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Arriving after dress rehearsals, Drew stood at the door, for our final scene. Did he know? As I inhaled the sangria and sweat emanating from his body, I couldn’t help myself. Two fisted, I grabbed him by the white shirt and pulled him to me. The touch was all it took.

“Be in character, English accent and all.” Those were the only words I could manage.

I stared up into his eyes. There was heat, and I knew he craved me. I observed him, searching for the change and then the character emerged.

“Who are you?”

“William.”

“What’s happening, William?”

“The battle. I will most likely die; this is our last chance to be together.”

The shirt had never let me down.

I first experienced the shirt with Drew after his opening night performance at the theater. Congratulating him on his effort, I shook his hand, and the material of the shirt glanced off my skin. At that moment, it happened. A synergy occurred between the shirt and me. Visions, sights, and sounds of another place and period ran through my mind. The shirt not only transported me but it introduced me to a character through the wearer.

Drew and I attempted a relationship, but I found that he couldn’t handle two roles with me.  Did he realize it was the character in the shirt I craved? Had he figured out I used him for my pleasure?

Now, in the present, gripping both arms, William towered over me. The shirt had taken over. “Yes, but if it’s the last triste what shall you remember, sir?”

“This, Bria.” He picked me up and moving swiftly to my bedroom, threw me face forward on the mattress. He snatched my dress up baring my panties. His flowing, cotton shirt rubbed my back.  He slapped my ass. Oh yes, the sting. I felt his urgency. This man searched for the last pleasure he might know. His teeth sunk into my skin and marked his final attempt of desire.

“Get your rump to the end of the bed.”

I scurried there.

“Hands behind your back. Chest down. Ass up.”

In position, I teetered on the edge of the bed. William leaned over me pressing into my back. I felt the girth of the erection along with the weight of our last encounter. The buttons on the shirt dug into my skin; they too marked me like his teeth.

His breath was hot and wet in my ear. “This pleasure is for me, Bria.”

What is it about accents? Transported to another place with unknown rules, it excited me. What would he do? How would he do it?

With his hands on my derriere, he dropped my panties to my knees. His eager fingers probed my cunt. The cadence of his breathing changed while he pulled on my vulva lips, rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger. Pain and pleasure stirred inside me like a potion mixing in my body. Two fingers moved up through my slit and bathed in my essence. He grazed my clit and ignored the space that longed to be filled. His groan nearly filled it.

“Open your eyes.” Blinking, I saw his erection poised and ready. “Lift up. I want your lips wrapped around me.” I maneuvered to all fours, and he grabbed my head. I opened my mouth.

“In the end, Bria. I need to feel desire.” His voice had dropped at least an octave, primal and raw.

I had barely steadied myself when he thrust his penis in my mouth. I tasted desperation and desire and met it with fury and passion. The shirt’s billowy material fanned my face as I went down on him. Upon moving up, the lightweight fabric ballooned out. It was like a cape giving me directions. With its white color, it signaled my surrender. Yes, take me. He grabbed my hair, stopping my motion.

“Not like this.”

“Wait, William. Will you mark me first?” My eyes pleaded as I called to his darker side. I would beg if I had to. “I want your cum on me. Mark me.”

“Sit on the edge of the bed.” He pulled the shirt off over his head. “I may not control death’s timing, but I can control this.” Using the shirt’s sleeves to bind my arms behind me, it caused my shoulders to pull back, and my breasts jut forward. The shirt’s magic attached itself to me. My hardened nipples pressed against my outfit and he noted the response.

“Naked nipples, you strumpet.” He shoved his fingers into the neckline of my dress and squeezed my breast. I gasped as heat ignited in me. Yanking the bodice past both my shoulders and breasts, I laid bare to him.

“You want to be marked?” He sucked hard on one nipple and then the other. He slapped my breast, and I came alive. While stroking his cock with one hand, he bit my breast. Using his other hand, he twisted and pulled on my nipples matching his effort on his cock. This connection to passion was overpowering. When his mouth clamped on my nipple and then let go, I knew he was coming. I opened my mouth hoping to catch all I could. He spurted over my face and my breasts. Our panting filled the room.

I felt Drew beginning to slip out of character. I had to keep him there to experience it all.

“Sir, you are not finished. Smear yourself on my pussy and then do what you will.”

His nostrils flared. He dragged his palm across my face collecting his essence. I sucked quickly on his thumb as it crossed my mouth. He pinched my nipple and then wiped across my breasts, holding a handful of natural lubricant.

