Chapter 1 – The Waterfall

The afternoon had been equal parts enjoyable and frustrating. The hours Jackson had spent with Sierra were filled with stories, laughter, and flirtation—the depth and intimacy of their companionship was an unending fountain of happiness for both, and it didn’t really matter what they were doing. The two could enjoy hours of board games just as much as the same amount of time spent naked in each other’s arms; although the two kinds of fun couldn’t be more different, each formed a foundational aspect of who they were to each other. Authentic friends, genuine companions, deep emotional supports, and intensely focused lovers, each flavor adding to the full picture of their relationship.

The frustrating part of the afternoon was simpler to define. Jackson’s 11-year-old son was with them for most of the day, requiring that their interactions stay G-rated. His mom would be picking him up soon, and although Jackson loved his son more than life itself, he wanted to spend the afternoon doing a few things he couldn’t while the child was present. The knowledge of an impending pickup didn’t make things any easier for Jackson considering the bikini Sierra had chosen to wear. The black fabric was accentuated by her blonde-white hair, the few tattoos she had dotting her body adding tasteful details that drew one’s eyes to her enticing form. Although in her forties, with the scars and stretch marks that signified a full life lived so far, Jackson had never seen a vision so tantalizing. He’d had more than his share of experience with women, but for some reason, Sierra intoxicated him. It wasn’t that he couldn’t see physical blemishes through rose-colored glasses; rather, it was that he saw them for what they truly were: reflections of circumstances and choices that had molded the person before him. As such, they only added to her beauty.

The couple lay on matching lounge chairs, Sam splashing loudly in the pool with new friends he’d made over the past two days at the resort. Taking refuge in the semi-privacy afforded by his sunglasses, Jackson’s eyes explored where his hands couldn’t yet go. Sierra’s skin was naturally pale (something she often lamented), but the contrast between the color of her swimsuit and the tone of her skin made the man’s mouth water. His eyes wandered lower to her fantastic breasts: full, round, and supple, he stifled a groan as he remembered the hours he’d spent suckling her nipples. Jackson wasn’t obsessed with the act of nursing itself, as some in the kink community are. He just had an oral fixation and couldn’t get enough of her: the sounds she made as he pleasured her, the way her hips moved as she ground against him, the way her entire body convulsed as she came… the woman had quickly become, in her terms, “his favorite sex toy.”

His gaze slid to her trim waist. Unbeknownst to her, it was his favorite part of her body to touch. He couldn’t explain precisely why; he simply knew that anytime he was within arm’s reach, his hands or arms were wrapped around her. Memories of how she had ridden him the last time they were together filled his mind. He remembered his fingers exploring her waist, chest, and arms as her ass and thighs had ground against his hips. The way she’d bit her lower lip as she stared deeply into his eyes, silently communicating how much she loved fucking him. How she’d moaned his name, then thrown her head back and groaned loudly as she came on his cock.

Jackson unconsciously shifted in his seat, drawing one leg up to an angled position to make room for his rapidly expanding manhood. The sound of a throat being exaggeratedly cleared drew his attention back to the present, and he realized he’d been caught—the sunglasses could hide his eyes, but they hadn’t concealed his head motions as he’d peered down Sierra’s body. He looked up at her, flashed a cheesy, innocent grin, and said, “Sorry, not sorry.”

The woman burst into laughter. She deeply appreciated how much he genuinely loved her, but she also got quite the thrill out of seeing how much he lusted after her. A woman is her own worst critic: who she sees in the mirror is often naught but a laundry list of reasons why she is inadequate. The way Jackson worshipped her was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. He paid attention to every action and reaction of her body, comfortable exploring every inch of her skin, but never taking her for granted as people often do with those familiar to them. She felt seen and accepted, details which were crucial cornerstones to a deep, vulnerable, and satisfying sexual relationship. Sierra had experienced her share of partners and found that her best orgasms occurred when someone she knew, trusted, and was mentally and physically attracted to poured effort into her. The longer she and Jackson were together, the better and deeper the sex became.

Jackson chuckled at being caught, then raised his sunglasses and gave the woman an exaggerated wink. “The things I’m going to do to you…” he said in a low voice that only she could hear. Sierra flashed a grin, replying, “Oh, I can’t wait.” With that, the woman stood and began walking toward the pool. “I’m hot… you should join me.”

Her partner waited a moment, watching her saunter away, gracefully descending the steps into the water. Every inch of this woman pulled him in. Her first step into the water brought up an intense memory. He wasn’t a feet guy, but Sierra’s were picturesque: high arches, slim toes, and toenails that were always painted in bright colors. Jackson reminisced to the first time she’d given him an orgasm with her feet, and he clenched his fists to keep from audibly groaning. They’d been in her bed, where she’d been lying back, supported on her elbows, completely nude. His eyes explored her body as her feet did his cock: slow strokes, up and down, the deliberate pace only increasing the sensuality of the experience. When he came, he gripped the top of her thighs and thrust his pulsing manhood against her, shooting stream after stream of hot, white cum across her pussy and stomach. She had reached down, taken some of his cum in one of her fingers, and licked it clean.

By the time the man pulled himself from his fantasy, the woman who had occupied his thoughts was waist deep in the pool. He stood up, scanned the horizon until he found Sam, then noted his position in the pool. His son was about twenty feet from the edge, engaged in a fierce pool noodle fencing match with a redheaded boy whose face was covered in freckles. Jackson calculated the distance and arc, then sprinted toward the concrete edge; he leaped, tucked his knees to his chest, and screamed in midair: “CANNONBALL!!!!!” The boys had approximately 1.2 seconds to react, which gave them just enough time to pause the battle and glance upward to observe the newest addition to the Marvel Cinematic Universe: The Splash.

Jackson rose to the surface, shaking the water from his head and clearing his eyes to look around. Both boys were completely drenched by his airborne assault but had recovered quickly. Before the man’s eyes could fully focus, he found himself being battered on two sides by pool noodles. The sound of melodic laughter filled the air as Sierra took in the scene. She’d had limited opportunities to view Jackson in a father role, but each glimpse showed the kind of man she wanted to grow old with—someone who took as much pleasure in acting like a kid as he did in far more… adult-oriented activities.

The man tried to fight back with splashes, but within 30 seconds he had been covered with light welts and his waterborne defenses had failed to even slightly dampen the enthusiasm of his attackers. Deciding that this was one of those cases where discretion was the better part of valor, he dove underwater and swam away. After a few water-top slaps to remind him who was boss, the youngsters turned and used the noodles as spears in an attempt to pierce the center of a large, inflated chocolate donut that was floating nearby.

Sierra watched her partner slowly frog-stroke toward her, the man remaining submerged in an attempt to avoid attracting further attention from the Mini Mob Squad. Moments later, he reached her; his hands grasped her toned calves, then slowly drifted across her skin as he explored her legs. When his hands reached her ass, he gripped both cheeks and stood up in the 3 ½ foot depths. He pulled her toward himself, pressing his hips against hers. “Avast there!” the man proclaimed in an exaggerated pirate accent. “Looks like I’ve found me booty!” He grinned, then pulled her in for a quick kiss.

She pressed into him, her hands resting on his chest. This was her favorite place to be, but perhaps it could be even better if her favorite place was somewhere else. Sierra withdrew one of her arms, reached down and grasped his hand. “Follow me.” The two slowly waded through the water, navigating the mass of geriatric retirees on floaties, watchful parents following toddlers, and teenagers actively engaged in awkward attempts at flirtation. In the back center of the pool was a waterfall that fell six feet before touching the surface of the water. On the backside was a four-foot gap between the fern-covered decorative wall and the cascading torrent. Sierra led Jackson here, where they were almost entirely sheltered from any probing eyes.

When they’d reached the center, she released his hand and turned to face him. “I need more than a quick smooch. I want you.” The woman placed her hands on either side of the man’s face and pressed her lips to his.

What began as a kiss quickly transitioned into a full makeout session. Jackson pushed her back against the decorative wall, his right hand dipping beneath the water and finding the edge of her bikini bottom. As their tongues danced with each other, his fingers slowly traced the top edge, then down one side of the inverted triangle and back up the other. Sierra felt her pussy soak itself as she subconsciously pressed her hips forward, inviting him to explore deeper. She was slightly disappointed when his fingers continued their journey around the bikini’s hem, transitioning over her hip, then drifting down her left ass cheek. The woman wrapped her hands in Jackson’s hair as she moaned into his mouth. She felt his lips smile as he continued to kiss her, transitioning his teasing touch to trace where the fabric fell across her right cheek. She loved how he couldn’t keep his hands off of her, but that he also didn’t grab and grope her like some object; the time he invested in leading to intimacy revealed how he adored her.

Minutes of intense kissing and tantalizing teasing had a pronounced effect on both. Sierra was so wet she wondered if she was actually contributing to the pool level, and she felt Jackson’s rock-hard erection pressing against her leg. Just when she didn’t think she could take the anticipation anymore, she felt his hand slip into her swimsuit. His fingers explored the skin of her lower abdomen, drifting back and forth, always descending, until they found her lips. Using just the pads of his fingertips, he slowly ran them down her outer lips, then up again. Sierra pulled back from kissing Jackson, placed her mouth next to his ear, whispering, “Make me cum, baby.”

The change was instantaneous. Jackson placed his index and middle fingers on either side of her clit, then began moving them in a circular fashion. If this had happened earlier, it would have taken considerably more effort to bring Sierra to an orgasm; however, Jackson had learned years ago that foreplay was one of the secrets to great sex. They’d been in each other’s arms under the waterfall for a full fifteen minutes before he’d touched her cunt, and several more minutes teasing her before he turned his attention to her pleasure button. It took less than a minute of consistent motion before he felt Sierra’s teeth on his shoulder, then her vibrating moans against his skin. The orgasm coursing through the woman’s body caused her to shake against him. He controlled his impulse to move faster and continued at the same tempo, pulling her through wave after wave of pleasure until the orgasm finally subsided.

The woman collapsed into Jackson’s strong, supportive arms as he held her to him. Moments later, when her legs had finally quit shaking, she looked up at him with a mischievous expression. “Just wait until I get you alone this afternoon… payback is going to be intense.”

Forceful Encounters

This encounter had been a long time coming. Years before, the two had randomly met in a Facebook group; they connected quickly, and their friendship blossomed, built on the moments they shared. Some were lighthearted and inconsequential: their work schedules, awkward encounters with coworkers, and commute frustrations. None of these were inherently intimate topics, but the consistent familiarity fostered a level of affection that was far deeper than the sum of its parts. Other interactions were more weighty—from family problems to health issues to heartbreaks, and working through these moments together developed a deep reserve of trust.

Other experiences had been far more erotic. Physical attraction, curiosity, and shared desires had built the sexual tension to an unbelievable level. Finally, all of the fantasies they’d eagerly dreamed about were about to be explored.

Mia had flown out to the west coast a few days before to visit friends, planning to wrap up the latter half of her trip with Mike. Those first days passed with agonizing slowness. The time with her childhood friends was as enjoyable as ever, but it paled in comparison to the pleasure the rest of the week promised. Somehow, early brunches, afternoons on the beach, and plastered evenings seemed more like obstacles to be endured than events to be enjoyed.

Finally, the morning came. She’d packed the night before, said her goodbyes, and left at first light. The miles and hours passed quickly, marked with memories she cycled through. His pictures… and the nights he’d taken them for her as they fucked themselves to each other, separated by thousands of miles but connected by a strong cord of desire. The times she’d touched herself and imagined them being his hands. The occasions when other men had been between her legs and her mind had flashed to wondering what Mike’s tongue would feel like in the same situation. Mia squirmed uncomfortably in the car, already aching for a release. Neither had explicitly discussed what would happen when she arrived, but she knew enough about him to be confident that he’d played it out in his mind a thousand times until he had a plan.

As she turned onto his street, she thought about his physique. He was taller than her and had the start of a dad bod, but his physique still showed muscle he’d amassed during his younger years in forestry. The thought of his ability to physically dominate her was erotic in itself, and his willingness to do so added a deeper edge. She parked in his drive, double-checked the address to ensure it was right, then got out of her car and walked toward the door.

The woman raised her hand to knock; before she could, the door swung open. “Hi,” Mike said. There it was—that cheesy, adorable grin that was goofy on the surface, but the way he smiled with his eyes hinted at something much more profound. They hugged tightly; feeling his warm body pressed against hers was better than she could have imagined.

It was real. It was happening.

They withdrew from the hug, and Mike turned both of them around so that her back was against the house. Gently but firmly, he placed his hand against her chest, pushing her back until she was trapped against the outside wall. His eyes began to wander her body, undressing her slowly as his gaze drifted downward. Beginning with her face, he looked into her eyes, then down to her lips. His gaze traced her neck, then to her v-neck top that hintingly revealed the plunging contours that lay beneath. Mia felt a warm sensation spreading across her body as she watched him appreciate every one of her womanly curves, taking his time to satisfy his visual thirst. She watched the smile fade from his face, replaced by intense concentration. Everywhere he looked, she felt her skin raise in gooseflesh. His attention was so intense that she could physically sense it, as if he was touching her. She started to speak, but he placed his finger over her lips.

“Shhh, baby girl. Not yet.”

His voice was deep and husky. The command came in a tone of absolute authority; not loud and belligerent, but with an undertone that communicated he was already in charge, and he expected her to comply with every word. Mia felt her pussy tingle as blood rushed to it. It had been too long since she’d been under the authority of one who wasn’t afraid to exercise his will… or to enforce it.

