Scintillectually Yours

A cold fear immobilizes me at the sight of the finely honed blade. Knives, nee sharp objects of any kind, have been a long-standing phobia of mine—surpassing even my rampant arachnophobia perhaps. The steel throws off a golden sheen, reflecting the candlelight that surrounds the bed. I have trusted you, as I have trusted no other, to bring this instrument of utmost torture into my sanctuary. My safety zone. My womb.

You have a penchant for all things sharp and cutting. Your walls adorned with ceremonial swords, your drawers hiding secret weapons. This, the one you brought along tonight, is a favorite of yours. A switchblade with a pearl handle. Long. Dangerous.

I have trusted you with much. I trust you with my life. I trust you not to hurt me beyond that which I can stand. I enter into this dark night with trepidation. You stroke my face silently, run your thumb across my trembling bottom lip. My hands are tightly bound above my head, my feet splayed out wide and anchored to each bedpost. I am utterly helpless. Completely at your mercy. I am scared.

You ask if I am ready. I pause. A fleeting moment passes as I waver, unsure. I muster up the courage of my convictions and nod, licking my lips, swallowing hard.

You raise the blade so that it is directly in front of my face and then you pull my blindfold down. Trust. trust. trust. trust. I repeat my mantra over and over and over again. I know you dare not hurt me. My body shivers and I feel the first touch of the ice cold steel as you run the back of the blade along my cheek, replacing the warmth of your hand. I tense. I have no idea where you intend to go next.

And then I feel the back side of the blade slide up along my torso and you pull my camisole taught against it. The flimsy silk falls away (like a knife through butter) and I gasp. My back arches and I feel my own wetness pour forth in a thoroughly unexpected rush.

I buck up against you, my bravery in the face of my fear turning instantly to eager anticipation. The feel of the steel against my soft flesh, the complete knowledge that although you would never cross the line and draw blood, accidents do happen. In an instant you slice through the sides of my panties and leave me completely exposed to you and that razor sharp blade tracing the contours of my body.

Oh, how I never knew I wanted this.

Well, sports fans, I’ve moved! Darling DPR and I have barely spent a night apart and we now live a bare 2 miles from each other. She has written an amazing recap of the last several weeks, while both of us were on hiatus as it were, and you can read that HERE. My own article for Our Big Gayborhood, details the move as well, and you can catch that HERE. While I wait to start my new job, I seem to have a bit of time on my hands and plan to catch up on some writing, as well as those long overdue reviews. In the meantime, although a day late, here is this week’s MFM. Ang, our dear Sweltering Celt, has assigned us the sweltering theme of Sweat. How apropos!

No breeze stirs the curtains in front of the open windows. The air is still and humid and beyond hot. Cardboard boxes—some filled, some empty, some in progress—crowd every room. I have been fretting about the amount of packing left to be done but your reassurances are optimistic and often. It is late in the afternoon. Sunlight creates long shadows across dusty floors, laid bare, the rugs rolled up against the walls.

I look up from the books I’ve been sorting as you enter the room with two water bottles in hand. Sweat drips from cold, clear plastic. It is too hot to be so close to another human being and yet you reach out with one finger and move a strand of hair from my eye. I wince against the saltiness and hold the bottle to my forehead. Your finger trails down the side of my face, following the condensation. A single drop moves down my cheek, my neck, my collarbone…and gets lost between my breasts.

I follow your gaze and you sigh and lean forward to place your lips gently against my cleavage. I begin to protest but you immediately hush me with a kiss. Our bodies melt together like candles left too long in the heat. Pliable. You draw the straps of my tank down over my upper arms and I reach up to peel it off, mindless of the windows already stripped bare in my office—exposing us both to any neighbors through the floor to ceiling glass.

