There was a growing spot of dampness where my juices had soaked through the silk of my panties. I got onto the bed and walked on my hands and knees towards him. His eyes followed, as if mesmerized, the gentle, rhythmic swaying of my breasts as they hung down, ripe and heavy. When my breasts were level with his head, I smothered his sweet, yearning face in the valley between them. I felt him groan against my skin as he reveled in the softness, his hungry lips struggling to gain purchase on the skin of my cleavage.



After a while, I let him up for air and then slowly dragged one nipple, now hard and puckered, across the length of his lips. His lips parted eagerly, desperate to draw my nipple into his waiting mouth. There was a part of me that yearned for his lips to envelop my sensitive flesh, for his wet tongue to wash my nipples, for the tight oval of his mouth to suckle me softly. But there was another part of me that would not be denied, which wanted to tease him to a fever pitch, to make him thrash about like a stranded fish on my bed in the throes of a desire without limit. I pulled my nipple a few inches away from his yearning lips, leaving him gasping, his body jerking in its silken bonds.



I hefted my tit flesh in my palms, bouncing my breasts gently as if weighing them.



“You want these, don’t you?” I asked, almost conversationally.



He nodded. His throat seemed too parched to make a sound.



“Tell me you want them,” I persisted.



“Oh, God, please … I have wanted them for so long,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire.



I released my breasts and smiled at him sweetly.



“I have something else that you want even more,” I purred as I rose up, planted my knees on either side of his head and lowered my panty covered mound towards his face. He groaned like he was being murdered. I knew that the outline of my engorged lips was clearly visible through the sheer, wet silk of my panties. But just to make sure, I reached down with my index finger and pushed the soaked fabric into my groove. The silk stuck readily to my wet flesh, forming a deep blue valley framed by my swollen lips. I gently placed my palm beneath his head and lifted his face towards my mound.



“Can you smell me?” I asked him.



His nostrils flared at the scent of my arousal and his breath left him in a long yearning sigh which cooled the wet silk, the fabric so sheer that it felt like a second skin. My cunt was gushing now, my juices darkening the silk like ink, seeping past the hem of my panties to soak my thighs and dribbling down the crack of my ass. I gently rubbed the pad of my forefinger over my clit through the silk of my panties, reveling in the feel of the fabric against my sensitive skin. That light fleeting contact on my clit bordering on torment quickly persuaded me that I needed more.



I got up then, slid my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and peeled the silk away from my crotch, the fabric cleaving for a long, lingering moment to the wet flesh of my groove. As I dangled the wet triangle of silk above his face, he licked his lips hungrily. My hand drifted lower and I slowly dragged my sopping wet panties across his chest, his stomach and finally along his swollen length, leaving a wet silvery trail that glistened in the sunlight. His cock flinched at the feathery touch and he whimpered softly.



When I kneeled over his face again, his eyes eagerly drank in the vision of my pussy, finally naked, even the thin barrier of silk now gone. I reached down between my open thighs, gently gripped my swollen lips and peeled them apart, opening myself completely to his hungry gaze. As I felt his eyes upon me, my hot tight hole contracted and then relaxed, oozing a drop of pussy juice. He groaned, driven half mad by the tantalizing vision of my sex, a vision that he could not reach or touch or stroke or taste.





My dripping pussy now open like an exotic flower, I reached upwards with my fingers and delicately drew back the fleshy hood that hung, engorged, at the junction of my nether lips, exposing the hard pink pearl of my clit. As the fingers of my left hand began to pull the slick tube of flesh back and forth teasing my clit like a miniature cock, I slowly sank the forefinger of my right hand into my steaming cunt. As my pussy got accustomed to the intrusion, a second finger joined the first and I gently began to fuck myself.



I had never been so wet, so aroused as at that moment when I finger fucked myself, inches from that young face so full of yearning. I briefly shuddered as I imagined the assault on his senses – the sight of my wet open cunt being ravaged by my fingers, the sharp scent of my juices as they spilled over my knuckles, the wet, slurping sounds of my fingers sluicing in and out of my cunt. The muscles in his neck stood out like cords as his head lifted off the bed and his lips strained towards my pussy, poised just beyond his reach. It was the quiet desperation in his eyes that finally tipped me over and my pussy exploded, soaking in my juices the fingers buried in my depths.



When the tremors of my orgasm subsided, I slowly withdrew my cum soaked fingers from my cunt and brushed them across his lips.



“I want you to taste what you can’t have,” I whispered.



He moaned softly and drew my fingers into his mouth. When I pulled them out, he began to run his tongue softly across them like a kitten lapping at a bowl of cream. When he had cleaned my fingers of my juices, he continued to lick them as if he were seeking some last elusive drop of pussy juice that had escaped his notice. I gently brushed his hair back from his forehead, now glistening with sweat and whispered softly, “That’s enough, baby.”

