Baying at the moon

I dreamt about Yvonne the other night.

I have not seen her in years, but I dream of her sometimes. I never dream of her sexually, but once I’m awake, I think of her flesh.

I was loud when I fucked her — the guttural sounds of an animal in heat; I was a wolf baying at the moon wanting to cum forever. She would squirt on me as if marking her territory, and I would always come back for more.

She would tie me to the bed telling me not to cum, and as she sipped on a glass of wine, she milked me and pulled my balls down. She would laugh when she succumbed to my begging and marvelled at how much I would cum for her. I wanted to fuck her, but she just wanted to watch me cum and liked to remind me this is what happens when I was bad.

When she wanted to be bad, she would dress in leather, and heels; I would put on my collar and to the glow of candlelight, I would let her take me. When she was finished, I would kiss her and hold her tight. In the morning, she would bite my nipple hard, and she would tell me it was so I would remember her throughout the day.

I worshiped her pussy and would ask to shave it clean. On those occasions, I would take her to bed and caress her folds and circle her clit until she opened like a flower; her juices would cling to her lips like dew. Ever so quietly I would ask if I could enter her and she would nod softly. I would insert a finger slowly — then a second, and then my thumb. I would gently rotate my thumb over the two fingers and caress her inner wall and then kiss and play with her clit with my tongue. I would drink her juices as she came and revelled when she grabbed my hair to pull me hard into her. Her sounds filled the room. I can hear her still.

We were building something, but like with many things, she slipped away on the frictionless surface of misunderstanding. She was everything to me and then she simply was gone. Never to be seen again.

For a long time, I bayed at the moon.

Would you?

I don’t think we could call it a fetish but we both like to be spanked, and are quick to satisfy each other’s desire.

 I like the tactile sensation and the pain, and how hard my cock gets. Simone will say she likes the look of having a rosy ass and it’s worth any discomfort. When pressed, she will sheepishly admit it also makes her pussy very wet.

Simone looked up from her phone.

“Holly just texted and wants to know what we are doing tonight?”

Simone looked back at her phone before I could answer and motioned to wait. She then looked back at me with a curious look.

“She says it’s been pointed out her flogging technique needs some improvement. She is wondering, and I quote, ’Can we help a girl out’?”

My only response was to stare.

“She says she has reserved the room for a couple of hours and it’s her treat. I suppose it could be fun.”

“You are kidding right?”

“Well, it’s not like we haven’t played with her before. You did say you like her little breasts. We could let her practice and then fuck our brains out as she watches.”

“Maybe it could be fun. Ask her what time?”

With a slight smile, Simone put down her phone and looked at me. “She says nine. She also wants to know if people can watch?”

W

Searching for Erato

Sitting in a hole in the wall where I like to write, I just stared at the screen; it was something I seemed to do a lot of lately. The words were hard to come by.

“What are you writing?”

I looked up at a woman in a mauve summer dress complimented with the straps of a lime green bra. Without any hesitation and not meaning to, I simply said, “Not much of anything.”

She looked at me and them pulled back the other chair and made herself comfortable. She rested her elbows on the table and cupped her hands under her chin hugging her neck. She stared at me as if she was deciding something important.

Her eyes were dark and deep, and it would be easy to get lost in them. Her face framed a strong nose, and her cheeks were pink with softly applied rouge that complemented her bright red lips — her lower lip was accented with a small silver ring. Her hair was as dark as her eyes and pulled up in a haphazard way and a small pink bow resting on one side. Colourful tattoos of green, and yellow, and red covered the length of her left arm while on her left, there were the outlines of images and words which left the impression of something in the making. She was intense in her beauty.

As as small smile exposed white teeth, and as she extended her right hand over the top of my computer, she said, “Hello, I’m Harriet.” Her voice sounded like a soft song.

Taking her hand, I told her my name was Winston and took longer than I should have to release her. She broke into a big smile.

“Like Winston Churchill? He was a lovely man you know. It’s true though, he was a bit of drinker and quite the orator; wrote his own speeches. He would write a love letter to Clementine every week; quite the imagination when he put his mind to it.”

