Archive for August, 2009

The Bear

Going for a hike all alone in the mountains of northern Montana sure sounded like a good idea at the time.  It was June, I was out of school for the summer, and ready for a break from The City, from work, from friends and bars and online dating; I was ready for some time away from civilization.  Plane tickets were cheap: baggage restrictions were a pain in my ass.

I wasn’t worried about hiking alone as a single woman: I know I can handle myself if I need to.  I was a little bit worried about hiking alone just in terms of hiking alone; there is plenty that can go wrong in the back country, where one bad step could lead to a sprained ankle miles and miles from help.  It was dangerous, but also exciting, and I was confident in my abilities and looking forward to the adventure.

It was hot for early June, hotter than I had expected, and I found myself sweating profusely.  I wore shorts and a tank top, and I slathered myself in sunscreen (though probably not enough sunscreen) and in insect repellant (ditto).

My pack felt heavier than I remembered, and the shoulder straps chafed, and I thought I might be getting a blister from my boots already.  I saw a ton of people on the trail in the beginning, and I was beginning to wonder if I was actually going to get any solitude at all.  But after the first few miles, the tourists and casual day-trippers began to thin out and disappear, and soon all that was left was the occasional hiker, in small groups or couples or solo like me.

I had lunch near a glacier-blue-green mountain lake, drinking luke-warm Gatorade and eating a cheese-and-salami sandwich.  It was one of the most delicious meals I had ever tasted!  A marmot watched longingly while I ate, and unable to resist his cuteness, I tossed him the crumbs when I was finished eating.

Not long after that, I forked away from the main trail, off into the real back country.  The trail wound steadily up, switch-backing up a mountain, and soon enough my legs were aching and my feet felt like they were made out of lead.  I was glad to reach the lean-to  near the top of the ridge, happy to find out that the shelter was unoccupied, and very ready to make dinner and settle in for the night.

Often I find I have trouble sleeping the first night of a hike: the excitement of the trail, the strange surroundings, the less-than-entirely comfortable bivouac; all these things conspire to keep me awake.  Not this time.  I had walked some 20 miles, mostly uphill and in the hot summer sun, with a heavy pack on.  I fell asleep right away, and I slept hard until dawn.

The next morning found me bleary-eyed, bug-bitten, and stiff and sore.  I had breakfast and hit the trail, resolving to drink more water and to try and stay hydrated.

It was really beautiful, perfect clear weather.  The hiking was easier, downhill and then more level as I followed the meandering path of a mountain stream.  I only saw three people the entire day: a granola-looking middle-aged lesbian couple who I stopped and chatted for a while with; and a lone hiker, a guy about my own age who had such a cute smile and such an appetizing bulge in his cut-off shorts that I really wished he would have stopped and talked for a while, but who didn’t.   Both parties were going the opposite direction from me, back toward the trailhead.

I pitched my tent that evening as the shadows were getting long, and cooked dinner over my little gas stove.  I drank a little of the wine that I had brought with me in a thermos and watched the stars come out.  They were glorious, bright and piercing and infinite.  The moon was just starting to rise, full and incredibly bright, shining bright enough to cast a shadow, hovering luminously above the jagged peaks.  On the opposite horizon, a storm was brewing, heavy clouds already starting to obscure the stars.

I dug through my backpack for my toy kit.  Dildo, lube, and butt-plug may not be on other people list of 10 backcountry essentials, but they’re definitely on mine!  I’m a big fan of vibrators and all, but vaginas (and anuses) were made to be penetrated, and penetration feels GOOD!  I rarely if ever masturbate to orgasm without something (or things) up inside me.

I stripped naked, savoring the cool mountain air on my bare skin, reveling in the sensation of being totally nude in the wild.  I touched my pussy, caressing between the lips.  I was already wet.  Mmm, nice.

It felt so raunchy to be naked in the outdoors.  I felt like a wild woman.  I swear, this was half the reason I liked hiking by myself so much: the nasty outdoors masturbation sessions.  I poured lube all over my little blue butt-toy and smeared it generously around.