He stopped and looked at me expectantly.



“Do you know why you can’t have my pussy?” I teased him as I stroked his trembling flanks, “Because I want to play with you. I want to watch you spurt like all the times you spurted standing in the shadows watching me.”



“Do you want me to play with you, baby?” I asked him.



I already knew the answer to that question. His hips were twitching and jerking, his cock now desperate for some contact to relieve the pent up tension of his arousal. I fished out a small bottle of almond oil from the bedside drawer and moved to kneel beside his body. I tipped a small pool of oil into the hollow of my palm and began to slowly lather my hands with it, warming the oil on my flesh. I was not doing any of this quickly enough for him. His eyes were now glittering, half crazed with need and he was moaning in a fever of anticipation.



After my palms were evenly coated with the sweet scented oil, I slowly reached for his body. Desperate now for the relief of my fingers on his engorged flesh and terrified that I would tease him some more, he was holding completely still, his breath trapped in his lungs. My hand was almost at his cock when it shifted slightly and dipped lower to gently cup the silken skin of his balls, rolling them. That last act of betrayal tore a strangled cry from his lips and his body, now taut as a bowstring and no longer able to stay still, arched upwards, thrusting his cock into the air. At the peak of that arch, I gently gripped his cock with my free hand and eased his body down. Then I began to stroke him.



His cock, starved of stimulation, bucked like a straining horse. It was not long before he was poised on the edge of a cum, his hips twitching wildly, his balls tightening and his lungs working like a bellows. I released him abruptly, ignoring his thrashing body and his strangled, incoherent pleas. I lifted his head gently and slid a thick, fluffy pillow under it.



“I want you to be able to watch when I play with you,” I explained sweetly, as I curled up against his trembling body and rested my head on his shoulder. I reached for his cock again and held it loosely. He froze for a moment, expecting me to stroke him towards the cum that he needed then more desperately than anything else in the world.



When my hand continued to remain still, merely holding him, he groaned in despair and began to surge upwards, fucking my fist. It offered him some relief, but my fingers were wrapped too loosely around his shaft and slid too smoothly against his flesh to afford him the final release that he so desperately craved.



As I rested my cheek against his shoulder, watching languidly as his cock pistoned in and out of my fist, I suddenly noticed that my bedroom window was open and so was his. I caught myself wondering if Mrs. Stevens ever went into Andrew’s room when he wasn’t at home. I felt a strange mixture of anxiety and arousal at the possibility that she may at any moment appear at Andrew’s bedroom window and see us – naked on my bed; his body, bound and helpless, cradled in my arms as his young hungry cock fucked my fist.



My grip on his cock involuntarily tightened at the thought and he groaned at the added sensation. His eyes were now glazed, unseeing, his whole world drawn into the smooth slick rhythm of his cock against my palm. I finally admitted to myself, with a touch of regret, that he couldn’t last the exquisite friction much longer. I shifted my body then, my face near his hips and my pussy once again poised above his face. I wanted him to drown in the vision of my engorged cunt as I finally tore his orgasm from him.



I placed my palm against his hip bone and flattened him down on the sheet as my hand that gripped his cock quickened its pace. When the first jets of cum began to spurt from his cock hole, I lowered my pussy onto his lips. As he moaned into my cunt, his mouth filled up with my pussy flesh, his lips and his tongue shuddering helplessly, twisting and writhing in my slick folds. He came for an impossibly long time, gobs of sperm splashing onto his thighs, the bed, even the floor. As his body jerked with the aftershocks, I gently pulled down his foreskin and suckled the pink glistening head of his cock, drawing into my mouth the last traces of his release.



After he grew soft in my hands, I released him. His face was still buried in my cunt and I marveled that he had even been able to breathe. I lifted myself off and moved around to lie beside him. His face and his throat were wet and glistening with my juices. As I reached up to untie his hands, his wet nose scrunched up and he sneezed. He looked heartbreakingly cute then, like a lost little child and I giggled as I felt a wave of affection for this boy rush over me. He giggled too as he sniffed and scratched his itching nose with his newly freed hand.



I took his face gently in my hands and slowly lapped up the evidence of my arousal, tasting once again the salty sweet flavor of my excitement. As I softly sucked on his swollen lips, I felt his cock harden again, twitching against my thigh. It seemed to have a life of its own. For a moment, I considered rolling onto his body and sliding his hardening flesh into my cunt, yielding to him finally what I had denied him for so long. But it was only a fleeting impulse. I knew that I needed some time alone to fully absorb what had just happened. I brushed his hair back with my fingers and planted a soft, lingering kiss on his sweat stained forehead.



“Go home now, sweetheart,” I whispered, “Your mom will be worried.”



There was a brief flicker of disappointment in the soft, brown pools of his eyes – disappointment that something so beautiful could actually end. But there was also a child like wonder at what had happened between us and a fierce hunger that I could almost taste.