Her waist and hips, thighs and legs felt the weight of his lustful scrutiny. As his focus reached her feet, his eyes reversed and traveled up her body, still exploring, but this time more quickly. When their gaze locked, one of his eyes dropped in a quick wink, his lips crinkling into a small smile. It would have been barely noticeable to someone who hadn’t been watching his every expression intently as he explored her, but the transition was as evident as a thunderclap to her. The smile was no longer the goofy grin of welcome he’d worn before; it was a reflection of passionate desire, a thirst that would soon be slaked by his actions and her body.

Mike’s hand slid upward from her chest and closed around her throat, squeezing just tightly enough to let her know he was there and that she wasn’t going anywhere. His grip wasn’t a choke—it was a message. She didn’t have a choice in what followed. She knew she could call a stop to this at any time, but she was equally aware that she wanted him to use her like his own personal sex toy. The woman felt her face flush, partially because of the firm pressure of his grip, but primarily due to the erotic intimacy of the moment. Mike leaned in, and their lips met for the first time.

Very few kisses stood out in Mia’s mind, but that one would for a long time. Anticipation had done its job: the minutes he had stood there, literally holding her at arm’s length and building to this physical contact had driven her to a state of desire that almost caused her to physically shake. She couldn’t help herself; Mia’s lips parted in a low moan of pleasure, and she felt Mike’s hand tighten on her throat. Their lips danced, soon followed by their tongues. He was exploring her, invading her—not in the hungry, inexperienced way that many guys did. This was a man who knew how to kiss, and the explanation of every movement he made was simple: he obviously and genuinely enjoyed it.

As they stood on the porch and continued to make out, Mia couldn’t help but feel that these kisses were an experience unto themselves. Most of the time, with her other partners, kissing was simply an intro to deeper sexual exploration. Here, she got the sensation that she might cum if it went on long enough. She reached out and grabbed his belt loops, pulling his hips toward hers. She could feel his lips smile, mid-kiss. He turned his face slightly and growled into her ear: “Do you like that, baby girl?”

The woman’s cheek lay against Mike’s, and she could tell that her breathing was much heavier. “Yes, daddy. I want you so badly.” At those words, Mike’s body changed. Previously, he’d allowed her to control the movement as she pulled him into her; now, with nothing but a subtle shift in posture, he took control.

She no longer felt just the weight of his hips and chest pulled against her; he now pressed inward, applying pressure to her entire body. The man’s hands slid downward, gripping her wrists, then pulling her arms away from her body, forcing them to be outstretched and pressed against the wall. Slowly, he slid them upward until both of her arms were raised above her head. Mike crossed her wrists, gripping them with one of his hands, then pulled his face back a few inches to look at her. “Beg for what’s next,” he ordered. It was Mia’s turn to grin, and hers was the devious smile of a brat who knew she was testing his willingness to exert his authority. “Make me,” she said. To add insult to it, Mia playfully stuck her tongue out at Mike.

*SLAP*

The sensation was stinging and immediate. Mia’s head swung to the right, and she paused. Slowly, she turned to look at him. That same small smile was there on his face. He wasn’t angry, and the strike had been anything but abusive. It was obvious he didn’t feel threatened by her words. His actions had been simple math: she’d challenged him, and he had responded. It takes a confident man to feel unthreatened by a direct challenge, and he seemed as relaxed as if he was drinking a beer and watching a football game.

“Now, beg for it,” he repeated.

Mia looked straight into his eyes, her expression more serious this time. It wasn’t because she was upset, but rather that she was caught up in the moment and embracing her role. The woman was no longer laughing. She desired him, but not just part of him, nor was an average sexual encounter on her mind. She didn’t want him softly. Mia wanted to be taken as a man should take a woman, and her response challenged him to take things further.

“No.” Her voice was low, but confident. “And fuck you.”

Mike took a single step back, grabbed her belt loops roughly with the hand that wasn’t holding her wrists, and spun her around so she was facing the wall. He pushed her forward until she was pressed against it, then brought her hands down to her lower back, once again crossing them at the wrists. She felt his belt loosen, then heard the snaps as he ripped it from his pants. The leather encircled her wrists, and the hard metal of the buckle pressed against her skin. He looped it around her arms several times, securing it. When he knew her hands were trapped, his hands moved to her shoulders.

Once again, he turned her 180 degrees. For the first time, she noticed his porch. Rose vines climbed up to the second story, almost entirely blocking the view from outside. Although less than 50 yards from the road, they were in nearly complete privacy. The sounds of cars and pedestrians drifted to her ears, and their proximity to others in the midst of this experience increased the sensuality of it all tenfold. That was all she had time to notice before Mike’s hands pressed down on her shoulders, forcing her to her knees.

The man undid the button, then the zipper on his pants. His cock sprang free, already hard from anticipation. “I think that dirty mouth of yours needs to learn a little respect,” he said. Mia looked up at him, and with every ounce of contempt she could muster, she did the most disrespectful thing she could.

She laughed.

Immediately, Mike stepped forward. One of his hands grabbed a fistful of her hair as the other clutched her throat. Gone was the gentleness of his initial hold, as was the tenderness of his kiss. She immediately felt his choking squeeze, and he unhesitatingly jerked her hair back to force her to look up at him. His grip on her throat remained tight as her face grew red; the seconds grew longer as her eyes began to water. Eventually, her subconscious survival instincts kicked in, and she jerked her head to the side in an attempt to break his hold on her neck. The man let her fight him for another two seconds, then relaxed his hand, allowing life-giving oxygen to once again rush to her lungs.

He waited for her to catch her breath before uttering his next words. “Now, you’re going to learn.” He didn’t even waste his breath telling her to open her mouth. She’d clearly revealed her attitude, and he was going to do the same.

His hand on her throat slid up to her jaw, gripping the very back of it, where it hinged. His thumb and forefinger squeezed on both sides; when the grip became painful enough, Mia’s mouth was forced open. Mike’s hips thrust forward, his semi-hard cock entering her mouth. She could feel the pressure of his head as it slid past her lips, sense the smoothness of his skin as his shaft pressed its way forward, and taste the sweet essence of precum as his dick slid along her tongue. As his cock reached the back of her throat, he didn’t pause or hesitate—he continued to press forward. Mia attempted to escape the pressure by moving her head to the side, but his iron grip on her hair and jaw prevented even an inch of variance. His cock pressed so deeply that her nose flattened against his lower abs. He’d bottomed out inside of her.

Instead of withdrawing, he held still.

“Swallow,” he commanded. She did so, not as much out of obedience as of necessity. The pressure was intense, and she could feel tears beginning to well up in her eyes. As she swallowed, her throat muscles massaged the head of his cock, her tongue unwittingly stroking his shaft, and she heard a low, deep growl of pleasure in response. After a moment, he pulled back, withdrawing completely. Mike forced her head to tilt upward, their eyes locking. “Ready to submit?” he asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. Before Mia even had a chance to blink, his manhood had invaded her mouth again, pressing until it forced its way into her throat. His cock was harder now, and she winced. There was pain, but not an unbearable amount. In fact, she could feel her pussy get even wetter as she realized that she had lost all control. Mike was actively fucking her face.

He was owning her.

The man began to withdraw and press inward again, no longer removing his dick completely and restraining from sinking to its full depths. His rhythm steadied, and the hand at her jaw and cheeks forced her lips to close around his rock-hard cock. Mia loved the sensation of being dominated, knowing that this was only the first hole he would claim that day.

Minutes passed. The manly scent of his cock filled her nostrils as he used her mouth, his grunts and moans assuring her that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Mia’s cunt flooded as she struggled against her wrist restraints, making no effort to escape, but rather to enjoy the sensation of being firmly bound. There was no telling how much time had passed; however much it was, though, it was enough. Mia was completely committed to her sub role, while her master had obviously shifted into full dom mode, if the hardness of his erection was any indication.

Mike suddenly released his grip on her entirely and pulled back. He removed his shirt and threw it on the porch, then stepped forward again. The man’s hands resumed their grip on her hair and under her chin; he pulled upward, lifting her to her feet. He stepped behind the woman, pushing her forward, toward the railing. She’d chosen to wear a relatively short skirt, knowing it turned him on. Her dom walked her to the edge of the porch, bending her at the waist. He pressed her face to the railing, but as the woman felt him flip her skirt up over her ass cheeks, her attention focused intently on what was happening behind her. She hadn’t worn panties, and the cool air made her shiver as it swept across her soaked lips. He stepped forward, and just as she knew he was about to plunge his cock into her pussy, she twisted her hips to the side. His dick missed completely, and the head landed harmlessly on her right cheek.

“You bitch,” she heard him mutter, but… was that a hint of a smile in his voice?

*SLAP*

The stinging sensation on her ass cheek was sharp, immediately dulled, then quickly transitioned to a penetrating burn as his hand lifted away. The immediate release felt far more potent than the initial strike, and she could feel the welt already beginning to rise on her skin in the perfect outline of his hand. She let out a low yelp, mostly from surprise.

*SLAP*

He delivered another strike, this time on her other cheek. The sting, the pause, and the increased pain after his hand lifted sharpened her senses, causing each nerve in her body to come alive. The small amount of pain pushed her senses into overdrive, and she could feel every pleasure center in her body pulse in eagerness.

*SLAP*

The third landed precisely where the first had, and the intensity of the sensation easily doubled. Mia could feel the blood rushing to her stricken skin, and as she sensed Mike’s body shift and his hand raised for the fourth strike, she subconsciously shifted away from it.

Right into Mike’s cock.

The fourth strike never came. He’d anticipated her movements and positioned himself to force her to make the first move as she pressed her soaked lips back onto the head of his dick. Immediately, he capitalized on it, grabbing both of her hips and plunging his shaft so deep within her that his balls slapped her clit. The sudden sensation of being filled was intense, and Mia moaned. Her dom grabbed a fistful of her hair as he began to thrust into her. Mia felt the railing slide beneath her cheek to her neck, then to her tits, and then her waist. The man’s forceful fucking kept pushing forward until her hips were trapped against the rail and she could go no farther.

When she reached this point, the man delivered another stroke… and held it. He’d sunk as deep as he could seemingly go, but after a split second, the man pushed forward, pivoting his hips and rotating them in such a way that he sunk an inch deeper. Mia’s mouth opened as she felt the  head of his dick press against her cervix, but no sound came forth. She was being manhandled, and she knew it.

Mike used her hair as leverage and pulled back, increasing the rearward pressure to pull her body into his. He began to fuck her again, his strokes filled with passion, eagerness, and hunger. The man wanted to be satisfied, and his desire to feel the release of an intense orgasm matched her own. Mia’s mind was pleasure drunk, overcome with endorphins as she felt an orgasm rising inside of her. She was aware of various sensations as her attention drifted. The feel of his hips on her ass. How the slight pain from her bound wrists, pinned hips, and stinging skin sharpened the pleasure of the moment. The way her cunt expanded and then closed with every ramming stroke. How her neck felt stretched when her head was forced back. The sound of his breathing.

She noticed the latter increase, and his grunts become more visceral. “I’m going to fill you up, baby girl. You’re going to take every ounce of this cum, and you’re going to like it. I’m making you my dirty little slut.” The words and frenzied pace of his thrusts pushed her over the edge. Mia began to cum, and her moans grew louder. At the feel of her pussy convulsing around his member, Mike’s orgasm launched into full force.

Mia felt his cock begin to pulse. The sensation of heat filled her as stream after stream of his cum coated the walls of her pussy. His strokes continued in an almost frenzied fashion, forcing his milky white cum out of her, dripping down his balls. The furiosity of his orgasm heightening her own, and she pressed back against him. No longer the brat, she was fucking back, hungrily begging for him with her body.

The pace slowed as their pleasure subsided. Eventually, both partners came to a stop, Mike’s cock buried deep inside of her. He refused to move, and both could feel the other breathing deeply, their chests heaving from both the exertion and the excitement. Mia felt her dom’s hands under her arms as he lifted her upward into a standing position; his movements were dominant and controlling, but also gentle and affectionate. Mia’s eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of his hands sliding up her body, gripping her waist, then massaging each of her perfect, voluptuous tits. She leaned back against him, her head resting against his chest.

Mike released one of her boobs, lifting his hand to her throat and then her chin. He gently turned her head to the side, tilting it upward to look back over her shoulder. The man leaned forward and down, and their lips met in a kiss. The interaction was slower, but the intimacy was even deeper than it had been before. There’s something that happens when a dom has just claimed and owned you. When you’ve pushed back, not restraining yourself out of fear that he would be threatened and withdraw, but rather emboldened by the knowledge that nothing would stop him from taking you–that was a feeling like none other she’d experienced.

As they kissed, she felt his cock slowly soften and gasped into his mouth as it finally slipped from between her shaved pussy lips. The woman shivered, focusing on the pleasurable sensation of their cum dripping down her thighs.  Mike released her other breast, then pressed his fingers between her legs. He invaded her pussy, exploring her womanhood as his digits became soaked in their combined juices. Withdrawing his fingers, he pulled his mouth away from hers. Still holding her chin so that she was facing him, he placed his fingers into his own mouth and sucked their cum off of them.

“Hmmm,” he moaned satisfactorily. Leaning forward once again, he plunged his tongue into Mia’s eagerly waiting mouth. She tasted their sweet juices on his lips, and after a moment, he pulled back. A smile spread across his face as his eyes met hers.