I’ve been a butt-pervert for as long as I can remember.  As long as I’ve been masturbating, I’ve been putting things up my butt: fingers, toothbrushes, carrots, dildos, butt plugs, and of course, the occasional penis.  I love the sensation of being penetrated back there, the hyper-sensitivity, the feeling of being on the edge, the pleasurable feeling of fullness, the nastiness of it all.  I got down on all fours on my sleeping pad with my rump thrust up in the air and my tits hanging down swaying in the breeze, and imagining it was that cute hiker-boy from the afternoon, slipped the toy right up my tight ass.

I butt-fucked myself for a little while, just enjoying the sensation, feeling like a dirty little slut.  My cunt was super-wet and making squooshy slurpy hungry sounds and my clit was fat and swollen and just squeezing my thighs together was threatening to send me off.  Every time the fat part of the toy pushed past my anus, I got a jolt of pleasure.  I tortured myself, twisting and tugging on my nipples, making them long and red and sensitive.  I fantasized about what I must look like, alone in the moonlight, totally naked and exposed.  I fantasized about the cute hiker-boy stumbling onto my camp and catching me like this.

I couldn’t take it any more.  I stuck the butt-plug all the way up my ass- it would stay there, but I would have to concentrate to keep it from popping out, that was part of the thrill- and grabbed my dildo.

It looked just like a cock, an ideal, perfect-sized, always-hard cock, except that it was light purple, made of silicone, and had a tiny vibrator built into it.  I got it wet by swallowing it whole, indulging in a little porn-star fantasy, imagining that it was my cute hiker-boy whose cock I was sucking so thirstily.

I rubbed the shaft up and down my drooling cunt.  My clit was in heaven!  The buzz and the texture of the dildo felt amazing.  I parted my lips with two fingers and slipped the cock up inside.

Somewhere a coyote howled.  The air was thick with expectation.  The sensation of having both my ass and pussy full was incredible.  The buzzing of the little vibrator permeated the whole area down there.  I fucked my slurping pussy hard with the dildo, pounding myself with a vengeance.  It was pushing me right over the edge.  I was gasping and snarling like a wild beast.  My clit felt like an over-inflated balloon, ready to pop.  The butt-plug threatened to slip out, and I reached behind and pressed it back up my ass with one hand while continuing to fuck my pussy with the dildo.

I came, growling and moaning just as the first rumbles of thunder started. The orgasm shook through my whole body, leaving me shattered and weak.  I let the toys slip out, indulged in another little porn-star moment where I licked my own come off the dildo, and hurriedly cleaned up.  It was starting to rain: fat, warm droplets, slow and lazy at first, but threatening to turn into a major downpour.

By the time I had stashed my pack, secured my food, peed, and climbed into the tent, it was really raining.  The rain was spattering the sides of my tent and the wind gusted and buffeted the fabric walls.  I was nice and dry and comfortable though.  I nestled deeply into my sleeping bag, wearing nothing but a pair of panties and settled down to listen to the storm.

Thunder boomed and lightning flashed nearby.  It was a little bit scary, but mostly in a fun way.  I lay in the darkness and played lazily with my tender clit, just stroking and circling, occasionally detouring down to my pussy for lubrication or down to my asshole for a cheap thrill.  I was nowhere near orgasm, just enjoying petting myself and listening to the storm.

I heard a noise nearby, something that wasn’t part of the storm.  I froze, straining my ears.  Thunder crashed and the rain whipped my tent, threatening to collapse the fragile walls.  Something was moving around outside.  Something big.

I cowered inside my sleeping bag, paralytically still, hoping it would just go away.  Whatever it was.  It was snorting and snuffling around my campsite.  I felt sick to my stomach, reeling in fear-induced nausea.

Another flash of lightning, and I saw the silhouette of something impossibly big through the thin tent wall.  Right on top of the flash, a crash of thunder and the smell of ozone.  I realized I was weeping.  With one swipe of its paw, the bear ripped my tent aside, exposing me to the heart of the storm.  My sleeping bag was instantly soaked.