I tug at your beater, soaking wet, and you pull it over your head. Our torsos join together again as our arms twist and tangle everywhere at once. The temperature creates an almost other-worldly feeling. My senses are heightened. Every touch feels electric. When you drop to your knees, slide my jean shorts to the floor so that I can step out of them, and place your mouth firmly upon my clit, I moan and grab handfuls of your thick crop of hair. I push you harder into me, your hands sliding on my ass, slick with perspiration. I give up all pretense, glad for the excuse to put off packing, and collapse to the floor—the carpet rough beneath me. You hold steadfast to the task at hand and for one hour in a very long hot day, my existence becomes your mouth, my cunt, your fingers, my pussy, your cock, and me.

Congratulations to our dear Ang, the Sweltering Celt, on her own graduation. Four long years of hard work has paid off and I wish her all the luck in her new ventures. In honor of her own matriculation, she’s asked us to write this week’s MFM about…graduation.

It was one of those awkward, heated moments. You’d think we could have waited, right? Wrong. Moments to spare and my face was pressed against the cold cement block wall, my gown bunched in one hand, the other steadying me as much as possible as you drove your cock into me. We were barely concealed by a row of gray steel lockers. I kept glancing over to my left, half expecting the principal to come striding around the corner. Half expecting to get expelled although I imagine it was too late for that.

My breath was coming hard and fast as you pushed against my shoulder with one hand and pulled my hip with the other. My panties were somewhere. I don’t know where. I could hear names being called in the gymnasium. Distant clapping. I urged you to hurry and you slapped your left hand over my mouth and told me to shut up. I smiled against your palm and pushed my ass hard against you. Satisfied that I wouldn’t cut and run you removed your hand from my mouth and reached up under my robes to pinch my nipple. Hard.

I moaned. I strained to hear the names being called. They were still two letters away. I willed myself back into the moment and moved with you, willing you to come. My own body responding to the thrill of the current circumstances. Pomp and circumstances. I giggled and you shushed me. I was hot in all these clothes. I wanted to be naked. The robe started to slip and I plowed headlong into the wall when I took my hand off the locker to pull it up and out of your way. Your cock slipped out of me and I turned, back  against the wall. Grabbed your face in both hands and kissed you full on.

“I gotta go,” I panted.

You nodded but I could see your frustration. “I promise, I’ll make it up to you later,” I straightened my robe and gave up the frantic search for my panties.  “I’ll meet you in there.”

I dashed out of the locker room and made a beeline for the gym. I slipped in the side door as quietly as possible, catching a glimpse of my father watching me push past the knees of my classmates to reach my seat. He did not look amused. The door I had just come through swung open again and you entered, your cock and harness now concealed by your own robes. You nodded to your colleagues as you climbed the steps to take your place behind the dais.

When you called my name I stood carefully. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth. I held my head high as my classmates cheered and my family clapped loudly. I crossed the stage and reached out for my diploma. You shook my other hand and leaned in close, “You owe me for this, you know.” I smiled broadly. Oh, I knew all right. I knew.

While I fully expect that Ang, our Sweltering Celt, meant for us to go in a very different direction with this, I chose to put a bit of my own yearning, heartfelt spin on it. Enjoy

I reach out my hands in the blackest of night and they touch your face, your hair. You turn slightly and press your lips to my right palm before you pull me up against you. Our bodies are hot, damp. The night is humid, the sheets are sticky. Our mouths meet and your tongue runs the length of my lower lip. I suck it in and bite down lightly. Your hands run the length of my body as you sit up. You trace my every curve and I hear you sigh in the darkness. You part my legs and I feel your weight shift on the bed as you settle between my thighs. Your breath on my clit makes me jump. The muscles in my stomach contract involuntarily. I gasp and then moan as you bury your face in me. Pulling the wetness from me. Soothing the ache I have felt for you the many weeks you have been gone. I tangle my hands in your hair and pull you tighter to me as I feel my orgasm build to a crescendo within me. I want you inside me and I reach out my hands

and feel nothing. The room is black. The night is humid. The sheets are sticky. I am alone. Still. You are many miles away.

