Monday Morning Lust15:47 Nov 27 2008
Times Read: 1,181
Not for minors: An Adult-orientated short-story:
~ written with a young lady here.
**
You're at the office... Starting a new Monday... It's sunny and hot...
You've already removed a cardigan.
"Well, it's kinda hot in here..." you think, "So probably I should take off something else..."
"Of course it would be better if you were here, looking at me..." you think of Him, as your mind drifts, a moment.
Then, there he is, looking at you and the papers he'd called for, sitting on the desk.
He is standing there watching you, aware that you're doing something beneath the desk and he's looking to see if your movements were obvious to anyone else in the room.
Yet, your movements would be obvious just to him, as you wriggle a little, then ease your pant's cautiously down your thighs.
Nobody else in the room pays any mind to you...
Then, he leans forward and quietly tells you to discreetly pass your small black thong to him.
You obey while your co-workers are looking to their screens.
Crossing your legs in front of him, you smile, as you notice he has to adjust himself, as he watches you doing as instructed and removing them, imagining that he will probably be feeling the tension between his legs when you hand him your thong.
As he pushes them in his pocket, he pictures himself doing an internal, of his own...
And, you stand and walk to him, standing closer, so your workmates won't notice that his hand is sliding under your skirt to your warm inner thigh, fingers searching still.
Pretending that you have some documents for him, you lead him out of the room, into the bathroom, for him to go on with the search... his fingers moving upward, your legs opening as an invitation.
Unbuttoning your blouse, you show him your breasts, your hands at the back of his head; pull him closer to them...
He bites and teases, as he eases your skirt over your buttocks, pushing you against the sink.
And, biting your lower lip in pleasure, you push your hips forward against his hardness...
Abruptly, he pulls away, grasping you by your hips and turns you round, bending you over the sink, as he eases down the zip to his trousers...
You open your legs and bend over so he can penetrate your wetness...
He parts your buttocks and eases forward and slowly, very slowly, enters you. Then feeling his hips hitting your butt you suppress a loud moan.
So, his right hand over your mouth, to stem the noise, he thrusts harder.
You, in turn groan louder, around his hand.
Your inner thighs wet, with the feel of his hardness inside, moving in and out, your left hand looking for my clit, as he leans forward and bites your neck and shoulder, as he tweaks your nipple through your blouse.
Your body convulses in pleasure as he bites you, his hips hitting your butt violently, his cock sliding in and out, as your clit is ready to make you feel the most wonderful orgasm....
And, you're waiting, for him to cum, first. It's what you want.
Letting out a cry, he suddenly pulls out of you, holding the head of his hardon tight, so as not to spill his seed.
"Your mouth," he mutters.
You obey and on your knees, your mouth open and your tongue ready to lick until the last drop, you lick your lips, while he holds his cock, stroking hard.
Then he holds your head, with both hands, as he fills your mouth...
You feel it on your breasts and rub them, while you suck on his cock.
Smiling lasciviously, you lick your lips and fingers...
"Now, it's your turn to bend over" You say to him. "And open your legs..."
You kneel behind and with your hands on his butt, start licking and sucking on his skin... opening them, licking softly in between his buttocks, with your fingers playing on the edges of his puckered ring.
Your tongue licks his asshole, as he opens his legs a bit more, allowing your tongue to go deeper, your right middle finger going inside, while the left hand grabs his cock, stroking again.
Slowly, he hardens, in your hand...
With two fingers you're fucking him slowly, a third to go. Now you're licking your balls, sucking on them, playing with them in your mouth...
And, he's surprised how quickly he has hardened, so quickly.
Knowing that he's ready again, you take your fingers out and bend over again with your both hands opening your buttocks, offering your asshole.
"Fuck me" you say.
"My pleasure," he mutters, as he shuffles behind you and parts your buttocks.
Then he uses your natural lubrication, to ease his passage.
Raising your right leg to make him go deeper, you moan as you move your hips back and forth and soon he begins to gather pace, moving faster and faster.
You grab the sink with both hands while his hips push you hard.
And, you close your eyes and in your mind the picture of him and another man, both inside you ... him fucking your ass and the other fucking your pussy...
And, as four of your fingers fill your pussy, he pauses and rests and moment, allowing you to feel him, deep inside you.
Your body shakes out of control as you feel your climax rising again...
Your hand wet, "please cum inside" you beg.
It's then he decides, 'I like hearing you beg.'
Feeling him taking it out, you groan in frustration. You need it inside urgently: "Please" you beg... "don't..."
Now smiling, he holds your hips tightly, as he suddenly thrust forwards and you moan aloud, moving your hips faster, waiting for him to cum...