It was a grizzly.  I lay there in my wet sleeping bag, not knowing what to do, hoping it wouldn’t kill me.  It snorted and snuffled.  I felt its hot breath on my face.  It smelled terrible.

It nuzzled at my bag, as if I was a log with something interesting underneath.  I kept perfectly still.  Then it grunted, and with one sharp claw split open my sleeping bag like a pea pod.  I cowered beneath him, whimpering pathetically.  I felt wetness on my thighs and realized that I had pissed myself.

It was sniffing at me, almost like a grotesquely oversized dog.  Its fur reeked and its breath was terrible.  The bulk and power of this animal were simply awe-inspiring.  It was like a force of nature.  It stuck its wet nose between my thighs (which tickled incongruously) and I saw the red flesh dangling between its rear legs and suddenly I realized what the bear wanted.  I saw it open its mouth, exposing sharp teeth the size of my fingers or bigger, and with a delicacy that might have been endearing if it hadn’t been so fucking scary, the bear ripped my panties off.

He nosed my cunt, and snorted (maybe in satisfaction), and repositioned himself, rearing up onto his hind legs.  He probably stood seven or eight feet tall and his bulk sheltered me from the worst of the rain.  In a flash of lighting, I momentarily had a clear view of the thing hanging down between his haunches.  It was red, erect, tapered at the end, and impossibly big.  It looked kind of like the dildos they sell at scary gay sex shops: it was more like a garden sculpture than a cock.  I felt sorry for the she-bears but then figured they were probably designed to accommodate things like that.

He was directly over me.  I was nearly overwhelmed by his scent, a musky, earthy, wet wild animal scent.  My thighs parted instinctively, my pussy still traitorously oozing copious amounts of slippery joy juice.  I wondered whether I would be smothered, crushed, or torn apart first.

The bear lowered himself down on top of me.  He was shockingly gentle; he must have weighed at least a thousand pounds, but he kept his bulk from crushing me to death.  I was lost in his coarse wet fur.  I could barely breathe.  His body was hot, like a heavy blanket that I couldn’t get out from under.  I felt his huge cock probing between my legs and tried to relax.

He penetrated me and I screamed into his fur, muffled so I couldn’t even hear myself.  I was being torn apart, ripped in two.  I’m no size queen, but I do like a nice fat cock, and I’ve played with some big toys and even been fisted by a girlfriend once (she had small hands!), but this was way beyond.  It felt like my cunt was being destroyed, centimeter by centimeter.  It felt like I was being turned inside-out starting with the most sensitive bits of my body.  I couldn’t even move under his bulk.

His cock was inside me.  I could feel it.  I could feel every inch of it.  I could feel his heart beating.  I figured I must be lying in a pool of blood.  I figured my internal organs must be leaking out my pussy.  He lifted his weight off me, raising himself up onto all fours and I got to see myself, impaled on the bear’s raging cock.

He began thrusting, and with every thrust, a fresh jolt of agony.  I kept hoping I’d become numb to his assault, but every time he slid his cock further up inside me I seemed to reach a new pinnacle of pain.  My vagina was torn, my uterus bruised.  I was weeping, sobbing, begging senselessly for him to stop.  It was like begging a thunderstorm to stop.  And my treacherous clit, still swollen and excited from the playing before, was getting off on it.  The bear’s cock had totally distended my pussy, and I could feel every movement, every little texture in my clit.  I realized through the fog of my pain and terror, that I was about to come.

The bear was fucking me fast, panting his hot breath into my face.  The pain had become a solid wall, with no peaks or valleys.  I was moaning and crying nonsensically.  An orgasm, and another, washed over my body, temporarily transporting me.  The bear froze suddenly, growled out loud, a bone-chilling, otherworldly sound, and came.  I felt his cock explode inside of me.  My cunt was instantly overflowing with bear-come, and he kept pumping more and more into me.

With one huge paw, the size of my face, and claws that could have disemboweled me easier than I could open a Clif bar, he stroked my hair once in an oddly human gesture.  His reduced, but still quite substantial cock slid out of my ruined pussy.  He grunted once and shambled off into the darkness.