This, then, is my virtual reality.

Although I do thrive under DPR’s very strict directives for my Wicked Wednesday posts, I’ve grown accustomed to one-word themes assigned by our dear Sweltering Celt, Ang. This week, however, she threw me for a loop with the challenge of writing about “Getting Lost in the Forest.” After a day or two of musing, I decided to take a decidedly different tact and offer up my very first fairytale. Enjoy!

Red tugged at the back of her shorts as she checked her compass one more time. Having taken an unfamiliar shortcut, she now found herself in a heavily wooded section of the forest and the sun was beginning to fade on the horizon. She started as she heard a twig snap somewhere to her left and almost immediately felt the hot breath on the nape of her neck.

A woman’s voice, husky and low, growled, “So, what’s a nice young thing like you doing in a nasty, dark place like this, eh?”

Red whirled around, coming face to face with finely chiseled features, eyes so light brown they almost appeared yellow, and a lascivious grin carved out by two sharp and slightly jutting incisors. “Who are you?” She demanded.

“I’m sorry,” the woman extended her hand and Red took immediate notice of her long, thin fingers, shaking off the old joke about lesbians being well-hung. “My friends call me Wolfe.”

Of course they do, Red thought. “Look,” she picked her backpack up off the underbrush and slung it over her shoulder, “I have to be somewhere and I’m running late. My grandmother’s expecting me.”

Wolfe laughed loudly. “Let me guess,” she said, “you came from over the river?”

Red turned away and began to pick her way through the overgrown and nearly invisible trail. Wolfe was at her side instantly, eerily stealthy in her every move. Red found herself aroused by the woman’s musky scent, her tousled hair, the rippling bicep beneath a black t-shirt. She shook her head in disgust and picked up the pace.

“Seriously,” Wolfe said, “a girl shouldn’t be alone in the forest at sunset. You never know what might happen.”

Red stopped again and looked at her through narrowed eyes. “What about you? You’re here.”

The woman laughed again, “I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a girl.”

“Really.” Red said, “Then what exactly would you call yourself?”

Wolfe moved silently around to Red’s back. She ran one long finger from the middle of her bare thigh, over her ass, up her right side, around her breast, and placed her entire hand across Red’s throat firmly. She pulled back, exposing Red’s pale, graceful neck and bent her head low to whisper in her ear. She spoke one word and a shiver fabricated of revulsion and attraction ran through Red’s body.

“Dangerous.”

Thanks to Ang, our darling Sweltering Celt, for Week 77′s theme: Rain. Don’t we all need a day like this?

The alarm on my phone goes off precisely at 7 a.m. I reach out my right arm and turn it off, careful not to disturb you. You sleep soundly, still, your body curled into mine protectively, your hand cupping my left breast. I have to wonder if we moved at all since falling asleep just a few short hours earlier. I sigh, thinking of all that I need to get done today. As a freelancer, I never seem to get even one day of respite—not even on a Saturday. There are deadlines to be met, my Weight Watcher’s meeting to attend, household chores begging my attention.

The bed is warm and soft. Your body feels deliciously naked next to my own. I shudder slightly with a flashback from the night before—just a fleeting memory of your hand idly toying with my pussy while I sucked you off (oh, what a good girl, you said). I feel a jolt through my groin and smile as I grow wet yet again. Oh, to have a valid reason to spend the day in bed, full steam ahead, damn the torpedoes.

I roll onto my back and try to drum up the energy to get up and get in the shower. You rouse slightly and your hand falls to my thigh. Mmmm…yeah, that’s not helping. Neither is the way you nuzzle into my neck and murmer your good mornings. I am torn between the need to take care of my obligations and the overwhelming desire to spread my legs and let you trace lazy circles on my clit, persistent in its own wanting.