“Tastes like you’re mine.”

Surprise!

Dozens of would-be attackers had originally surrounded Lois Lane, but Superman had heard her cries for help. Before they could even touch her, he had appeared seemingly from nowhere and pummeled the intended assailants.

BAM!

A left hook tossed one into the side of a brick wall, leaving a permanent indentation in the shape of Frank Schumer’s now rather flattened corpse.

POW!

An uppercut launched Carlos Pinchero into the stratosphere. Twenty years later, his body was discovered in one of the Apollo space missions as it orbited the Earth. Initially assumed to be an extraterrestrial being, his presence was explained when a reporter named Clark Kent wrote an expository article in the Daily Star that revealed how Superman had, quite literally, rocked Pinchero’s world.

WHAM!

The Man of Steel picked up George Santoro and tossed him into ten of the remaining assailants in the same way a bowling ball clears a lane. The superhero paused momentarily to initiate the world’s first fist pump, calling “Steeeeeeeerike!!! You’re OUTTA here!!!” Despite his superior abilities in numerous arenas, the Last Son of Krypton knew little of Earth’s sports and was not immune to using mixed metaphors.

Most of the remaining thugs scattered in every direction. One unfortunate soul was so panicked that he ran into a dumpster, knocking himself out cold. Superman chuckled in amusement.

And then there were 5. Each of the remaining assailants was armed, giving them some measure of courage against the seemingly invincible demigod standing before them. “Get lost, you alien creep,” one of the thugs rasped at the Metropolis Marvel in a voice that indicated he’d smoked a pack of unfiltered before noon. “She’s ours.”

Superman shook his head, clearly wondering whether they’d ever learn. He sucked in a deep breath, then blew it out in a hurricane-force wind. The five landed three blocks away, and it took them quite some time to recover their faculties. Brushing his hands together in a gesture of self-satisfaction, Supes chuckled under his breath, “Now that’s what I call a blow job.” He turned to the damsel recently rescued from distress and offered her his hand.

Lois had watched the scene unfold in breathless wonder. Her infatuation with the superhero had gone from crush to near-psychotic obsession in the few months she’d known him, and watching him manhandle those men so easily had given her quite the lady boner. As Superman stepped forward, his hand extended, she felt her panties dampen with anticipation.

“Where were you headed, Miss? I’m happy to take you there.”

His pretend act of not knowing her made the woman smile. She knew very well that he had feelings that mirrored her own. “I was actually headed home. I’d love to take you up on your offer.” The Man of Steel grinned with boyish enthusiasm. “Of course,” he stated in a deep voice. Picking her up, her arms wrapped around his neck, the Man of Tomorrow launched skyward, then turned his direction toward her loft apartment.

Moments later, they landed on the balcony, and Clark Kent gently set the slender woman down. One of Lois’s hands remained draped around his neck, and she brought her other up to clasp her hands around his neck. Superman felt her toy with his hair, wrapping his locks around her fingers as they locked eyes. “You should come in,” she whispered seductively, batting her lashes in a naturally flirtatious way.

Supes was used to being able to hear everything around him, including others’ heartbeats. He wasn’t as used to feeling his own. His blood pressure rose as lust filled him, and he felt the skintight suit begin to expand in his nether regions. “Of course,” he whispered in a low, husky tone. Lois unclasped her hands, letting them run slowly down his shoulders to his chest, then dropping them further as she explored his toned abs. Her fingers continued their exploration, reaching the middle of his stomach, then drifting lower; with every inch, she admired his firm, muscular body. Their eyes met, and the woman unconsciously bit her lower lip. She stopped just below his beltline, and the Man of Steel felt one part of his body harden to tungsten in response.

“Come with me,” she said, then grabbed one of his hands and led him through the balcony door into her living room. The man lustfully ogled her tight ass, so perfectly accentuated in that form-fitting skirt. Without thinking, he activated his x-ray vision, watching her figure sway as she sauntered to her room. The brown lacy panties and bra that she wore matched her brunette locks perfectly, and he salivated at the thought of fully exploring her body.

When they reached her bedroom, Lois stopped at the foot of the bed and turned to face him. Her eyes inflamed with desire, she spoke in a firm, commanding tone. “Take me, Clark, and don’t hold back.”

The superhero stepped forward and placed his hands on her trim waist, pulling her toward him. “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a smile, then leaned forward to meet her lips with his own. Their kiss openly communicated how they felt about each other, each motion demanding more, as if their desire could be quenched by making out alone. The Last Son of Krypton slid his hands higher, centering them on the line of buttons clasping her blouse. With one pull, he ripped her shirt apart, shredding both the front and back of the garment in two, then tossed them on the floor.

Their lips had never parted, and Lois smiled against his as she felt her upper body suddenly stripped except for her bra. The cool air rushed across her skin, raising it in erotic anticipation. Her partner’s hands returned to her body, immediately moving toward her skirt. His fingers dipped inside her waistband and hesitated for just a moment before pulling outward, ripping it in half as he had done her shirt. This time, he raised the two halves out to the side, lifting them at shoulder height as if they were trophies while grinning into the kiss.

Lois was wet before, but now, she was soaked. The Metropolis Marvel dropped the shards of cloth, then cupped his hands under her ass cheeks and lifted her toward him. The woman wrapped her legs around his firm body, flexing her thighs to draw them together as close as possible. The heat emanating from his body caused her clit to throb with an intensity she’d never felt. She grabbed the hair at the back of his head viciously, using it as leverage as she thrust her hips forward, rubbing up and down his abs. Superman was so well-formed that she felt every ridge of his 8-pack, and within sixty seconds, she was almost ready to cum.

Despite his inexperience as a virgin, the Man of Tomorrow was intimately acquainted with the signals that human bodies emitted. He sensed her pheromones reach peak levels, Lois’s breathing quickened as she lay her face cheek to cheek with his, and the woman’s thrusting reached an almost frantic pace. He placed one hand on the small of her back, pulling her even more tightly to his body. The other wrapped in her hair and pulled downward, forcing her body lower and closer. That was the final push, and Lois gushed as she squirted all over him. He lifted and pushed her downward, prolonging her orgasm as the woman’s clit slipped against his rock-hard abs.

Lois had never experienced an orgasm like this. The months of anticipation, the erotic display of raw power in the alleyway, the impassioned kisses, how he had ripped her clothes from her body without breaking a sweat, all of these had heightened her horniness to a new peak. Sensuality rose within her to unprecedented levels, pulsing with each breath; again and again, she thought the tsunami of pleasure had peaked. Each time, she was wrong. Superman’s lover had no idea what he was doing to her; in truth, he couldn’t describe it himself. Krypton’s people were physically superior to Earth’s in every way, and apparently, that extended well into the bedroom. His control over her experience was complete.

Finally, he allowed her to come down. The woman collapsed against him, exhausted. Her legs relaxed, and she was held aloft only by the strength of his right arm, now supporting her thighs and ass. The Man of Steel rocked her gently, caressing her skin with his left hand as it drifted across her back, her neck, and her arms.

His lover nearly fell asleep, so complete was her relaxation. The orgasm had ended perfectly, and she felt she’d descended on a cloud into a state of pure bliss. However, she wasn’t done with him yet. Desire, sharpened by countless nights where she had fingered herself, aching to feel the thrusting of his cock, would not be left unfulfilled. She pulled herself from the overwhelming sense of euphoria that filled her, then looked deeply into his eyes. “Now, fuck me.”

Supes grinned, his anticipation evident in every line of his chiseled features. “Yes, ma’am,” he said again. The Man of Steel’s hands shifted so one was beneath her ass and the other was planted on her chest. He tossed her onto the bed, and she pulled herself back to a seated position against the headboard. “Strip,” she ordered, biting her lower lip in anticipation.

The superhero’s skintight suit was apparently comprised of two pieces, and she gasped as he slowly pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it and the cape aside. Clark’s body was every inch that of a god: muscled, veined, and as defined as if he’d been sculpted from granite. “You have been drinking your milk in Smallville, I see!” Her flirtatious remark dripped with an undertone of desire. The man winked at her, momentarily posing with his hands on his hips. He continued the corny flirtation. “Fresh off the farm!” came the enthusiastic remark.

Lois smirked at him. “I’m a city woman, Kent… a bit inexperienced with farmhands. Especially farmhands that can lift trucks. So be gentle, okay?” As she uttered the last words, she winked, obviously communicating that “gentle” was a relative term. “Of course, Lois,” Supes rejoined.

The Last Son of Krypton hooked his thumbs inside his pants and bent over, pulling them to his ankles. Stepping out of them as he rose, he again proudly posed in a way that accentuated his muscular physique. Clark was expecting to see an expression drenched with lust, and was confused to see Lois’s face twisted in horror. Her focus had inched up his body as he rose, naked: first his calves, then his thighs. Finally, with an eagerness sharpened by months of desire, the woman lustfully gazed at his cock. What she found was not what she expected.

Her arm shot up, finger outraised to point accusingly at his crotch. “W-W-W-WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?!?!?!” The woman’s tone reached a near fever pitch. Clark was confused, and his answer came in the form of a query. “Um… my penis? Why?”

Lois quickly replied: “WHY??? IT HAS PINCERS! WHY DOES IT HAVE PINCERS!?!?!?” There were many advantages of Clark’s human parents insisting he never participate in sports, but one experience he missed out on was the locker room. This is rarely considered to be an advantage, but in light of the current situation, it would have provided a bit of a heads up about the scenario that was now unfolding. The virgin superhero hesitated, unsure of his own inexperience as he spoke. “To… grab onto you?”

To say that the night had taken a turn for the worse would be to understate the situation drastically. All sensuality and eroticism vanished from the room, and Lois rolled to her side. She reached into her nightstand drawer and pulled out a rather impressive dildo. The woman turned toward Clark and shook it at him in what would have otherwise been a rather hilarious display of fit throwing. “THIS IS WHAT A DICK IS SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE, OKAY???” The Kryptonian reached forward, gingerly taking the molded impression of a well-hung human phallus in his hands. “Oh,” was all he said.

The awkward silence hung in the air, so thickly one would have choked on it by drawing too deep of a breath. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Clark glanced up from the dick he was holding and looked at his intended partner. “So… um… no sexy time?”

As is often the case with women, Lois’s frustration had only increased with the silence. Now, it erupted via her voice. “NO, THERE WILL BE NO GODDAMNED ‘SEXY TIME’!!!” Her hands raised mockingly in heavy air quotes surrounding the last two words. “I’M NOT LETTING YOU SHOVE SOME MOTHERFUCKING PINCERS UP MY HOO-HA!!” Taken aback by the entire situation, the Man of Tomorrow wisely deduced that now was not the time to further extend his sexual body of knowledge by asking what a “hoo-ha” was, and that tomorrow (or a few tomorrows from now) would likely be more appropriate.

“Okay,” he mumbled. Arguably the most powerful superhero of all time had been reduced to shambles of embarrassment by the situation. He took full advantage of his supernatural speed, dressed in less time than it took Lois to blink once, then waved goodbye. The gust of wind that followed his exit nearly pulled Lois off the bed.

In the hour that followed, the woman calmed down substantially. She realized that, although her reaction was completely understandable by any human standard, she had overreacted within the context of their relationship. Her lover’s expression of shame haunted her, and she tossed and turned that night, unable to rest for any significant period of time. Lois resolved to make the situation right when she saw him the following day, and that decision finally allowed her a few hours’ rest.

When she awoke, the sun was shining, birds were singing, and every clue pointed toward it being the perfect day for reconciliation. She quickly dressed in a new business suit, then traversed the few blocks to work in record time. As she walked, she noticed that something felt different, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The flow of traffic was unlike it had been in the preceding days; a unique clientele populated the coffee shops and cafes, and everything felt… slower, somehow.

When she arrived at the Daily Star, the security guard at the front wasn’t who she expected. She approached him in a driven manner, determined to get some answers. “Where is Carl?” she practically demanded. The man was a bit taken aback by her direct approach. “Umm, he’s off for the day.” This made no sense to Lois.

“Why?” the woman queried again.

“Because it’s Saturday? He’s normally off?” In the short space between interpreting the man’s tone, body language, and facial expressions and actually grasping the meaning of his words, the results-driven journalist realized that her demeanor apparently threw men so far off guard that they questioned even the facts they knew to be gospel truth. She’d have to work on toning that down a bit.

Then, the words sunk in.

“Wait… what?” It was her turn to be unsure. “It’s the weekend?”

“Yes, today is Saturday,” the security guard repeated, suddenly doubting the mental faculties of the paper’s star reporter. “Yesterday was Friday,” he further explained, as if to a child, ensuring that there was absolutely no confusion as to their current relation to the calendar. “The day before that…”

“Yes, okay, I get it,” the woman waved her hand in frustration and turned back toward the front door. It was the weekend. She wouldn’t see Clark for two days.

A few hesitating steps reflected her indecision about how to handle the situation. However, within moments, the resolve of her previous decision asserted itself. Lois’s pace quickened, barely slowing as she walked out the front door and toward the street. Hand raised, the woman hailed a cab and gave the driver Clark’s address. With weekend traffic, it took nearly twenty minutes to travel the distance; every moment that passed chipped away at the woman’s preconceived notion of how the morning would go. When they finally arrived, she threw cash at the man in the front seat and practically ran up the stairs to Superman’s door.