He quietly got up and began to dress. I watched unblinking, as his naked body slowly disappeared into his clothes. What a waste, I thought wistfully, his is the sort of body that ought to be naked, always within easy reach of eager fingers or hungry lips.





As he turned to go, his gaze drifted almost against his will to the junction of my thighs. I smiled at him and spread my thighs apart exposing myself to those eyes so full of longing. His face jerked upwards to look at mine and then his eyelids fluttered closed as if his inflamed mind could no longer endure the vision of my wet steaming cunt. He spun on his heels and left without another word. I had no doubt that this was one young man who was going to come back for more. As I watched him leave, I wondered, with an odd sense of detachment, whether Mrs. Stevens would suspect anything. I had borrowed her son as a handyman and returned him, reeking of sex. But, somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to worry or feel guilty or be ashamed. It was as if all the nerve endings in my brain were so engorged with pleasure that every other emotion was blotted out.



I heard, almost as if from another world, the front door click shut behind my lover’s back. As I lay there quietly, listening to the silence reclaim my house from the sounds of passion and longing that had erupted from our hungry lips, I knew that my life would never be the same again. I was weeping within me at what I had missed for so many years, what Andrew had gifted me so generously – the feel of his naked body in my arms, the taste of his flesh, the texture of his skin, the sweat soaked, cum drenched scent of his arousal. I knew that I couldn’t deny my body any longer.



The morning had been a revelation. I had discovered things about myself that I had never suspected. I had discovered the unutterable delight of being in control of my partner’s pleasure, of knowing that every moan, every tremor, every whimper was a tribute that I wrenched from his desperate body. But while I teased and tormented Andrew’s naked heaving frame, there was also a part of me that wanted to be him. I realized with a lurch in my stomach that I wanted to be controlled as I was controlling him. I was unbearably aroused at the thought of yielding my will to a lover, surrendering my body to his whims – to be fucked, to be taken, to be used. Just the thought made my pussy leak. I wondered what other secrets, what other exquisite unnamable hungers my body and my mind would yield on a little probing. I knew I had to find out. For that, I also knew that I had to break free from the gilded cage that I had built myself. The next day I applied, in response to an ad placed by a major airline, for a position as a stewardess.



That was the beginning of a long journey, in more ways than one. I quickly learnt on the job. I enjoyed the challenge of acquiring new skills after years of living for others – as a wife and as a mother. I discovered that I had a talent for hospitality and people management and to my gratification, these skills were quickly noticed. … Then, there were the other things I learnt.



I learnt to relish the softness of a woman’s body against my own, the taste of her sex, the unhurried gentleness of the lovemaking. I learnt that when it came to sex, there is nothing like too many pairs of hands or lips or tongues, that there was nothing unusual in wanting all my yearning, hungry holes filled at the same time – with fingers, dildos or eager, throbbing cocks. I learnt that depriving one sense – taste, touch, sight or movement – heightened others and that the best sex is often when you didn’t get what you wanted … or thought you wanted. My journey of sexual discovery revealed breathtaking vistas at every turn, full of passion and beauty that seemed inexhaustible.



There was only one moment, when I turned 40, that I felt a fleeting pang of doubt. I wondered whether I would still be found attractive, whether my hunger would continue to be matched by opportunity. The moment quickly passed. I knew that I was desirable, confident, sure of what I wanted. I also discovered that for most young men, an attractive, confident mature woman was an irresistible wet dream. It certainly had been for the young man I had brought back to the cottage yesterday evening.



*****




I saw them out of the corner of my eye as I sat at the bar, nursing my gin and tonic; taking tiny little sips that could make a drink last the evening. They looked like college kids. They had that odd mix of nervousness and arrogance; pretending indifference, but craving attention – their movements a little too emphatic, their voices a little too loud. There were six of them – four boys and two girls. Two of the boys had a proprietary arm draped over the shoulders of the girls who looked uncomfortable at the clammy contact, but also vaguely proud to be owned, proud not to be alone.



Even from where I was sitting, half the length of the room away, one of the boys seemed different from the rest – quiet, subdued, almost contemplative, removed from the noisy vortex whirling around him. He must have felt my eyes on him because he looked up momentarily to meet my glance and then looked away. The other boys on the table were not oblivious to my presence either. I have been a single woman in too many bars for too long to be fazed by male attention. After a while, it becomes part of the furniture, a brooding presence that you learn to blot out until a face or a voice detaches itself from that undifferentiated mass to accost you. I had become used to that intrusion as well and often, it has been welcome.