Okay, enough. I really need to move my ass and not in a good way. I raise myself up on my elbows when I hear it for the first time; the perfect excuse to fall back into your arms drums its staccato rhythm on the roof. The distant rumble of thunder soothes my soul as the rain washes away any shred of guilt I feel as I pull your hand into my cunt and laugh out loud at your quizzical, yet exclamatory, “honey!”

The two women square off on either side of the conference room table. Both severe in their business suits, the one in the tie runs her masculine hand through her short hair and sighs, “I see we’ve reached an impasse.” The other turns upon her 4” heels and folds her arms across the cleavage peeking out from the satin camisole under her navy blazer, “Yes, it seems we have.”

Tie puts both hands flat on the mahogany table between them and appraises her rival. Heels coolly returns her gaze. “So? Where do we go from here?” Tie chuckles, “Oh, I could think of a few things but I doubt it’s going to change your mind about the deal.”

“Really.” Heels walks sharply to the other side of the table and pushes Tie down into one of the leather armchairs. “Is this what you want?” She raises one leg high and plants her foot on the other woman’s shoulder. Tie no longer sees dollar signs; she sees nothing but a garter belt hooked into thigh-high sheer stockings, surrounding glistening pink flesh. Heels stares her down, “Hostile takeovers make me wet.”

Tie clears her throat and adjusts her crotch, “um, yeah…I can see that.”

“You want this deal done your way. You do me mine. Suck me off, boi.”

Incredulous, Tie looks up at her. Seriously, she thinks? I’m going to ace this merger by fucking this bitch? Oh, this is too easy. She starts to reach up and push Heels down onto the table.

“Oh no. Not that way.” Heels lowers her foot and leaves Tie drooling. “I’ll be back. Don’t you fucking move.”

The minutes tick by and then the heavy door opens again. Heels strides back across the room. She stands in front of Tie who is ready, wet, waiting…thinking she has just scored the deal of the century.

“This is the way it goes down. It won’t be just this once. You will come when I call. I will maintain that corner office…yes, the one that was yours…and you will have a pager. When I want you, you will come. You will do what I want, when I want, and no one will be the wiser. Now, if you can live with those terms and conditions, I am ready to sign.”

Tie is restless, eager. She can’t wait to get her mouth on that juicy pussy. “Yeah, yeah…absolutely.” She grabs the pen and scrawls her name underneath Heels’. Then she turns to her, salivating at the idea of fulfilling her duties. Heels has raised her skirt, exposing…

an 8” by 2” silicone dildo secured to her waist with the softest, blackest, most evil leather harness.

Tie absently takes note of the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and the well-manicured red nails as Heels hands her the pager. She swallows hard, every bit of her pride…and takes her mistress’ cock into her mouth for the first of many times.

I realize I’ve been remiss in posting this last week. DPR is staying yet another week (much to my absolute and utter delight—all I had to do was ask once and she was on the phone with USAir changing her ticket) so I’m making the most of our time together. *grin* However, I can’t pass up a chance to get in on a MicroFantasy Monday assignment and Ang, our dear Sweltering Celt, has challenged us with “The Edge.” Enjoy!

You play me like a finely-tuned Stradivarius—pulling me taut at the brink of orgasm, slowly withdrawing and releasing me into utter frustration. Your hands lovingly caress my curves (on my side I lie, your fingers tracing the violin-like shape of my torso, my waist, my hip). You linger at my neck and your touch tugs my heart-strings.

pluck. pluck. pluck.

You tease and taunt my clit, then draw your hand along the length of my cunt pulling forth the music of my arousal. I vibrate with your every stroke. Moan and keen and call out your very name.

Crescendo and decrescendo. You are relentless as you chase the grace notes of my impending climax. Finally, gratefully, you let me let go and I fall

shattered

splintered

satiated

over the edge.

Ah, what’s a day or two in the grand scheme of things? Our dear Ang, the Sweltering Celt, has given us a lovely little assignment this week—I present to you my offering on the theme of “Give and Take.”