I discovered that the bleeding had been fairly minimal, my internal organs hadn’t (apparently) been damaged, and nothing seemed to be pierced or broken.  I was limp as an unstrung marionette, but I could crawl around.

I don’t know how I made it through the night.  Fortunately, the storm blew by pretty quickly.  My tent was simply gone, and my sleeping bag was worse than useless.  I wrapped myself up in the driest clothes I could find in my bag and cowered in the lee of a small tree until it was light enough to see.

There was supposed to be a forest service road a few miles to the south, and I made for it, figuring that was the quickest way out.  I was battered and bruised and mildly hypothermic and probably in shock, but I could walk.  My cunt ached with every step, but it would heal.  The things are amazingly resilient.  Somehow, I made it to the road, and a ranger happened along in a truck and gave me a ride to the parking lot.

He wanted to take me to the hospital, but I refused and there was nothing the forest service could do to force me to go.  I looked like I had just lost a prizefight. I had fleas. The ranger who gave me a ride back to my car wanted to know what had happened, but all I told him was ‘an accident in the woods.’ He let it go at that. It felt good to be alive. Three weeks later, I had finally washed away the fleas and the smell of bear. The cuts and bruises were healing, but I still hadn’t gotten my period. A trip to the drugstore, and a quick pee on a strip of paper confirmed it. I was pregnant.

END

(authors note: this story does not pretend to any kind of accuracy in the matter of grizzly bear’s anatomy or mating habits.  When in the back country, dispose of all food scraps and human waste properly, clean sex toys carefully, and keep food in a bear-proof container.  Leave no trace.)

Comments (4)

Shelter Island

I felt like a star that had burned too brightly, exhausted its energy, doomed to collapse endlessly in on itself until nothing, not even light could escape.  I was a singularity, an event horizon, a black hole.

You already know the story.  Sandra and I met at a writing group I belonged to.  She only ever made it to a few meetings, but I was hooked right from the start.  She was a tiny, pixyish girl with shocking red hair and bright green mischievous eyes.  There was an amazing chemistry between us right from the start.  She obliquely asked me out the first night we met; we went out for drinks later that week and ended up spending the night at her apartment.  The sex was good, delicious, and pretty much nonstop.  We became inseparable.  I moved in with her.  And then slowly, almost imperceptibly, things started to suck.

Enough became enough.  In the end it was mutual.  We had the obligatory fights and make-ups, tears were shed and promises made and broken and all that was over now.  I had moved the last of my stuff out last Friday; I was staying on a friend’s sofa until the first of the month when I could move into my own apartment.

Start to finish: slightly less than twelve months.

And now, just a day less than one week since we had said our final goodbyes, I was meeting her for a drink.  To talk things over, to start becoming the friends we had always said we would be if it came to this; to wallow in what had once been love and what might have been two lives joined together into one.  To cry into my beer and then to go home and depressingly masturbate myself to sleep.

It was barely eleven o’clock in the morning on a sunny Thursday in June.  Being chronically underemployed has its advantages.  I knew Sandra had called in sick to work.  We met at a bar she had suggested out in Williamsburg called Shelter Island.  I’d never been there before.  It was dark inside, with some sort of nautical theme going on, kind of a faux-working class aesthetic.  It seemed young and hip; too young and too hip for me.  ‘Please God,’ I thought, ‘Please don’t let her be introducing her new girlfriend to me.’

Sandra was there, looking sprightly in a little black skirt and a top I hadn’t seen before; shiny black stretchy fabric emblazoned with the mock-scowling visage of a samurai.  Her almost comically tiny Doc Martins and a precious little black choker completed the ensemble.  I felt gawkish and underdressed in my jeans and plain blue v-neck t-shirt.  What had she ever seen in me anyway?

She gave me her patented big sweet smile and ran over to hug me close.  My breasts pressed up against her smaller ones, triggering a thousand unwanted memories.  I hugged her back, luxuriating in her smell, the sense of her closeness.