"Please.... cum," you beg.
Having heard your words, he's so pleased to oblige. And, he increases his pace, as his thighs tremble, then, jets his seed, deep into your moist warmth.
Totally wet, with your combined fluids on your legs, you pull down your skirt, button my blouse and kiss you on the lips... "Time to go home" you invite him and leave the bathroom.
With a smile, he adjusts his dress and follows, work forgotten.
Soon you are walking slowly on your way back home, knowing that he's following you...
Tomorrow Squared
16:35 Nov 06 2008
Times Read: 1,216
He walked down the short path, covered by an avenue of trees, mainly chestnut and sycamore. It wasn’t cold, for autumn. ‘Blame Global warming,’ he considered, the merest hint of a smile, touching the corners of his mouth.
The young man followed the news. Politicians had finally caught on to the fact that there was a very real problem with the climate, but what where they doing about it?
They were finding money, to fight wars.
The smile drifted into a scowl, as he contemplated the stupidity of man.
And, beneath his feet, leaves of brown, gold and russet crunched: seemingly as many as on the trees above his head.
For him, it was early in the morning. Although, his doctor had started hours earlier; and, he was almost her last appointment.
In fact, there was a distinct possibility he had been her last patient of the morning.
Just twenty minutes ago, or so, he figured.
It was a guess of course, he never carried a mobile, and it just wasn’t part of his life.
His life.
Now there was a thought.
The young man took a left and headed down the road, towards the road leading home.
He got to the crossroads, the many hues of green of the common ahead, across the road and a little to the right.
Maybe that’s where he wanted to be. But, there were things to do and places to be. So, he took the immediate left and walked, oblivious to the traffic, as he crossed from his pavement and across to the opposite side.
A black SUV passed by its horn blaring, missing him by scant inches.
And, he stared after it, as it disappeared through the lights, wondering momentarily, if it might have been better if the vehicle had struck him: ending it all, there and then.
‘Perhaps not?’ He mused: ‘after that little chat, I’m in need of a drink and…’
The young man grinned.
‘There’s no two ways about it, the dead don’t drink.’
**
Across the river, in a small alley, a shimmering in the air was a portent of a very real, though small, disturbance in the continuum.
Solidifying, into ripples, a shape formed within the centre.
It was the shape of a man.
And, as he stepped onto the cobbled street, the air around the distortion crackled with an electrical charge that danced from one side of the alley to the other.
The man sighed, stretched, and then dropped to his right knee.
He was exultant, yet also drained, physically and mentally.
‘No surprise there though. After all, it had taken great deal of time and energy to get where he was. The money was one thing, the energy?’
He grinned mirthlessly, with a sad heart, ‘Well, that was a different matter.’
He breathed in.
The air was tainted.
Though he had expected something like it, this was far worse than he’d imagined.
Pulling his jacket sleeve up a little, the fellow looked at the black device strapped to his wrist. The analyser told him that the air was safe.
‘By whose definition?’ He wondered, standing slowly.
The mission.
He had a lot to do and not too much time, in which to do it.
Time.
That was the key.
In theory, the fellow knew he shouldn’t exist.
In fact, the machinery that had enabled his travel had broken several well–known laws of physics. He quite liked the idea of that.
‘Granted, it had cost a lot of money, but if this works, it’ll be worth it.’
Momentarily, the merest hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth.
**
The idea of something in his blood was his bogeyman: hence the tests.
He had entered the office and smiled.
Then he’d explained his symptoms, the one’s the homepage had explained so well to him.
And, no matter how hard he tried not to watch her scarlet-painted lips as she’d spoken, he had.
In a light cotton, summer print dress, waist cinched in with a wide belt: and, a look that reminded him at Catherine Deneuve, he had lowered his gaze, very aware of his heartbeat getting faster.
She’d crossed her legs, her bare legs.
And, on her feet she wore brown leather strappy heels, red-painted nails becoming the sole focus of his attention.
Yet, sure that she knew where he’d been staring; he’d lifted his dark brown eyes to hers, of light blue, as they continued to talk.
She’d listened to his fears: and, agreed to the tests, ‘for your reassurance.’
Doctor Brocki had booked the appointment with Sister Wright.
Then a week later, he’d entered the sterile-office, after fasting the night before.
He’d sat in the free chair by her desk, rolled up his left sleeve.
She’d fastened a strap onto his arm; and he’d tensed up his arm, to bring up his veins.
And, he’d watched her eyes, as she’d slipped the needle into his flesh.
He’d winced, for just a moment; and, watched fascinated, as she’d drawn back the plunger.