Her first knocks were polite but insistent. When no answer came, they grew more desperate. No sound came from within, and Lois dug in her purse for the spare key he had given her. She fumbled with the lock, finally managing to open the door. It took only a few steps to view his entire apartment, and each forward motion increased the disappointment she felt as more of the space came into view. He was gone.

~

Chapter Two

~

The weekend passed at a torturously slow pace. Clark wasn’t answering his phone, and he hadn’t been home at all. No one had sighted Superman in Metropolis since Friday. Lois didn’t know what to make of these events; it was possible that the Last Son of Krypton was halfway across the globe fighting crime, combating some toothed alien vagina eating and maiming someone, but she had a sneaking suspicion that his absence was related to their Friday night encounter. Although she’d felt bad on Saturday morning, by the time Monday rolled around, she was firmly in the “I feel like I’m a horrible person” stage.

The woman went to work a half-hour early, but Clark’s desk sat empty. As the minutes rolled by, people walked in one by one and began their workweek. Monday morning rituals were in full swing: conversations droned by the coffee pot, coworkers stopped at other’s desks to chat about their weekends, numerous aspirin were popped by the younger crowd as they attempted to escape their hangovers from a weekend of drinking. By 10 AM, the office was a buzzing beehive of activity, and everyone had shown—except for the one person she wanted to see.

She was about to leave for lunch when her ears, subconsciously attuned to any sign of her would-be lover, heard a deep voice with a slight Midwestern accent greet Harvey Brzezinski, who sat closest to the elevator. At nearly the same speed as Supes had left her apartment, she leaped from her desk to stand in her doorway. There, down the hallway formed between cubicle dividers, the tall, muscular, spectacle-wearing hunk of pincer-possessing penis strolled toward his office chair, greeting those along the way in a friendly fashion. Just as he was about to turn into the space that bore his nameplate, he looked up, and their eyes met.

There was no awkward pause in his eyes, no hesitation in his demeanor. He simply smiled just as he’d done to everyone else, nodded his head in greeting, and said, “Hello, Lois.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and entered his cubicle.

The woman was torn. Should she walk up to him and start a conversation, pretending nothing had happened? Should she wait for him to come to her? For all of the thought she’d invested in the situation over the past 48 hours, nothing had prepared her for him acting… normal. Finally, she decided to say hello and gauge his reaction.

The hall had never seemed as long as it was during those next 22 steps. Her heart pounding, she peeked around the corner to see him sitting in his office chair, then attempted to casually lean against the cubicle divider.

She missed.

The brunette leaned into thin air, unintentionally avoiding the cloth-clad wall by inches. On her way down, she grasped frantically for anything to hold onto, managing only to grab the WWII-era drawing Clark’s neighbor had hung on his wall featuring a smiling soldier drinking from a stainless-steel canteen cup, overshadowed by the caption, “How ‘bout a nice big cup of shut the hell up?” In retrospect, those words would have been good advice. As her eyes took in the drop ceiling tiles above her while she lay on the floor, she earnestly wished she had just stayed in her office.

Her crash had caused quite the commotion, and heads stuck out of cubicle entrances like so many meerkats on the African savannah. Clark was by her side in a (human-speed version of a) flash, and he helped her to her feet. “Are you alright, Miss Lane?” he politely asked. “I’d be better if I could vanish,” she muttered under her breath. For a moment, the alter-ego of Superman briefly considered making her wish come true, but decided against it. Instead, he chose a more gallant action. Seemingly ignorant of all of the eyes staring at his companion, he loudly stated, “I shouldn’t have left that extension cord hanging out! I’m so sorry! That was completely my fault!”

Seemingly satisfied with his simple explanation, heads retreated into their cubicles as quickly as they had popped out. The female reporter shot Clark a look of gratitude, entered his workspace, and sat at the lone, cheap chair sitting across from his standard-issue metal desk. “So, how was your weekend?” she queried in a rather meek fashion. The Kansas emigrant smiled as he tucked his tie to his chest with one hand, seating himself in the rotating chair he typically occupied.

“It was good. I swung by Gotham to visit a friend.” Lois’s thoughts instantly turned to Bruce Wayne, the bat-suit-wearing billionaire who had formerly been Superman’s nemesis. “Oh really? Did everything go well?”

His face spread in an easy smile. “It did! One of them managed to help me solve a bit of a personal problem I’ve had. Speaking of which, are you doing anything tonight?”

“NO!” Her response was a bit too enthusiastic, and she blushed.

Clark’s smile reflected the twinkle in his eye. “Perfect. Say I swing by your place around 6 PM?” He rose, signaling an end to the conversation. She stood in response to his nonverbal cue, nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll be there!” the woman said, then (rather carefully) exited his cubicle and returned to her corner office.

To say she got much done for the rest of the day would be to overstate the situation. Despite the interest that her piece on a nuclear-waste-infected urban river typically initiated, much of her afternoon was spent working through the logistics of various sexual acts she could complete with a pincer-clad penis. Although her earnest desire to make it up to Clark was robust and undeniable, she also had to admit that allowing the equivalent of a set of crab claws in any personal orifice wasn’t a concept she was able to reconcile with. By the end of the day, she was no closer to a tangible solution than she had been at the start.

She exited her office a few minutes before 5 PM; as Lois walked by Clark’s desk, she noticed that he had already left for the day. Resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to be able to pick up any clues as to how he was feeling, she walked the three blocks to her upscale apartment with thoughts and emotions in a jumble.

The loft was already clean, but she busied herself with making it spotless over the next hour. By the time her wall clock indicated it was five minutes to six, she had prepped her place and herself as much as possible and sat nervously on the sofa, awaiting the knock on the door. Punctual as always, a quick rap four minutes later signaled the start of the evening. Lois stood, nervously brushed the front of her skirt flat, walked to the door, and opened it.

There stood Clark Kent in a navy blue suit, a bouquet of roses in his left hand and a small paper sack in his right. She smiled, then stepped back and motioned him in. He entered, stopped, and turned in the foyer as she swung the door shut behind him. “These are for you,” he said, offering her the flowers. “And this,” he lifted the sack to eye level, tapping it mischievously, “is for me.”

The woman gratefully accepted the bundle of roses, then said, “Clark, before anything else, I want to say that I’m sorry for the way…” The man stepped forward, leaned down, and kissed her, interrupting the apology in the most chivalrous way possible. A bit taken aback and surprised by his response, Lois recovered quickly and returned the kiss with passion. After a moment, Clark stepped back. “There’s no need for that,” he said. “Take a seat.” The Metropolis Marvel motioned to the sofa.

The female reporter was growing used to things going entirely against her preconceived assumptions and followed his direction, seating herself on the edge of the cushion. Supes unrolled the top of the bag, reached in, and pulled out a flesh-colored object. He turned his back to her, and she watched in confused fascination as she heard his zipper lower. The man’s shoulders hunched and his head lowered as he worked with intense concentration. A few moments later, his posture straightened, and the man glanced back over his shoulder. “You ready?” he asked, the smile evident in his voice.

Responding in what had apparently become the new normal in their relationship, Lois’s statement ended with a question mark. “Yes?” came the answer.

Clark boyishly leaped, spinning in the air as he turned to face her. There, amidst an otherwise blue cloth background, hung his cock. The coloring was the same, but the difference was immediately evident. Instead of pincers, the Man of Steel’s rock-hard smaller head was now shaped like a typical circumcised human penis. She stared at it in confusion, then let her eyes drift upward to meet his grinning countenance. “What is that?” she asked.

With obvious pride, Krypton’s Last Son stated, “It’s called a Clawndom. Bruce made it for me.” Stepping closer, he explained its features. Constructed from a super-sensitive material, any sensation outside the supple sheath was transmitted through human-like nerve endings to his cock inside. The head folded his pincers inward, wrapping them neatly to form a normal dickhead. By the time he finished, the woman had fully accepted that this was happening and moved forward, kneeling before him and taking his cock softly in her hands. Clark shivered with the sensation, unwittingly verifying that the Clawndom performed as advertised.

A smile spread across Lois’s face, and she began to stroke his cock. He responded immediately, his stiff member raising upward as his excitement increased. Wondering how it would taste, she leaned forward and took his dick into her mouth. Surprisingly, the “Clawndom” (in her mind, heavy air quotes manifested as she slowly accepted the term) felt precisely like natural skin. For the briefest of moments, she marveled at Bruce Wayne’s technical skill, but her attention quickly returned to her partner.

Slowly at first, her head bobbed back and forth as she took him deep into her throat. Her tongue stroked the underside of his shaft, then explored the newly reformed head. Lois’s lips wrapped around his cock, and the degree to which they stretched informed her that this was among the largest she’d ever experienced. She felt her pussy respond in anticipation, moistening her panties as she continued sucking his hardened member.

Clark groaned in ecstasy; this was the first time another being had ever touched his alien tallywhacker, and the actual experience far exceeded his wildest expectation. He knew Lois was a master with the pen, but he chuckled silently at the thought that her written expressions must naturally flow from her skill with her tongue. The woman’s left hand took his cock and followed the motions of her mouth, caressing his shaft with a firmly erotic grip. The feel of manhood in the back of her throat had always excited her, and Lois placed her right hand on his tight ass and pulled him into her.

A few minutes later, she could tell that her partner was ready to cum. Withdrawing her mouth and hand, she looked up at him, wiping saliva from her lips with the back of her hand. “Not yet,” she stated with an impish grin. The woman rose, turned, and walked to her bedroom. She stripped as she went, casually tossing clothing to the right and left. By the time she reached the bed, she wore nothing but a pair of high heels. Kicking those off, she turned and reclined on the king-sized mattress, spreading her legs in invitation. Clark stared as she extended one hand over her pussy, then curled her index finger inward, beckoning him forward.

With the same speed he’d used in an exit a few days prior, Superman suddenly appeared before her, naked. He leaned forward, his muscular biceps contacting her thighs as he lifted her and pushed the woman back to the center of the bed. He climbed up, took his cock in one hand, and placed it at the entrance to her soaked lips. The man paused, looked into her eyes, and pressed forward.

Lois groaned in ecstasy as she felt him fill her. The man’s dick touched all of the right places, and he began thrusting and withdrawing in a slow, steady tempo. The woman reached around him, positioning her hands on his shoulder blades, and pulled him into her. As his pace increased, she raked her nails across his back, knowing that even the most intense attempt would fail to mark his skin in any way. He grinned, reached beneath her knees, then threw her legs onto his shoulders.

The superhero pushed deep inside of her, eliciting a nearly animalistic moan of eroticism. This time, instead of pulling back, the man stayed where he was. The next moment blew Lois’s mind as she experienced a hint of what Kryptonian sex must feel like. Instead of the rigid phallus that humans have, Clark had complete control of his cock. He flexed it inside of her, curling it upward to press hard against her g spot. The woman’s eyes and mouth flew upon with this unexpected sensation, and she stared at him in wordless pleasure as he explored her pussy in every direction. Reaching, pushing, pulling, twisting, the Man of Tomorrow gave her a taste of the joys her future sex life would hold as his hips remained motionless and his cock fucked her relentlessly.

Lois repeatedly came, each orgasm leading to the next as naturally as train cars follow the one before them. She thrashed beneath him, nonverbally expressing the uncontrollable pleasure he gave her. After her fifth ecstatic crest, the Man of Steel ceased all motion with his hardened member. His lover shivered as she drifted back down from her endorphin-infused high, then looked up at him. “Are you ready to cum, baby?” she whispered.

His lustful gaze answered her question without words. Supes pulled back until his dick almost slipped out of her, then rammed it forward. Lois screamed at the sensual fulfillment she experienced; his forceful thrusts pierced her repeatedly, stretching her fully but stopping shy of causing any pain. It was, in a word, perfect—the best fucking she’d ever received. One could expect little else from a man who exceeded every male member of the human species in all conceivable ways, even if this was his first time.

In less than a minute, Clark’s breathing intensified. Lois sensed what was coming, and she focused exclusively on him, wanting to observe every detail of his body as he orgasmed. The man’s pupils dilated, hands clenched on the bedspread to her sides, and his entire body began to shake as his cock pulsated inside of her. The woman gripped him intensely with her arms and her legs, wrapping herself around him in absolute intimacy. His pace slowed, then ceased, and she felt his weight settle on top of her as he relaxed in post-orgasmic bliss.

Their loving respite lasted only a moment before Bruce Wayne’s roguish personality manifested itself in the privacy of Lois’s bedroom. The billionaire had secretly programmed the Clawndom to respond to a male orgasm, and after a ten-second delay, in the absolute silence filled with only the echoes of the pair’s heavy breathing, a sound emitted from the sheath that had been Superman’s saving grace.

“I’mmmmm BATMAN!!!”

Their reactions were understandably apprehensive. Lois shoved the man off of her, desperate to get whatever was happening inside of her most intimate organ out immediately. Despite his lack of costume, her lover manifested his superhuman abilities and literally levitated off her, rising instantly to the ceiling. As she stared up at him, she saw the bat sign flashing on the tip of his faux dick as her ears detected the sound of “duna dunnanuna dunnanuna dunnanuna BATMAN!!”

The Metropolis Marvel felt his face turn crimson. “I’m… going… to… kill… him…” he muttered through clenched teeth as he ripped the Clawndom off and threw it to the side. Lois overcame her momentary horror, then shock, and finally settled into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of it all. Clark watched her from above, the natural seriousness of a just-deflowered virgin slowly transitioning into a smile, then a grin, and culminating in a chuckle. He floated back down to the mattress, then pulled her to him as they cuddled.