“You are mine.” After his bellow, I rolled on my side and then faced down. The shirt’s sleeves provided an anchor of stability and a promise of more. I witnessed a new behavior for Drew as William, and I wanted it like I had never wanted anything else from him. Scooting backward to the edge of the bed, I wiggled my bottom.

“Take me, please. I am begging you.”

His big body pressed against my buttocks, and his fingers were wetting me with his come. Testing my resolve, he teased my asshole. I whimpered. He rubbed his erection in the space between my cheeks before he inserted a finger, moving in and out, slowly.

“Yes, you are mine.”

Holding the shirt material, I locked into and secured myself to this fantasy of a man from somewhere else. I pushed back to meet him as he pressed inside me. “AAAhhh, yes.”  My utterance spurred him on. He pulled my hips back with both hands. I felt his cock, hot, at my entrance. “Take me,” I growled.

He entered me with a grunt.

“More; I can take it.”

Those words sent him over the edge. He had no restraint as he plunged inside me over and over. I held tight to my wrists and the shirt binding. His body curved into mine, pumping. He found my clit and pinched it. Fire ran hot through me. With my face smashed into the bed, the material abraded me. His pounding took me to new places in my mind. I screamed incoherent syllables, and he shouted something, and then we were a jumble of flesh on the bed. His ragged breathing hit my ear. “Let me untie your arms.”  Once he had freed me, he rubbed my shoulders and wrists. I was full and complete.

The shirt remained trapped between us. Lucky for me, it captured the event, absorbed our body’s oils, sweat, and sex scent. It was my talisman, my friend.

Drew left with no fanfare even though I had used him, in more ways than one. As he exited, I made it clear I was keeping my white charm.

Now I held the treasure that provided a portal to another place, and another fantasy, to use whenever I wished. Curiosity and desire make passionate and risky bedfellows. I wondered what power it would give me as I slipped the shirt on.


For more WICKED WEDNESDAY stories, Click. HERE

 
 
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Earl’s buddy had found a pinup poster of his all-time favorite model in his vintage collection of Playboy magazines. The guys teased him about his love of out-of-date, classy women. The day Emmie walked into the garage, he thought his unforgettable model had stepped right off the page. How could he be this lucky seeing these curves and style in person? As Earl had imagined her body wrapped in delicate lace lingerie, she had made a play for him, and he accepted.

As he stared at the pin-up over his desk, he fantasized about Emmie in her lingerie; his dick strained in his pants, and the phone rang.

“Lloyd’s Long Term Parking and Garage.”

“Earl?”

“Emmie, I was just thinking about you.”

“Are you busy, Earl?”

“I’m sitting at the desk doing paperwork. I love this distraction.”

“I like being your distraction.”

“You are the best and the naughty kind.”

“Well, I enjoyed our little, garage romp, garter man.”

“You little minx.”

“Thinking about it got me all hot and bothered, Earl.”

“I like that, Emmie.”

“I was calling to see if we could do it again?”

“Name the time.”

“Friday night sound good? 6pm.”

“That works. Say, Emmie, what color is your lingerie?”

“Sapphire blue, why?”

“Color against your skin turns me on.”

“Are you turned on now?”

“Hard as a rock.”

“Maybe I can help you with that?”

“What do you have in mind, Emmie?”
“Unzip your pants and let the stallion out.”

Earl looked around the shop and then rubbed his hand across his pants like Emmie would. He unzipped, and his erection surged into the air.

“Earl, I love listening to your ragged breath.”

“Dirty talk does that to me.”

“Stroke your cock. I’m going to lick you. Feel me?”

“Hmmm, yes.”

“My bra is off. Nestle that steel rod between my breasts. Oh, yes, my girls love it. My nipples are hard. I’m dripping. Feel my tongue swirling around your cock?”

Earl’s strokes intensified in strength and speed. “Oh, yeah.”

“What do you want to do to me, Earl?”

“I want to grab that luscious ass of yours and ram my cock deep inside you, so you don’t know your name.”

“Damn. Not fair. I’m in an office full of people, squirming.”

“Hey, you’re the one who called.”

“I’d probably get fired if they knew what I was doing?”

“I’m pumping hard, Emmie.”

“Oh God, give it to me good. Fuck me, Earl.”

“Oh, yes.” The chair shifted, rocked and rolled then reared back when his orgasm erupted.

“Emmie, I love your work distractions, how come you are so good?”

“I guess I get it naturally.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you know that poster over your desk.”

“My prize possession.”

“Does it remind you of me?”

“It does.”

Emmie chuckled. “Earl. That’s my momma in that picture.”