A stranger in an unfamiliar city is always an opportunity. Your paths have never crossed before and they will never cross again. The absence of any baggage is liberating. No past, no future – just a present that is breathtakingly alive where, cocooned in a bubble of anonymity, both of you are truly free to be. Your conversation is inane, inconsequential; but the air grows heavy with anticipation. You circle each other like swordsmen, testing the other’s defenses with a feint, a parry, a thrust. And every so often, there comes an indefinable moment – his hand brushing his hair from his eyes, your glass descending from your lips stained with your lipstick, your fingers accidentally brushing on the table – when you know with complete clarity that before the night is over, he will fuck you. He knows it too.



From that moment, you don’t hear a word he is saying. Your mind is reeling with visions – of his lips on your taut nipples; his fingers plumbing your depths; his cock hard, throbbing, waiting. By the time you stumble together into your anonymous room in an anonymous hotel, your fingers are clawing at each other’s flesh and your body is trembling, frantic with need, ripe to be taken.



I heard a voice behind my shoulder.



“Can I buy you a drink?”



I swung around on my stool to face the voice. It was the quiet one. I looked beyond his shoulder at his table where the three remaining boys were hooting and hollering, yelling what passed for encouragement. The girls were giggling nervously, trying desperately to belong.



He glanced back at the table fleetingly and turned back towards me, his face flushed a deep red. I could see that he was embarrassed.



“You can,” I said, evenly, “but you need to answer a question first.”



“What?” he asked.



“Are you buying me a drink because you want to or because your friends want you to?”



He was quiet for a moment.



“I want to,” he said, finally.



I smiled at him and patted the stool next to mine. Two drinks had already appeared as if by magic. The bartender had already slid away beyond earshot, quiet, unobtrusive. My respect for his breed never ceases to grow.



He was sipping his drink, glancing over the rim at me with clear blue eyes, which seemed guileless.



“So, tell me, what do you do?” I asked.



Once he was past his native shyness, he was charming and voluble, with a self deprecating sense of humor. He told me that he had grown up in Frisco and had come to Hawaii as a student a year ago. He wanted to major in geology and seemed passionate about volcanoes. He appeared to know a great deal about them and prattled on animatedly about Hawaii’s volcanic origins. Not my average come on, I thought.



He also seemed genuinely interested in what I did and where I was from. He struck me as perfectly comfortable in his own skin and was not trying overly hard to impress me with wit or worldliness. I found his innocence disarming and felt myself relax completely for the first time that evening.



“You know, I should thank you for not humiliating me,” he said, suddenly.



“What do you mean?”



He gestured with his head at his table where a pall of gloom seemed to have descended at the apparent success that he was having with me.



“I was tired of their needling and came over on a dare. It’s not the sort of thing I would normally do.”



“I am glad you did,” I said, “I would rather spend the evening with a handsome young man than a stiff drink. Liquor has its limitations.”



He blushed and looked pleased. I found his utter lack of dissembling endearing. I glanced over at the table of pallbearers.



“If you really want to make their jaws hit the floor,” I whispered conspiratorially, “reach over and kiss me. I will then grab your hand and drag you out like I can’t wait to have you.”



“Would you let me do that?” His eyes widened. He sounded disbelieving.



“Sure, why not?” I coaxed.



He glanced around nervously and then leaned towards me. I let him come within a few inches of my face and then bridged the gap to capture his lips between mine. His lips melted at the intimacy of that kiss and he sighed into my mouth. I let his lips linger for a while on mine, tasting my breath. He half whimpered in protest when I broke the kiss. I smiled at him softly before I took his hand and pulled him off his stool towards the door. He followed me meekly as if in a daze. He didn’t even notice when I slid a couple of bills to the bartender to pay for our drinks.



His friends were in a state of catatonic shock. They gaped at us wordlessly as we swept past them and out the door. As I dragged him past their table, he turned around and fluttered his fingers at them regally – a lord deigning to briefly acknowledge his bondsmen.



We ambled along the beach, hand in hand, the moonlight shimmering on the water. It was quiet, the silence if anything deepened by its occasional interruption – by muffled notes of music, by the tinkle of distant laughter and by the breathing of the ocean as the surf rolled in. When we reached the cottage, I stopped.



“This is where I am staying,” I explained, as he glanced at me questioningly.



He was still holding my hand. He laughed, all of a sudden.



“Did you see the expression on their faces? It was priceless,” he chortled, referring to the gloomy garrison that we had abandoned in our wake.



“Yes,” I said, smiling in my turn and then added softly, “but there is a problem.”



“What?” he said, his face clouding with concern.



“I didn’t walk out with you, hand in hand, to impress your friends,” I said, turning him gently towards me, “I walked out because I was tired of sitting in that bar full of strangers when all I wanted to do was to take you to bed and fuck you senseless.”



His body shivered as if from an icy wind and he blushed. I knew that my words had knocked him off balance and I intended to keep him that way.



I took his face gently between my hands and whispered, “Do you want to make love to me?”



He groaned.



“Do I take that as a Yes?” I teased.



He nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. I took his hand in mine and pulled him towards the door. He stood motionless as I fumbled with the key. I had forgotten to turn on the light in the patio when I had gone out earlier in the evening. I got the door open after what seemed like an eternity to let us in.



His lips parted to speak, but I placed a forefinger against them, silencing him. His lips were dry and parched. I moved in closer until my body was only a few inches from his. I held his baby blue eyes with mine as I reached down to unbuckle his belt. His eyes widened with surprise at my directness as I snaked the belt out of the loops in his jeans and dropped it to the ground where it landed with a metallic clink.



As I softly raked my nails along the crotch of his jeans, tracing his hardness, he trembled but kept his eyes locked to mine as though hypnotized. I popped the metal button of his jeans and unzipped him. I reached inside the open vee at his crotch and pulled his cock out of his boxers. I leaned my forehead on his chest and looked down as I hefted his cock in my hands as if weighing it. He grew larger and thicker as I babied him. I held him cradled in my left palm as the forefinger of my right hand explored the tracery of veins that marked the velvety skin. His cock twitched in response, bouncing on my palm. The contrast between our fully clothed bodies and the sweet vulnerability of his intimate flesh, trapped in the soft warmth of my hands, was unbearably erotic.



“You are beautiful,” I whispered, my voice now thick with desire.



Wrapping his swollen flesh in my palms had whetted my appetite for more. I wanted to stroke him and taste him and fuck him. I wanted to ravage his sweet, hot flesh until he begged me to stop. And then I wanted to ravage him some more, twisting frantic helpless noises from his throat. I began to unwrap my unexpected gift, teasing him out of his clothes, my fingers drifting over his skin with feather light touches.



After he was fully naked, I stepped back and began to strip with quick efficient movements, his eyes racing to take in the swathes of newly exposed flesh. After my last garment – the flimsy lace panties I had pulled on earlier in the evening because I wanted to feel sexy – dropped to the floor, I closed the distance between us once again.



I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled his face down to mine for a long, soul searing kiss. I gently sucked his upper lip between mine and ran my tongue along the inside. He sighed softly, surrendering to my impetuous touch. I explored the corners of his lips with my tongue and then slowly licked along the length of his bottom lip before sucking it into the wetness of my mouth. His cock was hard and throbbing now, trapped between our yearning bodies, pulsing to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Then I began to nibble my way down his body. My lips nipped at his chin and the skin of his throat before my tongue swirled softly in the hollow of his collarbone, savoring the hint of salt on his flesh. My palms were running over him restlessly, almost as if I were trying to memorize the curves and angles of his body.



I dipped my head lower and captured his right nipple in my lips sucking it softly, making it pucker and harden. As I heard him groan from the silky sensation of my tongue on the crinkled tip, I bit down, once. His body jerked under my sudden assault. My lips drifted to his other nipple, drawing it in, licking it wet. My hands gently caressed his body, which was tense and knotted in anticipation of my next bite, which never came. As I continued to wash his nipple with soft, feline sweeps of my tongue, he reached downwards and I felt him heft the weight of my breasts in his palms, gently kneading them. His hands on my breasts were a welcome relief and I stayed absolutely still, savoring for a few moments his gentle ministrations.



As my lips drifted lower, I could sense the urgency in his body. By the time I reached his navel and my tongue swirled in its hollow, his hips were surging of their own accord, fucking the tip of his erect cock into the hollow of my throat, staining my skin with a silvery trail of pre cum.



I gripped his cock in my fist, stilling him, my fingers barely closing around its girth. I gazed hungrily at his beautiful swollen flesh for a long moment before enveloping his purple knob in the wet heat of my mouth. As I worked my tongue softly around the head, he moaned like he was in pain and I felt his thighs tremble beneath my palms. When my mouth released him and I stood up, he groaned in frustration.



“Lets make you more comfortable,” I whispered, pulling him towards the bed.



When I had laid him out flat on his back, his cock erect and quivering, I crawled between his thighs and once again engulfed his throbbing flesh in my mouth. I worked on him with long even strokes of my lips, plunging him balls deep into my throat and then drawing him out, wet and glistening. When I felt him go rigid on the verge of a cum, I released him and shifted my attention to his balls.



I ran the flat of my tongue over the velvety skin, laving him. When he was dripping wet, I drew his balls, one by one, into my mouth, sucking them softly before taking them between my teeth, gentle as a tigress picking up her cub. I switched again and again between his yearning cock and his balls, now tight with desire, coaxing him to the edge of release and then easing him back. His body was now trembling steadily, unable to cope with the river of sensation flowing through his loins. I dragged the length of my body along his until my lips were level with his ears.



“Have you ever come in a woman’s mouth?” I whispered.



“No…” His voice was hoarse as though he had been screaming for hours.



“Pity. If I didn’t want to fuck you so badly, I would have let you come in mine.”