The two talked and laughed long into the night, interspersed by several rounds of lovemaking. Much to her enjoyment, Superman filled her in on the events of his weekend. He’d confessed his issue to Bruce Wayne and experienced a half hour of mockery as the egotistical billionaire bragged about his prowess with his own allegedly sizeable penis. He forgot that Clark had x-ray vision, and Krypton’s Last Son told Lois how the Dark Knight was rather less impressive than the braggadocios claims he made. “Alfred, on the other hand…” Superman silently spread his hands apart, indicating that the humble butler was hung like a small horse. The thought of her partner spending his weekend using see-through abilities to inspect dicks was too much for Lois, and she laughed until she cried at his stories.

Clark discovered that he could silence the obnoxious sounds of the Clawndom by emitting a high-pitched frequency, silent to human ears, but sufficient to muffle the insufferable theme song completely. This allowed them to resume their sexual explorations without further disruptions. After their fourth round, even the superhero was exhausted.

Supes pulled the sheets over them as his lover nestled against him, her back to his chest. Before they fell asleep, Clark couldn’t resist a small practical joke of his own. Although the pincers of his natural member retracted when he was soft, Lois was still getting acquainted with Kryptonian cock behavior and didn’t know what to expect. The man reached beneath the sheets and, with two fingers, pinched her ass.

Although the rest of the details of the night were omitted, the woman’s reaction was one that Superman would later relate to Barry Allen after the next time the two men raced. The Metropolis Marvel looked over at The Flash at the finish line and said, “Let me tell you what. As quick as you are, you’re no match for how fast Lois moves when you pinch her butt.”

With a chuckle, but without further explanation or context, Superman flew away, leaving Barry to wonder what the hell that was all about.