Slowly his blood, his thick red blood, had filled the syringe, and then gentle fingers applied cotton-wool and a plaster to cover where the injection had been.
**
The stranger to Liverpool, City of Capital Of Culture 2008 stepped out of the litter strewn alley-way, amazed the citizens of this city could breathe the air.
To him, the air seemed toxic – as suggested by the read-out, from the analyser on his wrist.
It was near noon and the street he was on was teeming with people, some were well-dressed, with lunch in their hands, seeking somewhere to sit and eat.
There were others on the street though, tourists with camera’s; families out for the day and yet more, in many different styles of clothing, many very different types of clothing indeed.
That struck him.
Where he came from, that diversity didn’t exist. Not then.
Yet, here he was: and there it was before his eyes and part of his now.
He stopped and turned to a shop window, to study his own reflection.
It surprised him.
He hadn’t seen himself, reflected back, for so long.
And, he sighed.
“If only I could stay,” he muttered.
For all that this was, it was better than he knew.
‘And that has to change,’ he mused, still staring at his own image.
Then, he turned back, to follow the road down, toward the station, seeing despairing faces wherever he looked.
There were the young men, who held eye contact, deliberately; and just a little bit too long, the confidence of some of them reinforced by alcohol.
Then there were the women, who frustrated him, whose eyes never left the ground as they strode toward him.
He sighed, as he looked at those around him, so many of them despairing faces, worn of Life.
And, as he turned into Central station, he couldn’t help but wonder if they would smile more, if they knew how to live in this Now, instead of the awful tomorrow that he knew so much of.
“Irrelevant,” Jared snapped, drawing his head out of the fog that had clouded his thoughts.
‘After all,’ he mused, ‘I can’t afford to think like this, there’s still time to ensure it changes. There’s still time…’
He fumbled in his pocket and found the right money, for a ticket to the Wirral, where he knew that his quarry lived. Yes, he had enough.
* *
Simon paced the room, his mind whirring.
“She couldn’t be right…” he muttered. ‘The test’s had to be wrong.’
“But, even thinking like that was wrong,” he reminded himself.
He continued to pace. He just couldn’t stay still; just, too much on his mind.
Yet, even as Simon made himself a coffee, ‘those results’ were at the back of his mind: and, he absently opened the draw containing the kitchen knives.
* *
Jared found himself on the train, with a blonde in sunglasses sitting in the seat opposite his, next to the aisle, one of four, facing one another.
She used finger and thumb, to ease them to the end of her nose and she looked over them, directly into his eyes, with a hunger he recognized.
Jared couldn’t help but smile.
‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘if I only had more time than I have…’
* *
Dusk was coming, as he stepped off the train. Jared felt it.
It meant he had to hurry. Night meant change.
And, the deadline had to be met; otherwise… it had all be in vain.
So, he began to walk fast, toward were he knew he would find the one he was seeking.
Not even a hardwood door would stop him, when he found the right address.
It came away from its hinges with splinters flying.
And, he stepped inside the house, walking cautiously, through the living-room, where all the research told him, that Simon would be found, later.
And, there he was, Now. Alive, with a large French knife in hand, his eyes focussed on his reflection in the blade.
Jared frowned. It could not happen. It must not. His life was precious.
Yet, time was running out.
He stepped forward and at the sound of his footfall, Simon lifted his head, to stare at a face he recognised.
Distraction worked, for Jared: and, he stepped forward, a warm smile on his face.
“You’re the saviour of our kind, or you will be. It is your pureblood that will help us all, be better than we are. But, you must live…” Jared told Simon, in an earnest voice, reaching out with his right hand, to take the knife from his descendents right hand.
Simon looked into the gentle brown eyes, of this stranger, who looked so much like himself, as he relinquished the blade, which he’d intended to use, as Jared opened his mouth, as if to say more.
Abruptly he stopped, seemingly frozen.
Then, he began to fade; and, suddenly he was gone.
Simon turned, slowly, to look out the window, as the setting sun foretold of the encroaching night. And, he wondered if it had it all been a dream.
COMMENTS
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alixaryon
00:15 Nov 29 2008
Very lively. Gets my adrenaline up.
Sinora
15:39 Nov 29 2008
Nice. Did you see the 'time team' investigate ww1 bunkers ?
cherryblossom
23:49 Nov 30 2008
It was wonderful! Hooked me in right away and wanting to read more.
MyArmyMyMilitaryMyLife
03:09 Dec 01 2008
You were right. I absolutely love it.
Mau
22:59 Dec 16 2008
very nice work..