The place was nearly empty.  There was a group of construction workers sitting at a table near the bar, enjoying an early liquid lunch: Budweiser out of the can.  A few hours later they would have been utterly out of place; this wasn’t the kind of establishment where working Joes came to sip $12 martinis.  As it was, I found their presence somehow humanizing.  A poet, or an aspiring rockstar-type sat at the far end of the bar, writing furiously in a well worn spiral bound notebook.  Well, he sure had the look down: high pale cheekbones, shaggy tousled blonde hair, torn jeans and long unruly limbs.  He was wearing an oversized SpongeBob Squarepants t-shirt, and was sitting on his black biker’s jacket. I wondered idly if what he was writing was any good.

Sandra and I sat down at the bar.  The bartender took our order.  She was not a small woman; the fact that she was wearing a horned Viking cap straight out of Hagar the Horrible and that she had her (bleached) blonde hair twisted in two thick braids down past her shoulders did nothing to make her seem any less physically imposing.  I meekly ordered a beer.  Sandra went straight for the hard stuff.

Our conversation was remarkably civil and low key.  We danced carefully around the painful bits, sticking to safe topics like the weather and tv and gossip about mutual friends.  Damn, she was cute!  What a pity she could be such a God Awful Raging Cunt when the mood was upon her.

Sandra ordered another shot of whiskey.  I was still only halfway through my beer.  I wasn’t used to drinking this early.  She was starting to slur her words a little.  She casually rested her hand on my right knee.  I thought I might melt.  Dammit! That fucking bitch was making me horny!

The construction workers got up and loudly vacated their table, tromping back up into the world of light.  The Viking goddess bartender was at the far end of the bar, talking to the mangy poet kid.

“You fucking little slut,” Sandra whispered to me, startling me out of my little reverie, “You are so fucking sexy.”

Unsteadily, she leaned over, kissing me on the lips.  Her kiss was fierce, aggressive.  She bit down on my lip, hard, making me wince, almost hard enough to draw blood.  Interesting.  Very interesting.

She broke off the kiss and squeezed my knee, hard, urgently.  Hey, I thought we were broken up?

Sandra kissed me again, hard.  Then she grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled, forcing my head back.  Her free hand unerringly found my nipple, all poikey hard through my bra.  She pinched it mercilessly, pulling and twisting till the tears came to my eyes.  Fuck me!  Why hadn’t we ever played this way when we were together?

I could feel the heat of her crotch through my jeans when she finally released me.

“You fucking horny little tramp,” Sandra hissed at me, her voice dripping with playful-serious malice.  Swish- smack!  She slapped me hard across the face.  I tasted blood in my mouth.  I would have a fat lip for sure.  “I’d like to fuck you right here, right on this bar.  You want that don’t you?”

“Yes,” I whispered meekly.  I did.  I really did.

She pulled out a little red-handled pair of safety scissors, the kind they give you to do crafts with in grade school.  Oh My!  I had a pretty good idea what her next move was going to be…  When we were together our sex life hadn’t been particularly kinky.  I’d never really felt comfortable suggesting any of the really nasty stuff.  I guess I’d been afraid of what she might think of me.  So why was she starting this now?

Snip snip snip- she cut jaggedly straight up the middle of my nice blue t-shirt.  I didn’t move.  I was tingling- yes that’s the word dammit, my whole body was tingling with excitement.  Snick snick- my bra suffered the same fate as my shirt.  Damn, those things aren’t cheap either.  My tits hung out for everyone who happened to be in the bar to see.  I may not be stacked, but I’m not small either.  I looked down the bar.  Both the bartender and the poet kid were gaping unabashedly.  Blushing, I looked down at my chest.  My nipples were red and erect.  I became aware that I was hugely, grotesquely physically excited.  My pussy was already soaking, and my clit throbbed in time with the Green Day cd on the jukebox.

Sandra slipped the scissors back into her purse and stood up, placing her hands firmly on my hips.  Obediently, I got up off my stool and scooted my ass up onto the bar.  I knocked over my beer with a clunk.  I ignored the cold sticky liquid pooling all over the bar and soaking through the seat of my jeans.  My eyes were locked on Sandra.  It suddenly seemed very quite in there, despite the thumping music.