The Caped Crusader

I wrote this blog in response to a writing prompt that required me to blend erotica with humor. I’ve never combined the two genres, and I’m intensely curious about what y’all think. Let me know!

~~~

She opened her eyes and couldn’t believe what she saw in front of her. For a moment, Katie wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or awake. There, at the foot of the bed, was Batman in full regalia. His fists were planted firmly on his hips, elbows angling outward in a classic superhero pose. The man’s body faced her, but his head was cocked to the right in a dramatic fashion. She rubbed her eyes—hard—then blinked. This must be a dream; she was inside her house, but Batman’s cape fluttered dramatically behind him in the breeze. Where could the wind be coming from??

The Dark Knight’s face slowly turned, casting a sidelong glance at her. As their eyes met, he winked. A sly grin spread across his face. That’s when she noticed the sound of air blowing and realized that her husband had placed an oscillating fan on the ground and positioned himself in front of it to blow the cape back. She burst out laughing.

“Honey, what in the world are you doing?!”

The masked figure replied in a deep, raspy voice. “I’m not your honey. We don’t have that kind of relationship. I’m here to rescue you from your tedious and uninteresting sex life.”

Katie immediately thought back to a conversation they had had a month prior about spicing up their time in the bedroom. She had mentioned roleplay, but her assumption was closer to a boss-secretary vibe than a marriage of DC Comics to a Viagra ad. She looked at him again, trying hard not to laugh but failing miserably.

“Babe, I’m so sorry. This isn’t working for me. I just can’t take you seriously with that on.”

To Justin’s credit, he remained undeterred and never broke character. Batman was as stoic in the bedroom as he was on screen, and he silently walked from the foot of the bed to her side. “Some people don’t want to be rescued, but they won’t know freedom until they are.” With that, he reached into his utility belt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Grabbing her wrist, he quickly cuffed her to the bedpost.

“Justin!” Katie exclaimed. “What are you doing???”

As the mysterious superhero walked around to the other side of the bed, his raspy voice corrected her. “I’m not Justin,” he muttered. Then, with a wry smile befitting Justin’s sense of humor, he said, “I’mmmmm BATMAN!” With that, he removed another set of handcuffs and seized her other arm. Katie resisted this time, attempting to pull her hand away. Batman, being much stronger, pulled her wrist until it was outstretched and secured it to the other bedpost.

Katie’s feelings had changed markedly from just moments before. She was positive that she was awake, that the masked figure was her husband, and she knew what he was doing and why. In one sense, she thought the whole thing was dumb—I mean, who dresses up as Batman and fucks his wife?? Certainly, no one in her friend group. At the same time, she noticed that she was slightly aroused. She had been forcefully restrained in her bed by a masked man who had stated he was going to ravage her. As confused as she was, Katie was willing to see where this went. But she was going to make him work for it.

As the Caped Crusader neared the foot of the bed, he produced a length of rope and grabbed one of her ankles. The woman immediately pulled away, wrenching free from his grasp. “No!” she said emphatically. “You can’t do this!” During the previous conversation about sexual exploration, they’d agreed on a safe word if they ever needed it down the line. Katie was intensely aware of the fact that she could use it, and she trusted Justin to stop. She was also aware that, right now, she didn’t want him to.

Gotham’s Defender was relentless in his pursuit. As Katie thrashed on the bed, he climbed on top of the mattress, wrapped his arms around her thigh, and then straddled it. He slid down until her knee was trapped, immobilizing her entire leg. Patiently, the superhero tied her ankle to the bottom bedpost. When he’d secured her, he transitioned to her other leg. Katie resisted as best she could, but her one remaining limb was no match for her (assaulter? rescuer?)’s strength. In short order, she was tied down, spread eagle on their bed.

Katie’s typical bedtime attire was an old, oversized t-shirt and a pair of cotton panties. That’s what she wore at the moment, and nothing else. Batman stood and sauntered around the bed, admiring her figure. She regularly complained about having a mom bod, but Justin had consistently reassured her that her curves were erotic to him. His current demeanor was either a convincing part of his act or a reflection of intense desire. From his apparent alter-ego behavior over the course of their relationship, she knew it was the latter.

“Now, you need to remain still,” the husky voice commanded. He reached beneath his cape and withdrew a knife from his belt. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” Katie froze, not quite sure where this was going. The Dark Knight knelt on the bed between her legs, took the edge of her shirt, and lifted it as high as it would go. Slowly, carefully, he moved his knife-bearing hand up to the collar of the garment, then lifted the blade through. He positioned the cutting edge to face back toward himself and sliced through the fabric. When he reached the end, he tossed both sides of her shirt open, revealing her voluptuous breasts. “Mmmm,” he rasped in apparent satisfaction.

Katie could no longer even attempt to deny how aroused she was. This man had just cut her shirt open with a knife, denuding her while she was tied to their bed. The Caped Crusader moved down to focus his attention just below her waist. “Don’t move,” he commanded. Katie remained obediently rigid and observed Batman’s actions. He took a different approach with her panties; rather than slicing through them, he lifted the hem that formed the hole for her left leg and, using just the tip, cut through it. He repeated this on her right side and once more at the waistline. Stepping back, he laid the knife on her nightstand and admired his handiwork. “That should do it,” he rasped.

The woman watched as he approached the head of the bed. She was slightly confused by the fact that he hadn’t removed her panties, but her attention quickly shifted as Gotham’s Greatest Detective placed his hand on her throat. He leaned down and kissed her deeply. Katie had accepted that this roleplay was going to occur; now, she embraced it. She pulled back, twisting her head to the side to escape his kiss. Batman’s hand moved up to her jaw and locked it in place; his other hand moved to her forehead, firmly pinning her to her pillow. He leaned in again, and this time, the woman had no choice. He kissed her deeply. His commitment to the scene had obviously turned him on as well, and the passion he displayed was evident. Katie was almost surprised to find herself kissing back just as eagerly.

The Dark Knight moved downward, adjusting his hand as he went. He kissed her neck, then her collarbone, exploring her chest thoroughly before he moved toward her left nipple. His lips gently caressed it for a moment, then sucked it into his mouth. The way he suckled her reflected everything Batman was supposed to be: rough, but caring; intense, but aware; displaying intense passion for everything he did, laced with a surprising gentleness toward those he rescued. Katie gasped as he suckled her. This was inarguably the most intensity her breasts had ever experienced, and the masked man flirted with the line between affection and affliction. The results were undeniable. She had always enjoyed nipple play and wondered if she could cum from it, but Justin hadn’t made it a point to pursue, and she had never asked. But right here, right now, the question was about to be answered.

Batman lifted his mouth and transitioned to her right nipple, and began anew. This one, however, had already tightened into a firm mound of erotic anticipation, and she could feel his smile as his tongue explored her. He gently but firmly grasped her left nipple with his right hand and began to roll it back and forth. He timed the movements of his mouth and hand perfectly; when he sucked her deep into his mouth, he pulled her other nipple taut. As he grasped one with his teeth and lightly rolled it to and fro, he did the same with his fingers.

Katie began to moan, and her arms and legs subconsciously retracted. She was writhing in pleasure, and the more she reacted, the more enthusiastic the Dark Knight became. The woman became aware of the rising tide of desire that always preceded an orgasm, welling up deep in her belly and spreading its warmth across her entire body. “Oh don’t stop, don’t stop,” she gasped breathlessly. Batman had no intentions of quitting now. His pace became more rapid, and he alternated techniques and pressure with furious intensity. A few moments more, and Katie climaxed.

This was unlike any orgasm she’d ever experienced. Her pussy hadn’t been touched, yet she came with an intensity that felt as if she’d been passionately fucked. The woman’s legs shivered, straightening and flexing as she rolled side to side. She pulled her arms inward as far as the handcuffs would allow, then straightened them, curling her hands into tight fists. She had completely surrendered to the pleasure that the Caped Crusader had forced and was enjoying every moment.

As her orgasm peaked and then subsided, Batman’s movement slowed. As it ended, so did his stimulation, and he removed his mouth and hand from her breasts. His hand slid up to her neck, and he let the weight of it rest on her throat. Making no attempt to squeeze or even grasp, he simply reminded her of his presence, then leaned down and kissed her again. Their lips met with every ounce of the passion they had experienced previously, but noticeably gentler. It was a sensual exchange; Katie had always admired her husband’s kissing abilities, but in the moments after her virgin-like orgasm, she felt the love and warmth pour from his body as their tongues danced together.

After a few minutes, Gotham’s Greatest Detective withdrew, then stood up. The wry smile reappeared as his eyes traveled down her body. “Now,” he rasped, “To the bat cave!” The volume was so low that Katie couldn’t tell if he was whispering to himself or for her benefit. Justin had always laughed harder at his own dad jokes than anyone else had, and she loved that he found himself so infinitely amusing.

Batman reached down, grabbed her panties, and forcefully ripped them from her body. The cuts he’d made on each of the hemlines ensured that only the light cotton fabric needed to be severed, and he did so easily. The jocularity disappeared, and Katie was shocked at the feelings that enveloped her as the Dark Knight tore her underwear from her, leaving her nude except for the fragments of shirt that still lay against her arms. She felt her pussy flood and shivered in anticipation of the acts of dominance that were appearing before her eyes.

The man moved to the foot of the bed and paused. He placed one hand on his chest and the other on the waistline of his pants, then wrenched them forward. Both came off easily, and she realized that he’d worn a tearaway costume. He stood before her now, clothed in nothing but a cowl, a cape, and a utility belt. Katie busted out laughing. Rather than indicating any sense that he felt threatened, Batman grinned back at her. He turned and climbed on top of the dresser, then resumed his initial stance. His stiff erection extending past the buckle of the utility belt added an element of absurdity that redoubled her laughter. The man seemed to be enjoying the humor of the moment as much as he had the passion that preceded it.

When his wife had finally caught her breath, Gotham’s hero turned to face her. “Now,” he muttered in a low voice, his eyes gleaming, “For the rescue.” With that, he knelt and launched himself through the air toward the bed.

For all the advantages that his outfit had rendered thus far, one outstanding shortcoming quickly became apparent to both of them. The cowl had restricted the Caped Crusader’s vision to some degree, including what he could see just above his eyes. When he leaned into his leap, his head lowered, prohibiting him from seeing what lay above him. Batman was immediately and regrettably reminded of the ceiling fan he’d installed just a week prior, one that hung from their vaulted ceiling on an 18-inch down rod.

The mischievous cowl at least bore its part of the ordeal, being the first to forcefully encounter the ceiling fan. Batman’s forward momentum didn’t slow as his head stopped suddenly; rather, his lower body continued to propel itself forward as his top-end toppled backward. He hit the edge of the bed, then collapsed on the floor.

To say that Katie was shocked was an understatement. She attempted to rush to his side, but she was (now, unfortunately) inescapably restrained. The woman could hear her husband breathing and could tell that he was at least alive, but she also quickly surmised that he’d been knocked out cold. She shouted his name repeatedly, trying to rouse him from his forced slumber, but to no avail. However, this isn’t to say that her screaming didn’t produce results.

Stephanie, their fifteen-year-old daughter, was in her bedroom at the other end of the house. She had stayed up to complete a project that was due in school the next day and was listening to music while scrolling through TikTok. Her peaceful Zen was interrupted by her mother’s screams, and the girl rushed to her aid.

Nothing would prepare her for what she was about to see.

She swung the door open and immediately saw her mother naked and tied to the bed. The ceiling fan was in complete disarray: two blades were broken, and it was hanging at an awkward angle. What lay on the floor was what would result in several months of counseling, and as her eyes took in a semi-naked Batman, she did what any normal teenage girl would do.

She screamed. And she ran.

Moments later, as she was safely locked in her room, she remembered her mother. Her perception reawakened, and her mother’s voice shouting her name became apparent. The teenager unlocked her door and moved slowly down the hallway, not quite sure what else might manifest in this new, strange world that now surrounded her. The girl stopped just outside of her parent’s open door; she could see her mother, but all that was visible of the masked invader was his feet.

“Stephanie!” her mother shouted.

“Mom!” she screamed in return. “WHO IS THAT????”

“It’s your father!” came the reply.

“WHAT?????” Stephanie’s mind was having difficulty reconciling everything that was happening.

“Call 911 and then untie me!”

Stephanie slowly pulled her cell phone out of her jeans pocket, then dialed the three numbers.

“911, what’s your emergency?” The question was one she was wholly unprepared to answer. “Ummm…” she hesitated. What in the world was her emergency? “My parents are acting really weird, and they need help right now. Send an ambulance.” With that, Stephanie hung up.

The 911 dispatcher had very little to go off of with this cryptic message, so she assumed the worst. She rapidly pinged the cell signal and dispatched police, fire, and EMS to the location. To say that this was about to be a shit show was to drastically understate the situation. The neighborhood was soon filled with flashing lights and sirens as three police cars, a fire engine, a ladder truck, and an ambulance crowded the street in front of their residence.

Meanwhile, Stephanie had attempted to release her mother. She’d succeeded with the ropes but had no answer for the cuffs. “Where are the keys??” she asked her mother. Katie was equally confused. “I don’t know, honey. I didn’t even know we had handcuffs.” As the two thought intently, Katie had an idea. “Check your father’s utility belt. They’re probably in one of the pockets.”

Stephanie looked at her mother with an incredulous expression. “His what?”

“His utility belt. He’s wearing it.”

“Ummmm… he’s naked.”

“No, he’s not. He’s wearing a utility belt. Check it for keys.”

Stephanie’s current world continued in a downward spiral, divorcing itself entirely from the combined experiences of her fifteen years. She silently shook her head in confusion, then mentally prepared herself for having to explore the utility belt of her nearly naked, wholly knocked-out father. Slowly, she rose from the bed and woodenly turned toward the foot, steeling herself for what she was about to do. Just as she reached the footboard, the front door was assaulted by a series of blows. Stephanie screamed in surprise. “POLICE! OPEN UP!!” came the call from the front of the house.

The teenager was halfway to the door, wondering how her night could get any weirder before she remembered that she’d dialed 911, and they were there in response to her call. She unlocked, then opened the door, and two officers rushed in. “Are you ok??” the leading cop urgently asked. “Yes… yes, I’m ok,” she stammered. “My parents are that way.” Stephanie pointed in the direction of the master bedroom. “They need mental help.”

The confused police officers rushed to clear the room and ascertain the situation. Two minutes later, they’d accomplished the first goal but were nowhere near achieving the second. Recognizing Justin’s need for medical attention, they’d called the EMTs in and succeeded in unlocking Katie’s handcuffs, freeing her from her bed. One of them found her robe and handed it to her, and she rapidly dressed.

Stephanie was standing in the hallway just outside the master bedroom, and Katie anxiously stood nearby as the EMTs triaged Justin. “Oh man,” one of the medics stated. “We’ve got to remove this before putting him on the gurney.”

“What is it?” one of the cops queried.

“Well,” the EMT said as he concentrated intensely on the task at hand, “It’s a Batman butt plug that’s fully inserted in his rectum. And it’s flashing the bat signal.”

For a moment, silence engulfed the room. Then, with an amplified emphasis that comes when everything else is quiet, Stephanie’s voice wafted from the hallway. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, MOM??”

Within a few hours, (almost) all had been set right. Stephanie, somewhat traumatized by the whole event, had spent the night with her best friend. Katie had accompanied Justin to the hospital, and he regained consciousness on the way. They both spent the night there as he was kept for observation but released the following day. Both took the day off work; although there had been some awkwardness early in the morning, they’d discussed what had happened and laughed uproariously as they filled each other in on their perspective of everything that had happened. By the time school let out, they were in a downright jovial mood.

When Stephanie got home, she walked through the door and just stood in the entryway. She glared at her parents, who were standing in the kitchen. She didn’t say a word; for a moment, neither did they. Katie broke the ice. “Stephanie…”

The teenager interrupted them. “I have only one question. Why??”

The married couple looked at each other, desperately trying to telepathically agree on a concise explanation that would somehow reconcile the situation with reality. Finally, Justin grinned. He turned toward their daughter, still glaring at them from the entry, and said:

“Because I’mmmmm BATMAN!!”

The Journey North

She was driving up I-5, windows down, music blaring. Amid her frustrations with the dating scene and man-children she’d consistently encountered, she’d found a welcome release. Jennifer and Eric were good friends, and although they lived a state apart, they’d grown close over the past year. A few months earlier, they’d met for the first time, and it was absolute fireworks. Like a key perfectly fitting a lock, they’d known from that initial hug in the restaurant parking lot how the night would end. Fortunately for both, it was an experience that had consistently repeated itself.

Jennifer’s mind drifted as the car propelled her along the straight road, sandwiched on each side by rather unremarkable scenery. The images in her mind, however, were far from mundane. The woman reminisced about how his beard felt between her thighs; how erotic it was when she caught her own scent on his whiskers after he’d eaten her out so thoroughly that she’d soaked him. The confident dominance he displayed as he wrapped his arm around her neck while pinning her to the wall, thrusting his perfect cock into her repeatedly from behind. The sounds he made when he came and the sensation of being filled with his cum. She breathed a deep, satisfied sigh.

A loud blast from a trucker’s horn brought her focus sharply back to the present. In the midst of her daydream, she’d begun to drift across the white stripes into the right lane, nearly colliding with the much larger vehicle. Her arm jerked the steering wheel to the left, correcting course, and she lifted her hand in a friendly wave of apology. “Keep it together, girl,” she told herself. “It will happen soon enough.”