His body jerked, his mind now filled with images of his cock twitching in my mouth, his cum gushing down my throat. I wondered idly as to the sort of sex he must have had up to that moment. Probably the kind that most young men of his age had, I surmised – some clumsy groping in the dark of a theatre, a hasty fumble in the rear seat of a car or frenzied copulation on sweat stained sheets in dingy rooms. This was going to be different. Not fast food eaten on the run, but a gourmet meal savored slowly.



I gazed into his eyes, now glazed over with lust.



“Would you like to taste me, baby?” I asked.



“Oh, God, Yes…please.”



“Would you like me to suck your cock while you eat my pussy?” I asked him, knowing what the answer would be, but wanting to hear the words and the desperate hunger in his voice.



“Yes … Oh. God, Yes.”



I shifted my body until my knees were on both sides of his head and brought my pussy down towards his face. He eagerly reached upward, gripped my hips in his hands and pulled my cunt into the waiting warmth of his mouth. I sighed softly as his tongue slid through my slick folds to probe at the opening of my hot yearning hole. As his tongue thrust upward, fucking me, I reached for his cock and pulled it back into my waiting mouth. We maintained the rhythm for some time, his cock fucking my mouth and his tongue fucking my cunt until our movements, made clumsy by pleasure, began to become jerky and ragged.



As my own pleasure began to mount, my free hand began to work spasmodically on his balls, squeezing them, kneading them before drifting lower to brush across the puckered opening of his anus. His reaction was explosive. His hips jerked upwards, thrusting his cock deeper into my mouth and he moaned into my wet cunt.



I found his response to my questing finger incredibly arousing. My ass is extremely sensitive to any attention – from an inquisitive finger, a wet tongue or a hard throbbing cock. I love those times when I have a lover who shares my weakness. I hadn’t come yet, but this was something I wanted to pursue. There is nothing I enjoy more than stretching the sexual boundaries of my young lovers, introducing them to new sensations, uncovering hidden kinks and awakening dormant hungers. But I knew that I would have to take this gently. I would have to drown his hesitation in a slowly spiraling whirlpool of pleasure, gradually peel away every layer of shame and fear and misgiving until he was a whimpering mass of flesh in my arms, eager and hungry and pliant. Then I would make him mine.



I gently lifted my pussy free of his lips and crawled down his body. I crouched between his legs, lifted his thighs and pushed them back and out, opening him up fully. I ignored his hard throbbing cock which was begging for attention, dipped my head lower and began to make slow lingering love to the soft brown hole of his anus.



As my tongue slid, soft and wet, over the folds radiating outwards from his puckered hole, he moaned. His fingers had turned into claws, helplessly clutching sweat soaked fistfuls of the counterpane. I continued to work on him, tasting him, teasing him, taunting him until he was so wet that my tongue almost skated over the slick surface of his sensitive skin. I decided to get him even wetter. I squeezed a blob of lubricant gel onto my fingertip and began to work it into his anus. His body was no longer able to remain still. It was jerking like a marionette, his movements serving to ease, in some small measure, the erotic tension coursing through his limbs.



I reached forward, placed my palm beneath his head and lifted, forcing his eyes to meet mine as the tip of my finger delicately probed the entrance to his butt hole.



“Do you want me to fuck your sweet tight ass, baby?” I asked him gently, the tightness in my voice betraying my own desire.



He didn’t answer, shame raging with desire in his eyes. I decided to make up his mind for him. I thrust my finger smoothly into his anus, burying it to the root. The muscles of his ass clamped around my finger, hot and pulsing.



“You know you want it. Tell me you want it.”



As my finger twisted in his guts, the fleshy pad of my forefinger caressing the pea shaped lump on his inner wall, he finally lost all semblance of control.



“Oh, God, yes … fuck me … please,” he begged.



Then I began to fuck him, my finger sliding slowly all the way out of his anus and then driving back in spreading open the tight tissues of his ass. I watched him while I fucked him, watched the shadows of hunger and helpless desire which had now taken possession of his soul flit across his face.



“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” I asked him, coyly.



“No,” he groaned.



“Are you glad that I am doing it?”



“Yessss,” he hissed, his eyes almost incredulous as if wondering why I needed him to answer that question when his body was doing it for him. But then, how was my young lover to know how much I wanted him to say the words, how much it turned me on to hear him beg?



As my finger slid smoothly in and out of his ass, I clutched his cock in my free hand, not stroking him lest the friction should tip him over the edge. Pre cum was now bubbling out of his cock hole and I periodically dipped my head to sip the silvery droplets as they formed. The sight of my finger fucking his ass, pulling out and pushing in the fleshy ring by turns, was heady. For a fleeting moment, I caught myself wishing I had a thick fleshy cock to plunder that sweet flesh with.