“Hell, no.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m one lucky man. My fantasy became real life.”

“Just wait until Friday. Momma taught me how to fulfill all your fantasies.”

Writing for Friday Flash. Check out the other flashing stories.


 
 
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A crusty, old man with a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a purple-haired emo twenty-something, and I waited in the hall with our fellow students as the custodian unlocked the studio. Echoed footsteps and murmurs surrounded me standing in this tobacco laced space. I had never pictured myself with these students. I scheduled this class because I was bored and lonely and I hoped to meet a sex partner. If this was my pool of potentials, then the class may cure my boredom, but the people possibilities would not cure my loneliness or aid me in locating a sex partner.

After month one, interest in basic drawing techniques for still life replaced boredom. Our instructor moved us on to live models, and we studied the body’s form and architecture. We began with a female model and Rubenesque curves. The grumpy man in my class livened, as did the purple-haired woman. Their appreciative sighs filled the room as we worked. I was glad somebody received sexual gratification. But for me, drawing continued to be a technical and rote process eliminating boredom until body model, Samuel Livingston arrived. I bid goodbye to lonely and greeted horny with an open mind.

The model sat on a stool, shirtless and motionless, as the instructor walked around him dissecting his body into elements of art. Every single thing about him screamed, “Sexy.” Lust, yes, lust took over.

“Ms. Stevens, did you hear me?”

“Pardon me, no, sir.”

“Come note the cord of Mr. Livingston’s bicep. I’ve watched your work improve, but I think if you feel the muscle it will be easier to draw.”

“You want me to touch him?”

“Yes, Ms. Stevens.”

Touch his muscle? Can I touch a different one? I walked around our easels and stood in front of the model.

“Do a study, Ms. Stevens. Take all the time you need.” The instructor left me and went to check on other students.

Mr. Livingston observed me with a penetrating stare and a mouth that sported a smirk.

“May I place my hand on your arm, Mr. Livingston?” I shook a little realizing that my voice cracked.

“I wish you would, Ms. Stevens. Then we can be on a first name basis.”

A heated expression moved across his face.

“What does that mean?”

“When you look, it’s Mr. Livingston, but when you touch, it’s Samuel.” He leaned in and whispered, “And when you fuck me, it’s Sam.”

I turned to see if the others heard him.

“And what makes you think things will go that route, Mr. Livingston?”

“You’ve been fucking me with your eyes all session. Touch me and you’ll see, Ms. Parker.”

He was right, I been in sex mode all night. What I saw was tight, thigh muscles under his jeans, laugh crinkles at the corner of his eyes, and an expanse of chest and shoulders that could indeed hold up the world. He smelled divine. I was afraid to touch him because I might jump his body in front of everyone.

“I smell peppermint.” My words blurted out of nowhere.

He sucked on a mint, and I watched him swipe his tongue across his bottom lip. What would he taste like laced with peppermint?

“Is peppermint going to stop you from feeling my muscle?”

“Ah, no.” I stepped to his side while he flexed a bicep and posed for me to explore him. Gingerly, I placed my hand on his arm. Inventory: Hair. Heat. Thickness. Hard. Width. Length. I had closed my eyes and lost myself fingering him. It was as if I became the instrument sketching what I touched. My fingertips and palms memorized the structure and pliability of his bicep. He caught me off guard when he released and pumped the muscle again. How would I translate that to paper?

“The other muscle jumped, too. My hardness is pressed against my pants now.” I looked directly at him filled with desire, and then cast my eyes to see the evidence of his words. The instructor turned his attention to us.

“Ms. Parker, I’d like to see you get the general outline on paper tonight.”

“Yes, Professor.” I moved to my seat and started drawing. The last two students completed their sketches, and the instructor dismissed them.

“Mr. Livingston, I want to get an initial rendering to begin next week’s class. Would you mind slipping your pants down and laying in the recliner? Ms. Parker, you don’t mind if I sketch while you finish up, do you?”

My entire body vibrated.

“No problem, Professor.”

Samuel stood up and moved to the recliner. The snap on his pants clicked open, and my nipples hardened. The zipper-pull eked down the teeth as if they were moving south unzipping my hot, wet, sex. I snuck a quick glance and viewed one hot ass, as he pushed his pants to his knees.

“That’s good enough, Mr. Livingston. Take a seat.”