One of the things she loved about their dynamic was what turned Eric on. He found pleasure in getting her off, and she’d never failed to walk away from one of their meetings without having been fully exhausted. His ability to rotate between his tongue, fingers, toys, and dick, combined with his eagerness to watch her climax, had briefly made her contemplate physical therapy for recovery on more than one occasion. It was rare to have her sexual thirst so completely quenched, but she found that she didn’t crave sex for nearly a full week after each time they’d met. Jennifer repeatedly came during those days, but it was always at her own hand as she relived every scene from the previous weekend.

When she finally arrived at the hotel, the intensity of her desire had become a living thing. It consumed her, and she couldn’t wait to satisfy herself. The woman parked, got out of her car, and headed straight for the entryway, not even bothering to grab her overnight bag. That could wait. She needed him.

The woman walked through the lobby and headed straight for the elevator. Eric had texted her the room number half an hour before, and she knew he was waiting for her. Jennifer chuckled as she turned and watched the doors close; it always amused her how her mindset was an odd mix of tunnel vision and absolute awareness in the moments before they encountered each other. On the one hand, she was intensely focused on what would begin in the next sixty seconds; on the other, the level of anticipation she experienced made her extremely sensitive to everything around her. The color of the tile floor, the gust of wind that lightly brushed her back as the lobby doors opened to welcome another patron, the clothes that the guests at the front desk were wearing. Her senses had never been more alive than they were when heightened with anticipation.

The slight ding immediately preceded the doors separating, signaling her arrival at the floor where Eric awaited her. A few steps took her out of the elevator, and a left turn pointed her in the right direction. Thirty yards later, she saw it: Room 413. With a level of excitement she could only equate to a kid on Christmas Eve, she stepped forward, lifted her hand, and rapped twice.

She heard the sound of footsteps approaching the entry, then watched as the handle twisted and the door swung away. There he was: all six foot and 195 pounds of black-haired, blue-eyed masculinity. He was dressed in gray slacks and a form-fitting, dark green button-up shirt; several buttons at the top were undone, casually hinting at his muscular chest. His easy smile was reflected across his face, eyes crinkling happily as he took her in. “Hi,” was all he said. It was all he needed to say. Their comfort with each other had grown over the past months, erasing all awkwardness and resulting in sheer, uninhibited desire.

Jennifer stepped forward, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him toward her for a kiss. Their lips met: hungrily, lustfully, passionately. She felt his hands at her hips, guiding her as he walked backward, allowing the door to swing shut behind them. The woman pivoted, then took a step forward, pressing her lover against the wall. One of her hands found its way to his crotch, where she groped his rapidly hardening bulge. Eric moaned, the sound communicating how turned on he was. Suddenly, he swung her around, swapping their positions.

The man’s hands moved up to her neck, lightly gripping her throat as the pair continued to make out. Eventually, he transitioned lower, grasping the breasts he had once described as “the perfect handful.” He slowly massaged her tits, using the palm of his hand to press her nipples deeper and rotate them in a circular fashion. Jennifer grabbed the back of his head and pulled him toward her, her fingers intertwining in his raven locks. She breathed in through her nose, her nostrils filled with the scent of his cologne. The Dolce & Gabbana he always wore had conditioned her to associate it with intense pleasure, and her pussy flooded in an immediate response.

Without realizing it, she thrust her hips forward, grinding against his body. Mid-kiss, Jennifer could feel Eric smile. His right hand released her breast and drifted downward, touching her waist, then slipping to the hem of her skirt. He grasped it, then pulled upward: slowly, teasingly, he removing the physical barrier between his hand and her throbbing womanhood. As the cloth moved higher, Jennifer became aware of the coolness of the room with every inch of skin that was exposed. By the time the hem had reached her waistline, her soaked pussy lips felt each degree of temperature change with pulsing intensity.

Her lover slowly reversed course, placing his hand between her legs. The woman shifted, spreading herself to ease his access. Another smile pulled his lips from hers just as she felt the pads of his fingers caress her outer lips.

Jennifer came immediately. It was a small orgasm, but the anticipation of reliving their previous encounters for the past several hours had so thoroughly primed her that she was actually aching for his touch. Without realizing it, her fingers tightened in the man’s hair, pulling his head to the side as she buried her face in his shoulder and moaned. The intensity of her focus on what his hand was doing slowly broadened as the orgasm ended. She became aware of his steady breathe on her cheek, the masculine feel of his beard against her neck, and the pressure of his body as it gently pinned her against the wall.

Eric drew his head back far enough to see her face. Their eyes met, and she recognized the look as he stared intently at her. His expression was primal, animalistic, and savage—not in a way that threatened her with harm, but instead communicating that millennia of evolution had reverted in an instant, driving this sophisticated man back to his most basic thirst. He wanted her.

At that moment, he entered her. As their eyes locked, her attention fixated on him as a person, he thrust two of his fingers knuckle deep into her pussy, continuing to press with such force that she was lifted onto her toes. Jennifer gasped, frantically clutching his back as she pulled him to her for support. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant in the least, and the shock of its suddenness amplified the physical pleasure she felt. The man stayed completely still, moving neither his body nor his fingers. His lover felt her pussy convulse, tightening and loosening as it adjusted to his presence. Her fingernails sunk into his back and her teeth gripped his shoulder, biting him in an attempt not to scream.

She sensed, rather than felt, his satisfaction. When her walls had acclimated to his presence, he began to alternate the two fingers: one going back as the other pressed forward, then alternating in a scissor-like motion. The pressure was slow, intentional, and deep. Jennifer’s pussy was slowly stretched as Eric rotated his hand, stimulating every inch of her womanhood. After a few moments, he brought his fingers together, curled them upward in a “come here” motion, and slowly pulled his hand away. The pads of his fingers applied intense pressure to her g spot, and as they dragged across it, increased the sensation she felt tenfold.

Eric knew how to move purposefully. He didn’t finger her furiously or clumsily, focusing instead on exploring her thoroughly with the precision of a surgeon. His fingers continued their retreat, pulling her pleasure button forward. When it finally slipped back, the sudden release of tension caused her g spot to swell with blood, inflaming her nerves in the most pleasurable way possible. Without pausing or rushing, the man’s hand reversed course, retracing its path as he entered her again. Her left leg began to shake; to support herself, she kept one hand on his upper back and moved the other to his neck, allowing him to bear nearly her entire weight. This was purposeful: in releasing control, gravity forced Eric’s thrusting fingers deeper inside of her, increasing the pressure until she was nearly driven mad with lust.

In the moments that followed, her lover displayed a level of mastery with his fingers that one typically expected of a professional pianist. He would lock his fingers together, pressed knuckle deep inside of her, and slowly rotate them in a conical fashion. His thumb moved to her clit, stimulating it as his index and middle fingers beckoned her g spot toward an orgasm. The man’s fingers split sideways into a V, then rotated back and forth to stimulate her deepest recesses. Jennifer was so wet that she felt her juices running down her leg, and she could feel the ecstasy building inside of her. “Oh baby, I’m about to cum.” Her hoarse whisper in his ear caused him to switch gears instantly.

Without hesitation, he lifted his thumb away from her, angled his hand inward, and pointed the tips of his fingers straight at the inside of her belly button. For the first time, the pace changed. It went from slow, intense stimulation to a rapid jackhammering that was so fast she couldn’t track it. His powerful, penetrating thrusts brought his fingers into a rapid staccato of interactions with her g spot. Pressure, release, pressure, release. The cycle continued without interruption, and within seconds, Jennifer came.

This was no ordinary orgasm. Her anticipation, his prep work, and the man’s knowledge of precisely how to switch it up drove her into a squirting frenzy. Stream after stream sprayed forth, soaking his hand, his arm, and his slacks. Eric didn’t let up, continuing his unrelenting pace that drove the tsunami of pleasure she felt between her legs into greater and greater heights. Finally, it peaked, hung for a moment as she crested the orgasmic wave, and began to come back down. Her lover was so in touch with her body that he timed his strokes with her descent, slowing each thrust until she came to rest in a blissfully relaxed state. He didn’t withdraw and kept his fingers buried inside of her.

When Jennifer had recovered enough to pull her head back, she glanced upward, and their eyes locked again. Her gaze was filled with a hazy detachment, the clouded look of someone who was pleasure drunk and on an intense high. As he stared into her eyes, he gently curled his fingers and began a slow retreat. The shift awakened her. Instantly, the fog disappeared as he felt her hands tighten on his shoulder and neck again. Her expression was an unspoken plea; her nerves were so sensitive that she was torn between the desire to feel him and push him away, precisely as he had intended. Millimeter by millimeter, he withdrew, stimulating her g spot one final time.

As his fingers exited her pussy, the release she felt caused her to shudder again, waves of pleasure washing over her. Whether she came again or not was a question she couldn’t answer, nor was it one she cared to explore. The only words she could think of to describe how she felt were “pure bliss.”

Eric wrapped his arms around her waist, allowing her to remain weightless. He turned, then gently lay her on the bed and relaxed beside her. Propped up on one elbow, the man stroked her hair, tracing it down the side of her face and tucking it behind her ear. She closed her eyes as his touch drifted across her skin, lightly stimulating her forehead, eyebrows, and cheeks. Minutes later, her eyelids fluttered, then opened completely to find him looking at her with an expression of utter satisfaction. She smiled at him, and he gave a boyish grin in return.

“Ready for dinner?” he said. “After that, we have the rest of the night…”

The Glass-Topped Cabin

Rachel loved this new tradition.

Recently, she and Michael had decided to actually start knocking items off of their bucket lists. Lots of people talk about doing it, but few actually pursue their goals—hell, a lot of people say they have a bucket list, but they never even write anything down.

That all changed three months ago.

They’d been watching the sunset on the balcony of their apartment: a typical evening, with nothing that stood out from the ordinary routines. Same routine, different day that ended in “Y.” She wasn’t exactly dissatisfied with it, but there was a growing sense of… something inside of her. What was it? Unhappiness? No—they had a good life, and there wasn’t anything she’d actively eliminate. Irritation? Again, that wasn’t it. Everything had just grown predictable, and something needed to change.

Rachel shifted her lithe figure in the Adirondack chair on the balcony, as if the emotions had translated into physical feelings that needed to be dealt with. After a few seconds, she moved again, and then fidgeted a third time, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders. Michael looked up from the book he was reading, a quizzical expression on his face. “Babe?” he asked. “You ok?”

The sigh his partner heaved was probably more exaggerated than it should have been, but she was as frustrated by the restlessness she felt as she was perplexed by where it had come from. But wait–that was it! The emotion she couldn’t quite put a finger on… restlessness.

“Why don’t we ever do anything?” she erupted, not out of anger, but as a release of the pent-up sense of unease that had filled her. “It’s just… predictable! We work, we come home. We eat out at the same places, hang out with the same people. We don’t travel, we never try anything new… what are we even doing??”

The look on his face was surprise mixed with confusion. The outburst seemed like it had sprung forth out of nowhere, but in reality, it had been a long time coming. He shifted his tall figure, closed my book, and leaned forward. “What do you mean, babe?”

“I just…” Rachel paused, uncertain of what to say next. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings; it wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong. He just hadn’t done… anything. Why was he satisfied with life as it was? Didn’t he feel what she did? “I just wonder why it feels like we’re existing and not really living. I want to experience things. I want to try something new!”

The conversation that followed stood out in their minds as a defining point in their relationship. They talked for over an hour, a bit unsure at first, until they realized that they both felt the same way. Bored. Complacent. The pace of the conversation grew as their excitement fed off of each other. By the end of the night, the kitchen table was covered with random Post-It notes as they brainstormed everything they wanted to do. The final result was two single sheets of paper: actual, real, authentic bucket lists. The activities ranged from the mundane (“Try the new Thai place in the campus district”) to the exotic (“Visit Antarctica and see penguins”), but they were theirs, and they were real.

Michael taped the papers on the bathroom mirror. After he’d finished with the last piece of scotch tape, he stepped back with a quiet, subtle, but proud smile. They looked at each other, then at the papers, then at each other again. Rachel hadn’t felt this way since the last time she mailed a letter to Santa when she was six years old. It was positively magic. The excitement of a future that was actively being shaped by the present was a sensation that made her burst with vitality. Falling asleep was difficult that night—the air just felt different, and it almost crackled with the not-so-subtle hint of positive energy.

The next day, they began.

~

The couple made a commitment to knock one thing off of each of their lists every month. Sometimes they were easy, like trying the restaurant (easily the best Pad Thai she’d ever had, by the way), and some took a little longer. Rachel had been surprised to learn that bowling a perfect game was on mine, but she enthusiastically signed up for a fall bowling league with him and laughed as they unboxed their absolutely absurd team shirts. The combination of Pepto Bismol-pink and a gray that seemed like it belonged in a hospice ward caused them to erupt into fits of laughter. But every Tuesday night, they put on their clownish bowling shoes and made a bit of progress toward crossing that one off.

It was Thursday, and Rachel had just gotten home from a long shift. She’d barely kicked off her shoes before her bra came off, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she flung it across the room in an act of liberation. As she turned to walk into the kitchen, something caught her eye. There, on the bar, was a single rose on top of a piece of paper. Filled with curiosity, she removed the flower and read Michael’s looping scrawl:

“Pack a weekend bag. Bucket list time after work tomorrow. Don’t ask questions.”

Instant butterflies. Rachel reflected on the new dynamic that characterized their relationship now. The change had been almost instantaneous once those letters went up on the mirror. They had both expressed how they felt more alive, how it seemed like they experienced each moment more intensely, how it felt as if they made more progress in everything we did. As if their actions mattered now. This wasn’t just existing—this was life.

Michael arrived home an hour later. He didn’t say a word as he walked into the living room; he simply cast an intentional glance at the paper, and saw that she’d moved the rose. Their eyes met, and he winked. That was it, and it was enough. The smile didn’t leave her face for the rest of the night.

The next day passed with agonizing slowness. She tried not to look at the clock and forced herself to wait for hours in between glances, only to find that it had actually been ten to fifteen minutes, every time. The anticipation was a double-edged sword; she couldn’t remember ever looking forward to something so much, but she felt mired in her day, unable to concentrate. Finally, five o’clock arrived and she practically sprinted for the door. Michael was waiting in the parking lot, and the moment Rachel climbed into the Jeep, he gunned the engine, accelerating them toward whatever surprise awaited them on the horizon.

As they drove east, the lightness of the couple’s mood was tempered somewhat by the gathering storm clouds on the horizon. The weather hadn’t called for rain at all, and the top was off the Jeep. If they were caught out in the open, it wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. Rachel looked sidelong at Michael as he drove; she saw his eyes flit between the road and the clouds, the muscles at his jaw clenching ever so slightly. She was having the same thoughts, but she didn’t want to create a negative mood by questioning anything. He’d said no questions, and she gladly submitted to his rules. The destination was still a complete mystery to her, so there was little she could do but try to ignore the impending storm.

Thirty minutes later, Michael turned off the highway onto a small side road. A sign flashed by that read “Crystal Cabins.” Rachel turned as it passed, trying to catch some clue as to what this was referring to. “What on earth?” she thought. It sounded like some hippy retreat, and images of healing potions and Woodstock filled her mind. This didn’t resemble anything she remembered from her list. The two-lane road turned upward, tracing its way up the side of a hill that was covered in majestic oak, beech, and maple. The foliage was aflame with color: every shade of crimson and sun-streaked yellow, pierced sporadically by the deep green of a fir, made her forget about the weather. Her excitement grew as she mentally reviewed the items on her list again. What on earth were they doing??

They turned a corner and drove straight into the forest. After a mile, they came upon a central log cabin that obviously served as both a reception area and an office. The author of their evening parked the Jeep, looked over at her, and grinned. “Wait here, sugar.” Rachel watched as he nearly sprinted for the front door and grinned at my childish excitement. She admired his athletic figure. At 5’10”, he wasn’t going to play in the NBA anytime soon, but he was a perfect match for her 5’2” frame. He was perfectly proportioned, and she caught herself lusting at the way his shorts hugged his ass and accentuated his thighs with every step. Whatever was going to happen tonight, it was definitely going to involve removing those clothes if she had anything to say about it.

Once he disappeared through the doors, she looked around. Pathways led off in different directions, but what lay at the end of them remained shrouded in mystery. Nothing was visible except for trees. Occasionally, it seemed as if you detected a glint through the trunks, some momentary reflection that caught the corner of her eye and drew her attention toward it. Each time, however, it disappeared the moment she tried to focus on it.

“You ready?” Michael’s voice startled Rachel from her daydream. She looked at him, smiled, and nodded. At that moment, she realized how much darker everything was. The clouds that had threatened the horizon on the drive in had moved quickly as she’d let her mind drift. They suddenly appeared above the couple, and with a threatening, menacing crack, a bolt of lightning shot through the air not five miles away, instantly splitting it into a peal of thunder.

Michael cranked the engine and immediately backed out, shifted into first gear, and turned the wheel toward one of the paved paths to the left. They’d barely made it a hundred yards before the bottom dropped out of the sky. It felt as if the rain had been stored in buckets that had been tipped over all at once; there was no warm up, no easing in, no transition. They were both drenched within seconds. The Jeep made it out of the clearing and into the tree line, offering some relief, but the rain still poured around them. They wove back and forth for a quarter mile before the two broke out of the trees into a small clearing.