My cunt was on fire and unbearably empty, a void that now desperately needed filling, to be stuffed to the brim with hard throbbing flesh. As I withdrew my finger from his anus, his body lurched towards it blindly, begging it back in. I stroked his cheek languidly with the finger that had given him so much pleasure and he looked at me with an expression in his eyes that was a heartbreaking mixture of shyness and gratitude. That expression alone was worth my entire trip to this magical island. And I knew that I could no longer wait to claim him.



“Time to finish you,” I said, my voice now husky with a hunger that I could no longer disguise, “I want to fuck you now.”



His eyes were full of longing as I got on my knees, gripped his cock and placed the tip at the entrance to my hot yearning hole.



“Look at me,” I said, as I slid all the way down his hard shaft, soaking him in the hot juices of my cunt. He held my gaze, his eyes widening, as his cock parted the tissues of my cunt, then rolled his head back as my pussy lips finally kissed his groin wetly. I placed a fingertip on his chin and tipped his face back towards me.



“Look at me when I fuck you,” I repeated, as I began to rise and fall on his cock, “I want to watch as the pleasure takes you.”



I had held him – his mind, his body, his pleasure – for so long in a firm grip and now that the grip had finally eased, I knew he could not last. I wanted to savor every moment. I love to watch and feel a man cum. That moment before he explodes is unbearably erotic – his eyes glazed and unseeing; his wrists lax; his balls tight; his body rigid, desperate for release. And then that frozen moment melts into that final explosion when he is helpless and vulnerable, his cock twitching and jerking like a runaway hose, shooting jets of cum to splash against the walls of my engorged cunt. At that moment, I truly love him for however brief an interval – for his act of surrender, for the pleasure that he gives me and the pleasure that he allows me to give him.



When he finally came, his hips arched off the sheets, lifting me with him, his fingers scrabbling blindly – on my arms, my thighs, my hips. His explosive orgasm triggered my own gentler one, as his cock drenched the walls of my cunt with cum. He was in exquisite agony; pleasure and pain now indistinguishable, my spasming pussy milking his exploding cock of its last drops of cum. My body was trembling like a mound of jelly and I fell on him, breathing in ragged gasps.



There are times when I like to be alone after sex and can’t wait to see my lover on his way. This was not one of those times. I ran my fingers tenderly over his heaving body as we lay locked together in the aftermath of our orgasms. This one would certainly keep till breakfast, I decided, smiling to myself, as my breath steadied and my body relaxed. As I drifted off into sleep, I dreamt of croissants and oven rolls, butter and marmalade. Maybe I would slather his trembling cock with honey in the morning and suck him off. No man should die without having come in a woman’s mouth.



*****




As I lay in the bath, my mind reliving the events of the night before, I felt the familiar tendrils of desire unfurl inside my body, moistening my cunt. Maybe I would have him over tomorrow for a goodbye fuck before I left Maui. Maybe I would let him have my ass. As I cradled him in my arms in the morning, toying with his aroused flesh, I had stripped his soul bare. I had wrenched his most secret desires out of his panting lips, dark poems of passion about what he wanted to do and what he wanted done to him. He confessed, among other things, of dreams of hot tight asses he would peel open and lick and suck and fuck. Well, he was welcome to do all of that to mine. Perhaps, tomorrow would be his lucky day.



I resisted the temptation to surrender to my growing hunger and finger myself to a cum. I hadn’t forgotten the massage. I like my body to be in a state of mild arousal when I am worked on by a masseuse, to savor more fully the pleasurable languor when my muscles turn to viscous liquid under the pressure of knowing fingers. I glanced at the small time piece on the counter. 7.30. Half an hour to my appointment. I reluctantly climbed out of the soapy water, emptied the tub and showered quickly. I had pulled on my silk robe and was drying my hair when I heard the knock on the door.



He must have sensed my surprise and confusion when I saw him standing in the patio.



“I believe you have an appointment for a massage, ma’am,” he offered.



I quickly regained my composure. I had been expecting a woman, but this young man would do nicely, I decided. He was tall, the top of my head barely reaching his chin. He had the smoothly tanned body of a confirmed sun worshipper, his olive skin the color of rich milk chocolate. The lines of his face were clean and sharp, his hair and eyes dark as night. He had a warm smile, the kind that set people instantly at ease. My unruly mind, always alert to possibility, was already working overtime.



I stepped aside to let him in. He strode into the room confidently and headed straight for the large king size bed. He placed his bag on the bedside table, unzipped it and began to extract the tools of his trade. He pulled out two large fluffy white towels and spread them on the bed sheet. He placed a bottle of what I assumed to be massage oil next to the towels within easy reach. I stood watching him idly, my arms crossed in front of my body. When he was done, he turned to me and smiled.



“Why don’t you get comfortable?”