She went at my tits again, pinching and twisting them without mercy until I cried out loud in pain.  When I looked down my nipples were long and hard and red, more erect than I’d ever remembered seeing them before.  I noticed that the front door, which had been open to the blinding spring sunshine outside was now closed.  Some distant part of my mind hoped that now wasn’t the time they got their lunch rush.

I felt strong hands pinning my arms behind my back, and Sandra started tugging my jeans off while the big Valkyrie bartender chick kept me from sliding off the beer-soaked bar. Once past my hips, my pants came off easily and landed in a crumpled wet heap on the filthy floor.  I felt incredibly vulnerable at that instant.  Things were way, way out of control.  I felt dizzy, as if I weren’t inhabiting my own body, as if I were watching this whacked-out scene unfold from a safe distance. I looked at Sandra.  She had a wicked little smile on her face.  It didn’t exactly melt my heart, but it was definitely melting certain other parts of my anatomy.  She looked so fucking sexy standing in front of me, hands on her hips, short skirt riding up, her flame red hair wild and messy.  She licked her lips, slowly and deliberately.  My panties were soaking wet, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just the spilled beer.  No ma’am.

“I am going to fuck you cross-eyed,” Sandra whispered to me.  I just nodded dumbly. Sandra pulled out the grade-school scissors again.  I shook my head ‘No’.  These were my favorite pair of panties, black with lacy fringe and a tiny red heart embroidered right over the clit. I’d been wearing those panties the night of our first date, the night Sandra took me back to her apartment the first time.  Sandra understood.  She put away the scissors and I lifted up my ass, letting her pull the damp-bottomed black undies down past my ankles, leaving me completely naked and utterly exposed sitting up on the bar, my bare ass squooshing in a pool of spilled beer.

Sandra took a seat on the barstool in front of me, like a demented gynecologist, pushing my legs apart until they were spread wider than I would have thought possible.  Oh My God, I wanted her.  All that time we’d been together and we’d never had sex this hot.  Ever.  She stuck out her tongue and carefully licked the length of my vulva, from my ass cheeks all the way up to my clitoris.  I was so hot at this point, so turned on.  Her tongue felt amazing on me.  I didn’t know if I was going to explode all over her face, or just melt right then and there.  I closed my eyes and let my body fall lengthwise onto the bar while Sandra kept licking me, softer and harder, slower and faster, driving me crazy but never quite letting me orgasm.

When she stopped licking, I opened up my eyes.  My clit was throbbing.  I literally ached with lust.  It felt like my pussy was my whole body, swollen and wet and slippery and teetering right on the edge of a massive come.  It was pornographic, incredibly erotic.  I looked around.  The bartender, the Viking warrior chick was standing behind the bar, stroking my hair.

Sandra slipped a finger up inside me. I was so ready to be fucked.  I knew I was ridiculously wet down there.  I’m one of those girls who gets moist just from hearing the word ‘s-e-x’; I’ve soaked right through a pair of jeans before.  At this point I must have been as wet as the freaking Amazon River.  I spread my legs even wider yet, and got a finger going on my clit.  Sandra slapped the back of my hand and firmly moved my finger away: there was to be no self-stimulation.  I pulled back my clit hood.  My clitoris was swollen, straining out toward Sandra.  She gave it a playful little lick and went back to concentrating on fucking my pussy.  She slid another finger, then another up inside me, fucking me harder, rubbing my g-spot.

Sandra got three fingers up inside my (incredibly squishy, juicy!) pussy.  It was great, just like getting fucked with a nice thick cock that was hitting me in just the right places.  She grinned (or sneered) at me and added another finger.  I was stretched tight.  I knew what she was up to now.  This wasn’t a place we had ever gone in our lovemaking before, not even close.  I wasn’t scared.  No, that’s not true; I was really fucking scared, I had never been fisted before, but I trusted her completely.  And besides, it felt so fucking good.