The open space was on the side of a mountain and looked straight out over a valley. The trees had been allowed to grow close enough on three sides that there was complete privacy, but they opened up in a fan toward the gorge. In the very center of the clearing was a small, single-room house, made completely of glass.

Rachel gasped as she realized which item they were going to fulfill. She’d told Michael on that first night that she had always wanted to sleep in a glass-topped house beneath the stars, and here it was. She barely had time to take it in before they parked, and both of them leapt from the Jeep and sprinted through the torrential downpour toward the door. Michael fumbled with the key as rain poured off the roof in a solid stream, soaking them to the bone—apparently glass gutters weren’t a thing yet. Rachel huddled against his back, shielding herself from a few drops, at least. He finally managed to unlock the door, and they tumbled inside into the welcome respite of a dry room.

Rachel looked around. It was spartanly furnished: there was a massive, king-sized bed as the centerpiece and a wood-burning stove off to the side. It had already been lit and the frigid wet of the outside was instantly replaced by its comforting warmth. The heat served as an instant contrast to soaked chill of her clothes. She shivered, then became still as she felt his hands on her hips. Michael spun her around, pulled her close, and whispered: “Here’s to a night we won’t forget.”

Their lips met in a tender kiss. All of the friendship, the companionship, the shared experiences of the past few months welled up, and she couldn’t remember ever feeling so genuinely happy. That overwhelming sense of bliss lasted for a mere moment before it transformed into something else, equally as good and just as strong, but with a sharply different flavor.

He placed his left hand on the back of her head, interlacing it in her wet hair, and pulled her in tightly for a deep, passionate kiss. Michael thrust his tongue into her mouth, and the two began making out as if they needed each other’s lips just to breathe. His other arm wrapped around Rachel’s waist, pulling her tightly to him, controlling her—and he began to walk her backward. She couldn’t see where she was going, but the lack of knowledge somehow increased the sensuality of the moment. She was completely in control.

The backward steps stopped when she felt a wall behind her. Michael pressed her to it, and she felt the muscular contours of his chest. He continued to kiss her, but transitioned his hands to the bottom of her shirt. In one swift, sudden movement, he pulled it up and over her head and tossed it aside, and it made a wet plopping sound as it hit the floor. Her bra was one that snapped in place in the front, but he didn’t have the patience to fumble with fasteners. Michael placed one hand on each cup, his fingers curling inward, grazing her nipples, and ripped her bra open.

The black, lacy undergarment hung in tatters on her arms, and he immediately stepped forward, pressing his body against hers and pinning her to the wall. One of his hands went to her throat and grasped it firmly, squeezing until she felt that tingling sensation behind her eyes that only served to sharpen every sense in her body. The man’s other hand grabbed one of her boobs, roughly massaging it with his palm.

They made out for a minute longer. She arched her back, pressing back against him as he pinned her to the wall. She sensed his hands dropping to your waist. He pulled his mouth back from hers, knelt down, and jerked her pants to her ankles. Michael stood back up, planted his foot in the crotch of her jeans on the floor, placed a hand under her thigh, and lifted her leg straight out of her pants. With his other hand, he unfastened his shorts and let them drop to the floor. His hard cock sprang free, and with his free hand, he grabbed it, pressing the head against her pussy lips and moving it back and forth, toying with her. She was soaked, and not from the rain.

A second later, he thrust into her so hard that she was lifted up on the toes of the one leg she still had standing on the floor. She threw her head back and moaned as Michael withdrew and then forced himself inside of her again. This wasn’t lovemaking—this wasn’t even plain sex. This was pure, raw, animalistic fucking. Rachel opened her eyes and experienced confusion for the briefest of moments: she was staring straight up into the rain, but it wasn’t hitting her—it seemed to pause and dissipate just a few feet above. She remembered where they were, and glanced over Michael’s shoulder.

The storm raged around them. Dark gray clouds battled in the sky, colossal juggernauts bent on destroying each other as they collided. Lighting crashed down, splitting into dozens of tiny fingerlets as it made its way to the ground. The thunder crashed so loudly that she could barely make out her man’s sounds as he grunted and moaned, continuing to thrust his rock hard cock into her hot, dripping cunt.

She was surrounded and filled by storms, each separate in their nature but unified in their intensity. Her cries of pleasure matched the crashing of the tempest—this was an entirely new experience, and she couldn’t believe how erotic it was.

Michael pulled back, picked her up, and took two steps toward the bed. He threw Rachel onto her back, then stripped of the rest of his clothing as she watched him. She realized that there were no lights in the house: the ambiance was exclusively provided by the shadows and flashes of the storm as they darted back and forth, chasing each other in a mad dance. He bent over, grabbed her by the waist, and tossed her onto her stomach. Rachel felt him mount the bed behind her; he seized the remnants of her bra and yanked it away, tossing it free. As it slid off, it forced her arms behind, and he grabbed both of her wrists, locking them in a crisscross pattern across her lower back.

With a powerful thrust, his cock bottomed out in her pussy. She screamed in pleasure, but the echoes of ecstasy were muffled as her face was buried in the bed. Michael loved her sounds, and was having none of that. He  grabbed a fistful of hair at the top of her head and yanked back, forcing her to look forward as he pumped his dick into her hole, again and again with powerful thrusts.

Rachel was facing out over the valley and was overcome with its beauty. The trees bent under the force of the wind; she felt its power as she felt the powerful man behind her force her to mold to his movements. The rain beat down upon the landscape, reshaping it as she watched—and she was intimately aware of the powerlessness she felt, her arms locked behind her, head forced up with no ability to move, her legs pinned beneath Michael’s.

Her orgasm came upon her with both the suddenness with which the storm had appeared and the intensity with which it raged. Between the crash of thunder, the furor of lightning, and the powerful sensation of his cock piercing her again and again, she didn’t realize she was cumming until it was already happening. She was shocked to hear the sound of a scream, then realized it was coming from her throat. As if this wasn’t powerful enough, her sounds encouraged him, and he began slamming into her so hard that each thrust pushed her forward on the bed by several inches. When her orgasm began, her head was near the edge of the bed; as it built, she was forced forward until she felt one, then the other of her tits drop off the edge. She was suspended over the edge, facing into the storm that nature had provided, and filled with one of their own making.

Her orgasm peaked and she slowly began to come down. Rachel’s senses had sharpened as she came, but in the flood of endorphins, she became dull with pleasure, nearly intoxicated with the waning strength of the orgasm. She felt heat radiate from her core—far from an unpleasant warmth, it was as if a fire had been lit inside of her and every nerve awakened with its embrace.

A sudden movement pulled the woman from her passion-induced stupor. She felt Michael’s cock suddenly withdraw … his hands release her hair and wrists… his powerful arms flipping her onto her back… and she saw him stand over her. That image was forever burned into her mind: his frame outlined against the tempestuous storm above us, the rain pouring down except where his body blocked the sky. He was shrouded in shadow, then suddenly every feature was highlighted with a burst of lightning in the distance.

She moaned and grabbed both of his ankles, pulling herself further beneath him. His right hand was on his dick, furiously pumping it as he stared at her body, raw lust emitting from his eyes in a near glow. Rachel knew from his sounds that it was building, that the explosion was imminent… and then it came. A burst of lighting above Michael timed perfectly with that first convulsion of cum, and he threw his head back toward the sky and shouted in ecstasy. Rope after rope of jizz fell from above, covering her naked breasts as the rain had done so only minutes before.

A wave of pleasure washed over her—it wasn’t an orgasm, but almost an embodied shadow of one. His hand slowed, and he collapsed onto one knee… then another. Michael was kneeling over her waist, and slowly sat back onto her thighs, spent with the intensity of the pleasure he’d just felt. He leaned forward; their chests touched. She felt his heart pounding against her as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled her man close. Her hands stroked his hair and the back of his neck as she looked straight up into the sky, watching the rain fall in straight lines directly toward her, but never touching her.

This was indeed a bucket list item to remember.

The Coffee Shop

Your phone vibrated on the countertop. You were in the middle of breakfast prep and your hands were covered in food, but you glanced over at the screen and saw that it was me. The first few lines read: “After you drop the kids off, meet me at…”

You instantly felt your pussy get wet. Your stomach tightened in nervous, erotic anticipation. You wiped your hands on a towel, picked up your phone, and read the whole text:

“After you drop the kids off, meet me at the coffee shop on 4th and Main. Wear a skirt or dress, no panties. Sit at one of the window barstools on the east side. Be there at 9:30, and wait for me.”

You texted back a simple “yes, sir” and put your phone down. You remember the last time something like this happened, and you still get butterflies over it.

The next hour moves forward, but haltingly. You’re so distracted that you ended up spreading mayo on your breakfast toast. You shook your head and laughed at yourself at how turned on you were, and nothing had even happened yet.

Except for one text.

But the text… it was controlling, but caring. Dominant, but trustworthy. You knew that when I planned something like this out, I had a script in my mind of every action I was going to take, every placement of my hand, every shift of my weight to put me closer to you—even the clothes you had to wear had a role. You felt a bead of wetness run down your inner thigh, and you shivered.

It was 9:15 and you had finally completed all of your morning routines, dropped the kids off, and were on your way. You’d picked a loose, flowing skirt that reached just below your knees and a cute white top that had bared shoulders—and of course, nothing beneath the skirt.

As you drove, you unconsciously shifted your legs, rubbing your thighs together, resisting the urge to place your hand between them and relieve yourself with an orgasm on the way. You knew I wouldn’t allow it, though—that’s what you loved about our dynamic. I controlled every factor and guided you towards incredible pleasure. The only thing you had to do was obey.

When you arrived, you parked, walked inside, and ordered a hot white mocha latte, then sat down at a barstool. The big plate-glass window in front of you looked out to the east, toward the mountains in the distance. Your mind began to wander, thinking about the camping trip last month and what happened by the falls… “Fuck!” You thought. You’d never been so wet.

A hand on your shoulder snapped you from your daydream. It was me, and I leaned in close for a slow, deep, passionate kiss. After our lips had touched twice, I pressed my tongue into your mouth and began to explore you, fully. The kiss couldn’t have lasted for more than ten seconds, but it felt like a pleasurable eternity.

I finally ended the kiss, pulled my face back from yours slightly, and gave you a devilish grin. “Good morning, baby girl.”

I seated myself on the bar stool next to you, but while you sat facing the window, I sat facing you. I pulled my bar stool closer and spread my legs, drawing as close to you as I could. You realized that this would look normal to anyone observing us from the rest of the coffee shop, but it put you right between my legs as I sat intimately close. You began to turn toward me, but stopped at my voice. “No. Face the window.”

It had started.

I placed one hand on your knee that was closest to me and began to chat about my day. I told you about my latest book project, a client I had just picked up, and a billing issue I was facing, in turn. To be honest, though, you weren’t listening. You couldn’t keep your mind off of my fingers, which had slid beneath the hem of your skirt and were slowly tracing their way up your inner thigh. I used light pressure: my fingernails lightly scratched your skin as they slid past, then I switched to my fingertips to slowly massage the area I’d just covered. Your skin turned to gooseflesh and you began to squirm in your seat.

I placed the entire palm of my hand on your thigh and gently squeezed. By this point I’d made it halfway up your skirt, and my entire hand had disappeared beneath the fabric. No one at the coffee shop was the wiser.

“Shhhh, baby girl. Be still.” I whispered in a low voice. You calmed yourself and remained motionless, and I resumed the journey of my hand and my voice.

My voice acted only as cover at this point. You heard the tone, but couldn’t make out the words. My hand worked it’s way higher and higher, until my middle finger grazed your pussy lips.

The leadup had been so intensely erotic that you almost came right there. Your pussy flooded with wetness and your lips felt the heat from both you and my hand. I used my fingertips to play with your outer lips, tracing my way from bottom to top, back down again, then repeating the motion with your inner lips.

I paused at your clit, placing my index and middle finger on either side of your pleasure button. The pressure was light, and I began to work my fingertips around in a clockwise fashion.

Both of your hands were on the bar in front of you, and you noticed that your knuckles were white as you gripped the table tightly. I continued to play with your clit for several minutes, then moved my fingers downward toward your hole, fully exploring your slit as I worked my way downward. When I reached the entrance to your pussy, I stopped.

I left my hand in place, then with my other, reached over and grabbed my coffee. I took a deep swig, looked at you with a devilish grin, then started a new story. My hand didn’t move.

You began to squirm again, this time wanting nothing but to be fingered by me, but you weren’t in control of this moment. I was, and I continued to talk, my fingers literally resting on the entrance to your pussy, the pressure and heat building in your mind every moment I didn’t move. Two minutes later, as I began to explain the file structure I used for my office work, I plunged both fingers into your pussy without warning, burying them up to the knuckle between your sopping wet lips.

You gasped, leaning forward over the bar. I began to alternate my fingers, spreading them into a V, then bringing them back together; rotating them 180 degrees while they were together, then while they were spread apart; using a “come here” motion to stimulate your g spot while my thumb played with your clit.

You’d lost all knowledge or understanding of the world around you as you lost yourself in me fingering you. The slow drowning of my voice acted as cover as you felt yourself build to an orgasm. I withdrew my fingers almost entirely, then plunged them into you again—and with that, you began to cum.

You bit your lip so you wouldn’t make a sound, but your entire body was wracked with shivers as you came on my fingers, working your pussy deeply on a bar stool at a coffee shop, surrounded by dozens of people.

As your orgasm subsided, the motion of my fingers stopped—but I didn’t withdraw them. I left my fingers inside of you, completely still, as your orgasm drew to a close. When you had finally recovered, you looked over at me and said a single word:

“Fuck.”

I grinned as I withdrew my fingers, tracing them down the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of your juices as I pulled my hand from beneath your skirt. I placed them at my mouth and, while staring straight into your eyes, sucked them clean, tasting you.

“My turn,” I said. “Behind me there’s a private bathroom. Second door on the left. Go there, lock the door, and open it when you hear two knocks.”

I turned away from you and looked out the window. As I picked up my coffee, you could see my fingers glistening with wetness from your pussy and my mouth. You got up, rearranged your skirt, and walked to the bathroom.

Thirty seconds later, you heard two sharp raps on the door. You opened it and I walked in quickly, then turned and locked the door.

I turned to face you. You had backed up against the wall, your hands behind you, gripping the handicap support bar mounted on the wall. I walked toward you, placed one hand on your neck, and gripped your throat firmly. I leaned in for a kiss and began to make out with you, sliding my other hand up your shirt and grabbing one of your tits, massaging it roughly.

After a few moments, I placed both of my hands on your shoulders, pulled back, and forced you to your knees. I unbuckled my belt, then unbuttoned and unzipped my pants and let them fall to my ankles. My hard cock sprung free, and I took a step forward. I placed one hand at the back of your head, weaving my fingers into your hair, then pulled you to me. I grabbed my cock with my other hand, then slapped you across the face with it. I slowly began tracing the outline of your face, leaving a trail of precum across your cheekbones as I explored you.

“Open your mouth, Princess.” You opened wide, and I placed the head of my cock in your mouth. I continued to control its motion, tracing your lips, then your tongue. Then slowly, firmly, and without stopping, I pressed my dick into your mouth until it reached the back of your throat, and then continued. You felt my ball press against your chin as the head of my cock forced its way down your throat, creating a bulge in your windpipe you could feel and I could see.

I pulled back and then began to slowly fuck your face, both of my hands at the back of your head now. My tempo varied: sometimes slow and deep, and at times varied and quick. Your saliva began to spill out of your mouth, drool pooling on your tits as I continued to work my cock in your mouth. The “guck guck guck” sounds your throat made every time I thrust my cock into you only served to encourage me, and you felt my shaft get even harder in your mouth.

Suddenly, I pulled back, reached down, placed my hands under your arms, and pulled you to your feet. I placed my hands on your hips and spun you around so you faced the wall. I kept one hand on your hip to anchor you, then placed the other on the small of your back and pushed you over onto a leaning position, your ass thrust back toward me.

I threw your skirt over your ass until it was bunched on your back, your naked cheeks exposed to me now. My cock was soaked with your saliva, and your ass crack had received a similar dousing from how wet you are. I placed the head of my cock at the entrance to your pussy, and with one firm thrust, forced myself in until my balls hit your clit.

You were glad that I’d placed a hand over your mouth before doing this, because you let out a scream of pleasure. I began to work my cock in and out of your cunt, thrusting it into you quickly and deeply, then slowly pulling it back until my head threatened to pull out of you—then I’d reverse course and thrust into you again.

As I pumped your pussy, you came again. Your hips began to shiver, then shudder with the intensity of the orgasm. Your lower lips quivered with pleasure, and the added stimulation pushed me over the edge. I began to cum, and you felt my cock pulsate as I ejected stream after stream of hot cum right into your cunt, making you my filthy little cum slut.

The intensity of our orgasms pushed us both straight into a second one, and we came together again, you feeling my hips thrusting against your ass, my thick cock invading your hole, my hand on your mouth muffling your sounds.

When our orgasms finally subsided, I pulled out and watch a small, white trail of jizz pour from your pussy and begin to make its way down your leg.

I looked at you and grinned. “That’s my good girl.”