I liked his delicacy. He must have been used to clients who are at pains to pretend that there is nothing even faintly erotic or sexual about a full body massage, who shuffle out of their clothes with their backs to him and scramble into bed hurriedly as though their nakedness gave them a new turn of speed. I didn’t shuffle or scramble or turn my back to him. I looked him in the eye as I undid the belt of my silk robe and let it slide from my shoulders. I was naked underneath.



He didn’t betray the slightest hint of unease. He ran his eyes slowly and deliberately over the length of my body, lingering at my breasts and my soft, hairless pussy, already wet and puffy. I was incredibly aroused by my own vulnerability, by the act of displaying my nakedness to a man who was still fully clothed. I was also intrigued by his calm self-assurance, by the confidence with which he had coolly appraised my body. I found myself hoping that he didn’t find me wanting. To my surprise, I realized that I was more nervous than I had been in a long time.



I knew that I couldn’t proposition him. Doing so would have demeaned both of us, as though I presumed to solicit a sexual favor because I hired him as a masseur. What I felt for him wasn’t shabby. It was honest. I wanted him, but only if he wanted me. If during the next hour, he wanted to more than rub me down, I was his to claim.



I lay down on my back on the towels, my arms by my sides, my legs slightly apart. Just lying there like that, open and helpless, made me want to moan. I watched, transfixed, as he poured a long ribbon of oil into his right palm and then rubbed his hands together to spread the oil evenly. I wondered where he would touch me first. My nipples were already hard and puckered and not from the air conditioning. They were aching to be caressed by his fingers, now slippery with oil.



He knelt by my side on the bed, lifted my right hand and placed it on his left shoulder. He covered my hand gently with his left palm while his right hand began to massage my arm with long, even strokes. I sighed softly as my muscles melted beneath his deft fingers. When he was done, he placed my arm gently by my side before switching to my right. By the time he was finished with my arms, my body was already loose and languid, my limbs heavy as though molten lead were flowing through my veins.



He half circled my body to kneel at my feet. He lifted my left leg, cradling my ankle, and placed my foot flat against his chest. I felt or perhaps imagined the soft throb of his heartbeat through his skin and the fabric of his thin cotton shirt. That gentle vibration in the sole of my foot seemed to me such an achingly intimate connection between our bodies – even more intimate than fucking.



As he began to massage my calf, I caught his eye and he smiled.



“Your feet are beautiful,” he said.



Then he did something indescribably erotic. He lifted my foot upwards and planted a soft kiss on my big toe. When I showed no sign of protest, he slid my pink toe between his lips and sucked it wetly. I almost came. It was as though my toe was connected directly to my clit, now throbbing impetuously. My cunt was leaking and I felt a trail of pussy juice seep into the crack of my ass. He smiled as I moaned softly and resumed working on my leg. I shuddered, the glistening arrow of my sex exposed to his gaze, the room filling with the scent of my arousal.



The game was on. He was testing my limits gently, trying to guess what I wanted, seeing what he could get away with. I knew I couldn’t mouth the words yet, but my mind was already screaming, “Oh, God, please … fuck me. JUST FUCK ME.” I focused on being as receptive as possible to his overtures, on giving him no reason to back off. I was beginning to wonder whether I would be able to bear the exquisite torture of his gentle hands roaming over my body as he slowly gathered the confidence to take me, to fuck me, to finish me.



Both my legs were slick and glistening with oil. They felt like jelly and I caught myself doubting whether they would ever again hold the weight of my body. He rolled me over onto my stomach. I lay still, my face resting on my forearms, waiting for his magical hands to resume their slow exploration of my body.



He began to work methodically on my neck, shoulders and back, drifting lower and lower to finally brush the cheeks of my ass. He nudged my legs open and knelt between them before he cupped my cheeks and rolled them apart. I trembled at the thought of the sight that I must offer him, my most intimate geography laid bare before his eyes – the valley between my cheeks and my soft pink anus, already wet and glistening with the juices that had trickled into my crack. He slid a large fluffy pillow under my hips, opening me up completely.



He poured a thin stream of oil at the top of my crease and let it flow down the slope towards my swollen pussy. He interrupted its downward journey with a forefinger and began to slowly work the oil into the skin of my crease, ignoring my hot puckered hole except for an occasional feather light touch. Each fleeting contact was like a tiny electric shock which made my body jerk in unwitting arousal. After what seemed like an eternity, his forefinger finally settled on my yearning hole. As his finger began to trace tiny circles, rubbing the oil into my puckered flesh, I could no longer contain myself. A long lingering moan tore from my throat as my fingers clutched the soft towel into desperate clumps.



He leaned forward and whispered, “You like?” as his finger continued to circle relentlessly.



“Oh, God … Yes.”



“And this?” he breathed, as his finger pierced the ring of my anus with a smooth even thrust.



“My God…” I groaned, my body relaxing, surrendering to him completely.

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