My face flushed as the room soared to mid-summer Florida temperatures. I reached for my water bottle and took a sip. As I leaned over to sit it down, I stole another peek, and I understood why he was the model. His large, erect penis was a work of art. I had no clue how I was supposed to focus and draw his arm now. I fumbled with my pencil attempting to complete the assignment while I steadied my breathing as the instructor sketched. I was elated when I heard his drawing pad close.

“Ms. Parker, I’m headed to my office. Stay as long as you need to finish up. I’ll check your work next week. Good night, Mr. Livingston.” He closed the door when he left.

The gravelly, deep voice caught me off-guard. “You could start your next assignment early if you want.”

“I could.”

“You’ve already had your hand on me. What’s checking out one more muscle?”

He flirted so well. Ready to be closer, I walked to the recliner.

“Come on. Don’t be shy. Just reach out and touch my man muscle like before.”

“Are you going to pump it up, too?” I grinned.

“Auto pumping is engaged as we speak.”

His cock was rock solid. I wanted to feel it, even if we were in the studio. The pulse in my temples elevated as I consider that the instructor might come back? He’d probably give me an A for doing research on next week’s form. Yes, that was what I’d tell myself.

Samuel had the body of a rock star, athlete, and he invited me to know him for art’s sake.  I wanted to experience his personal anatomy with every part of my body. Like before, my hand hovered over him. Take the Inventory: Heat. Girth. Length. Velvet. His penis bobbed reacting to my hand, and Samuel chuckled.

“It likes you. Go on.”

With the mind of an artist, I explored the erection length, the curve at the ledge under the head, and the slit, now leaking with fluid. I slid my fingers to cup his testicles and noted the skin texture difference and squeezed. Samuel’s breathing had changed, and I opened my eyes.

“You are a dedicated student, Ms. Parker. Thorough.” I continued stroking him as he repositioned the back of the chair a little more upright.

“Ms. Parker. It’s past time for you and me to be on a first name basis. Don’t you think? You have touched me twice now.”

“Yes, Samuel.”

“I’d like you to call me Sam.”

“So it’s fucking time?”

“Well, you do have my cock in your hand.” He held my gaze and arched an eyebrow, waiting.

With my body humming, I felt vibrant and ready to fulfill my third objective.

“Margie. My name is Margie.”

“Ever made 3-D art before Margie?”

“No, not like this.”

“Lose your panties and you can start the process.”

“I like the sound of that, Sam.” 

Writing for MASTURBATION MONDAY and WICKED WEDNESDAY. Click on those words for more sexy stories.


 
 
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Installment #6 of A Service House Story Click HERE to read from the beginning.

Every trainee packed the room on teaching night at the house. As the most senior trainer, Lowell Anderson led the lecture. However, at this moment, it remained difficult to grasp that idea because Orlando loomed large over him. Orlando wasn’t supposed to be here. His dominance and presence called to me like it always did. But at this moment, there in front of me, the event overshadowed my thoughts, and it felt odd to experience Orlando’s attentions focused on someone else.  

Bound to the massive wooden table, Lowell’s body was splayed out, with each arm and each leg to a table corner. This position served to highlight the steely lines of an intriguing masculine physique. Orlando’s hand was attached to Lowell’s hard, enormous cock and he worked it like a master magician. The connection hypnotized me. Lowell’s cock and Orlando’s hand were wet and slick. The wet slaps resonated around the room. When Orlando applied pressure around the circumference of Lowell’s erection, my pussy clenched.

What was the point here? Bring him to a pleasure point and stop? Teach him a lesson? Explore the mind-body relationship? I had so much to learn.

No one in the room breathed while Lowell pumped his erection into Orlando’s fist atop the platform. I watched living art. His back bowed, and his taut, muscular body lifted upward, Lowell’s pelvis searched for more of Orlando’s hand. His ass bucked the hardwood table before every upstroke. When Orlando eased up on his grip, Lowell pushed higher seeking to get all he could. As Orlando let go of Lowell’s cock, he locked his gaze on me.

As I focused on him, my eyelids blinked, and then blinked again, while I considered the orgasm denial and the tormenting tease I had witnessed Orlando providing. I felt this experience as if it occurred on my skin. Lowell thrashed on the table, his breathing labored, as he recognized there would be no orgasm. His face told the story, clenched jaw and eyes squeezed shut indicating his physical distress.

Had I looked like that?

This interaction in the room stirred something deep inside me. Blowing out his breath, Lowell turned his head to see what had caught Orlando’s attention. Now two sets of eyes scrutinized me. Trapped between two different and intense desires, I quivered in place.

A sly smile formed on Lowell’s lips. “Periwinkle, you are up next.”