Each of my limbs is firmly tied to each of the four posts flanking the queen size bed. My body is stretched to its limits. I see nothing but blackness but feel the knot of the scarf at the back of my head. You have taken my freedom of movement. Now you give me something else.

(just a taste) the touch of your tongue upon my clit

(and I jump) i quiver with antici…pation (grin)

I can feel the pressure of your weight ease off the bed. I hear you walk around to one side (my right side). My head shifts involuntarily in your direction.

(swat) the leather crop comes down upon my breast. I quickly straighten my head but my back arches for more as a groan escapes my lips. I wait (hoping) for more but sense you moving again. You are standing at the foot of the bed. I understand you are watching me. Examining me.

(i feel exquisitely vulnerable. exposed.) You take another taste. Your tongue runs the length of my pussy and my hips buck upward in your direction.

(you pull away) I ache for you and begin to plead although you have bade me be silent throughout.

(please please please please) Give it to me. I want it.

(what? what do you want? tell me.) You. I want you.

(i want you inside me)

(please please please please)

No. You continue to give me, little by little, what I want. Your tongue, your palm, one finger, the crop. And then…

(and then)

you kneel upon the bed and plunge your cock deep inside me and give me exactly what I need.

(thank you thank you thank you thank you)

Ang, our dear Sweltering Celt, has given us another gem. This MFM was inspired by a true story. Oh, how some visuals still pack a punch!

We had stumbled into a Brazilian costume party. The club was open to anyone but clearly  a special party had been organized. Most of the die-hard regulars must have known, as we were surrounded by heterosexual couples in all manner of disguise. However, as many of the men were dressed in drag, it was hard to tell who was here for the party and who was just club-hopping.

I sat on a high stool with my back to the wall nursing a seltzer and cranberry juice. Those things can be potent, you know. I watched my friends dance in the midst of the revelry…it looked like a small slice of Rio had landed in Massachusetts in October. When I turned back to take another sip of my drink my eye was caught again by the couple sitting in the corner. They had been pretty serious about their public display of affection up until now. Par for the course on a Friday night when the drinks are flowing, the music is loud, and the lighting sucks. This was different, somehow, and I found myself staring.

The girl (beautiful, young, dark skin and long, thick hair) had been wearing one of those tiny nurse’s costumes. There were several floating around. I had noted, with a mixture of envy and admiration, that she filled hers out rather nicely. Her (date/friend/lover?) was wearing chefs whites with an apron tied loosely around his waist and checked pants. He knew the uniform…probably worked in a kitchen. He faced her now, her legs wrapped around his backside, his pants looked suspiciously baggy. I savored a long sip of my drink as I took in her white thigh-high stockings, garter belt now clearly visible from the side of her body closest to me, and her Fredericks of Hollywood “come fuck me” pumps in requisite white.

They were no longer kissing…no longer filled with the fervor with which they had been tackling each other earlier in the evening. Now, it was slow, intimate. I almost turned away but my gaze lingered on his ass. Moving almost imperceptibly. My brain popped a synaptic response. They’re fucking! One would think that jaded old me wouldn’t be shocked at such a thing. Perhaps I wasn’t shocked so much as intrigued. Jealous. I felt my own cunt grow wet, my clit grow hard and crossed my legs tighter. Raised my glass to my lips, unconsciously licking them, as I continued to intrude on their moment. No one else seemed to notice. Her head was thrown back and he reached down to kiss her exposed throat. The muscles in his back and arms rippled as he continued to silently, steadily pump his cock into her.

My imagination was going wild. I wanted to stand next to them. See the physical connection between the two of them. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair, expose her breast, pinch her dark nipple, guide his movements. My glass was suddenly snatched out of my hand as I was surrounded by three of my friends. They unceremoniously yanked me off of my coveted bar stool and began to pull me into the sweaty throng. I looked back longingly and watched her nails dig into his back just before I was swallowed up by the crowd.