Harriet had placed her hand back under her chin and started staring again.

“So, Winston, what do you write when you’re not, not writing much of anything?”

“Well mostly, I write and blog for work.” As she continued to stare, I couldn’t help adding, “I also have a small side hustle and write erotica, which at the moment, seems to be a problem.”

Harriet’s stare softened and she folded he arms on the table. “Oh Winston, you’re an erotic poet. This is simply lovely. You must share.”

Now I was the one who was staring as I slowly closed my laptop. “I didn’t say I was a poet; I just blog about people having sex”. And as I laughed, I said, “Not many words rhyme with clitoris.”

“Well, Deloris for one, but that is beside the point. You are expressing the experiences between two people, well maybe more; it is not just a blog about people having sex, you are writing about what it is to be human — very noble.” She was very serious when she said it.

“Well, as I said I am not writing much, and I should get going.” I reached for my bag and started to pick up my computer.

“Winston, there’s a couple behind you at the back of the room — they’ve been talking in whispers for a while now; they won’t last, but for the moment, they’re enjoying each other. He wants her to remove her panties and let him caress her as they kiss; they will be discrete but hope people watch. She wants to but worries she will be to too loud. You suppose you could write about that?”

I’m mesmerized with her voice and loose myself in her dark eyes. When I realize she’s finished, I say, “I absolutely could. Thanks.”

“You are welcome. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have a lover?”

“I do,” I say.

“That’s wonderful. Probably for the best anyway,” she says with a sigh.

Harriet’s dark eyes brightened, she pushes her chair back and without saying anything, walks away. As I watch her, I open my laptop, and when she is out of sight, I start to type.

W

Desire me…

Do you desire me? Show me; tear at my clothes and fuck me like the bitch I am.

I don’t know if she meant what she said but I wanted to.

I moved to her and stared into dark eyes; they followed my hand to one of her buttons as I slowly separated the material. Slipping both hands into the gap I pulled her into me and kept pulling.

The sound of buttons tearing from fabric and hitting the tile echoed as we kissed deeply, and in her passion, bit down on my lip until we tasted blood. She stepped back staring.

A navy bra exposed; I grabbed at fabric again to free a dark nipple; I sucked on it hard. She gasped as her hands pulled at my hair. I bit down, and she cried out. Her fingers twisted in my hair and pulled me away to expose my neck. She snarled and released her grip — her eyes were wild.

More

W

Jerking off for you

Our long hug goodbye at the airport would fuel us until we saw each other again — it was always the way with the embers of desire; inevitably they would grow out of control and one of us would make a desperate call with a grand plan to find our way back to each other.

The house was empty, but the memories of the weekend were fresh, and I busied myself tidying up and getting ready for the week ahead. I even made it out for an evening run after receiving a text saying you’d landed and how you missed me already — embers smouldered.

As I got ready for bed, I went for a quick shower, turned on the light and saw your message handwritten on the mirror in pale pink lipstick.

Thank you for a wonderful weekend. I already miss your touch (among other things). See you soon and think of me!

 S 

The message was accented with the soft imprint of a kiss.

As I read the message again and focused on the kiss, I could taste you; feel your breasts pressed into me as we kissed; hear your soft groans as I played with your lips and slid a finger inside a hungry pussy. I relived how we found ourselves fucking on the kitchen table and let myself get lost in memories.

My hand went to my cock and imagined your hand moving along the shaft as your tongue circling the head. I was hard now and as I pushed my shorts down I could see the reflection of my hard cock through the letters; as I I thought of you riding me, there was a frenetic energy as I stroked with a desire to cum for you — cum in you. I watched the intensity of my orgasm and leaned into the sink for balance; globs of my cum now decorating the sink and I shivered from the sensitivity of my cock as I moved to clean myself up.

When I finally got into bed, I texted to thank you for the wonderful message and tell you I had jerked off, and wasn’t going to clean the mirror for the while. I was surprised when you replied because I assumed you would be asleep.

We shared our desires into the night, and in the dark, the embers glowed.

W