Fury raced across Orlando’s face. I didn’t know why, but he flinched and pursed his lips together and looked away. Two trainees stepped in front of Orlando and unfastened Lowell’s arms and legs; the buckles clanked on the table. He motioned for me to take my place.

As I moved closer, Lowell and the trainees blocked my view of Orlando, but I could sense him. I couldn’t get in trouble with him again, but I haven’t done anything wrong. He is not happy. I sat my naked self on the table. Lowell stood in front of me, his hard body, erect penis, and aroused man scent enveloped me.

“Go ahead, Periwinkle, stroke it. See how hard Orlando made me.”

I swallowed and placed my palm around his girth and then closed my fingers around it. Raw masculine power rested in my hand. Lowell looked down to our connection.

“Periwinkle, Orlando can be a bastard on withholding. He’s the opposite of me; I’m about giving. Stroke me.”

I moved my hand up and down. Lowell leaned into me placing both hands on either side of my thighs. My heart rate increased as his breath lingered on my ear. He pulled on my neck ribbon with his teeth.

“Don’t stop. Do I feel good, Periwinkle?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you feel as you watched Orlando fist me?”

Was this a trap? I know I am going to get in trouble, one way or the other. I’m sure he felt the tremble of my hand.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir?”

“Ignore Orlando. I am in charge of training tonight. Have you ever felt what you think I felt when he stopped the action on my cock?”

I closed my eyes and thought back to the pleasure/punishment session. Most trainees received orgasmic ecstasy, but I received punishment.

“Yes, sir. The punishment session aroused me, but I was told not to have an orgasm.”

“Yes, and?”

“The entire situation awakened me even with no touch. I ached to have an orgasm.”

“Did you think I was, too?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I was,” he whispered. “We are going to take care of that ache tonight, for both of us. We are more in sync than you know.”

He backed away from me, breaking the hold I had on his penis.

“Everyone, tonight we will experience pleasure derived from a deep aching, in the body and the mind. Periwinkle, please take the X position on the table.”

As I lay across the table, hands at each extremity worked to secure me. The table was harder than I imagined.

“Get with your trainee partner and prepare for mutual masturbation. Periwinkle and I will lead the pairing.”

Nothing about this could be good, could it?

Even though Orlando was out of my sight from this position, I know that there is animosity between him and Lowell, which worried me. This situation would not serve me well.

“Periwinkle, tonight intense pleasure with a magic wand is yours. As your orgasm approaches, you will turn your head and take my cock. My orgasm will be yours, too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want the table circled with pairs so that we all can experience the sights, sounds, aromas, and tastes of the sexual energy in the room. Dominique and Sable, I charge you with wand duty. Make it gratifying.”

Each one of them moved to the sides of the table with a wand in hand.

“Everyone enjoy.”

As bodies shifted, sighs and moans echoed around me. I heard the click of the wand motor and Lowell stationed himself by my head.

“Little one, I’m going to give you what Orlando never will.” He leaned over me and stroked my face and to my surprise he kissed me. That kiss held passion and heat and just like when Lowell lifted off the table to reach for more from Orlando, my head responded by lifting up to Lowell. He tasted like mint and lust. As our tongues searched and stroked, Lowell pinched my nipples, and the trainees applied vibrations to my vulva and clit. It was the perfect combination. My body was on fire. I memorized every detail of pleasure and savored it all. I was an instrument that three people played brilliantly. When I thought I couldn’t take more pleasure, I did. This affair began to erase the recall of orgasm denial. I was high and in another dimension when my orgasm approached, and Lowell traded his tongue for his cock. I sucked it as if my life depended on it. At one moment I thought maybe he would take it away, and I hurried.

The sound in the room was deafening, it was one giant orgasm. With two vibrators playing between my legs, my nipples twisted, and Lowell’s hard cock on the verge of spurting, my orgasm rumbled through me. Everything in my world intensified as my body shook and I sucked and swallowed, then sucked and swallowed some more. I couldn’t get enough of Lowell. A little bell went off in my head, and I heard Orlando’s words. “Would it be this good without experiencing denial?”

Spent, I stared up at the ceiling acutely aware of the leather around my hands and feet and the bones of my back pressed into the hardwood.

Lowell touched my hair and caught my earlobe between his fingers. His words were as light as his touch. “We are the better pair, Periwinkle.”

Click HERE to read the next installment #7 of A Service House Story.

Writing for Masturbation Monday. Click HERE form more hotness.
AND
Writing for Wicked Wednesday. Click HERE for more wickedness. While the prompt was blood, I didn't write to that!


 

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