Viking Chick distracted me at this point, lifting one knee up onto the bar next to my head and hiking up her leather (yes, leather!) miniskirt. She was wearing yellow panties with red skulls-and-crossbones printed on them.  Stray hairs spilled out the sides, and the crotch bulged with the fat lips of her sex.  I could make out the crease of her labia through the yellow fabric, and there, right in the middle was a dark wet stain.  I could feel her heat, smell her arousal.

Valkyrie pulled her fashionable pirate panties to one side, exposing a very hairy brown muff.  She was just within reach; if I strained I could get my tongue on her.  She was already very wet.  Sticky strands of girl come clung to the hairs.  She smelled strongly of sweat, stale urine, and of excited woman.  I stuck out my tongue, and craning my neck, managed to trace the length of her slit.  She tasted strong, salty and earthy.  I could see her clit peeking out, like a big pink snow pea.

I kept getting distracted by the action going on down between my own legs.  Sandra was fucking my pussy with four fingers, and it was driving me insane.  I felt full up, stretched to the limit.  I knew she wanted to put her whole hand inside me, and I wasn’t sure I could take it; I thought my poor pussy might rip in two.  But I was sure enjoying being right on the edge.  Meanwhile, I couldn’t keep my tongue on Viking Chick’s clit.  It was a long reach, and I had to crane my neck, and I kept forgetting to lick.  It must have been frustrating; she climbed up onto the bar and squatted so that she could watch and masturbate and I could tongue her crinkled brown asshole whenever I remembered to.

Sandra adjusted her stance, easing up on my pussy for a second.  I pulled my tongue out of Valkyrie’s butt and glanced around.  The guy in the SpongeBob t-shirt was standing a little way off, arms crossed, apparently utterly enthralled.  I could see his erection through his thin, ragged jeans from ten feet away.  I totally felt like a porn star, and the really scary thing was that I liked it.  I really liked it.  I placed my feet on the top of the bar and lifted my ass up in the air.  The bartender chick’s big tits were hanging out and her fingers were a blur on her clit, making sexy little squishing noises as she wanked.  Sandra winked briefly at me and blew me a little kiss.  “I really want your hand up my cunt.” I said meekly, “Please.”

That seemed to push the bartender over the edge.  She back up into me, mashing her ass and her soaking wet pussy into my face.  I slurped blindly, as vigorously as I could while she frenetically worked her clit.  Her taste was strong, earthy, metallic; it might even have been unpleasant if I hadn’t been so damn turned on.  I couldn’t even breathe.  Fortunately it didn’t take her long.  In a couple seconds she was moaning and shaking, grinding herself all over my face.

When she climbed off me, my face was covered in her sticky juices.  Our eyes met, and she winked at me, then kissed my come-slick cheek.  God, it was so sexy!

I felt a new pressure down at my pussy.  I looked down and sure enough, Sandra had all five fingers pressed together like the bill of a duck, and was trying to work them inside me.  There was a little bottle of lube sitting on the bar- I was sure it had come out of Sandra’s purse, and I could see the clear slippery wetness glistening on her fingers in the low light of the bar. She was pressing harder into me.  I wasn’t sure it would fit, but Oh God!, I wanted it.

I’m not sure how long we were like that, just me and her.  The Valkyrie bartender had left my field of vision.  SpongeBob still stood a little way away, just watching.

It could have been tens of hours or tens of minutes, but little by little, I felt my body opening up under her cruel, patient, insistent pressure.  I wanted to come so fucking badly!, I wanted to come all over her fist.

There was a sudden flash of pain that was shockingly intense.  I really thought I had been split right up the middle.  I made some kind of animal noise, half groan, half scream.  And then I looked down and Sandra’s fist was buried in my pussy, all the way up to the wrist.

There was something very much like a smug little grin on Sandra’s face.  “You look really sexy like that Babe” she said.  I saw that her skin was flushed; her lovely chiseled collar bones just above the samurai blouse had a familiar speckled rash on them that told me she was just about as turned on as I was.

She started to move her hand inside me.  Gently, subtly.  Like quantum events bumping against the root of my clit.  I can’t adequately describe the sensations that her fist was causing me; it was incredibly intense.

I had been right on the edge for quite a while, and the sensation of what she was doing pushed me right over.  Her hand in my distended pussy, bumping into my cervix, grinding against my g-spot, absolutely  drove me wild.  Just as I was starting to come, she leaned over, and really started fucking me with her fist.  She kissed my mouth and bit my lower lip and pulled.  I came harder than I’ve ever come before.  It seemed to go on and on, rolling over me like surf, tumbling me helpless over and over.  I think I may have peed.  Finally, as the shaking stopped, Sandra withdrew her hand from me.  Getting it out was a little scary, but it ended up not hurting at all; there was just a sense of pressure and it slipped out.  Her hand was totally covered in my come.  My pussy felt sore and used-up and empty without her hand inside.

Sandra wiped her hand off on my ruined t-shirt.  She kissed me lightly on the cheek.  “I’ll miss you Kiddo,” she said. “Take good care of yourself” Then she was off, through the door and out into the bright sunlit street.

The Valkyrie chick was down at the far end of the bar, cleaning glasses as if nothing had happened.  I wiped myself off as best I could with the remains of my t-shirt.  Feeling like I was moving through a waking dream, I retrieved my jeans from where they had landed in a heap on the floor.  The seat was still wet and chafed on my naked ass.  I never did locate my panties, I’m pretty sure Sandra stuck them in her purse.  I didn’t know what to do about covering my top half; my bra and t-shirt were both slit down the middle and soaked in girl-come and beer.  The bartender-chick was making a point of studiously ignoring me.

Someone tapped on my shoulder.  It was the poet/rockstar kid.  He was bare-chested, holding out his SpongeBob t-shirt for me.  “Here,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said gratefully donning the oversized white tee. “But what about you?”

“Oh, I’ll just wear my jacket and zip up.  Can I walk you to the train?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”  I was feeling more than a little shaky on my feet.  I wasn’t at all sure I trusted myself to not pass out on the way to the subway.

“I saw what you did,” he said as he gathered up his notebooks.  “That was pretty wild.  You’re really brave, to act out a fantasy like that.  I admire that.”

“I don’t know about brave,” I said.  We walked out the door and up the steps where I was momentarily blinded by the bright spring sun. “It was wild though.  That was the most intense thing I’ve ever done.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Intense is definitely the word.”

We reached the subway entrance.  My head was starting to clear.  I no longer felt like a collapsed star.  I needed a shower, badly, and a good stiff drink.  Or three.  My eyes strayed to the promising looking lump that still bulged in the front of SpongeBob’s jeans.  At least he had enjoyed the show.  I was glad of that.  When was the last time I had fooled around with a boy?  Too long.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I have your phone number?”

What the hell, why not?  On any other day, I probably would have politely declined.  Instead, I took his ballpoint pen and wrote my cell number down on one of his spiral bound pages with my name and an email address.  Then we parted ways, and I descended the dark stairway into the subway system and home to my friend’s apartment, a hot shower and a change of clothes.  It would be good to have my own place again, my very own bed.

I had never even caught his name.  I hoped that he would call soon.

END

Comments (3)

In Therapy

It was raining in the city, and the subway was crowded and slow, and I was nearly late for my first appointment.  I’d been warned that I should be there fifteen minutes early the first time; I walked into the office right at the stroke of eight, thoroughly disheveled and dripping wet.

The receptionist was a dowdy-looking middle-aged Jewish lady with a thick Brooklyn accent and bifocals.  She had a long series of forms for me to fill out: past medical history, billing information, consent and release papers, etc. This was all mildly annoying because I’d already filled out most of them online already.  When I was done, I handed the clipboard back to the frizzy-haired receptionist, who went over my paperwork with a red pen, checking boxes off.

“Marks or no?”

“I’m sorry?” I said.

Receptionist pushed back her glasses and looked up at me.  “Can we leave marks and bruises on your skin, or would you prefer there be none?”

“Oh…” I looked guiltily down at the ring on the fourth finger of my left hand.  “Marks and bruises are fine… as long they’re under my regular clothes.”

“Of course.”  Receptionist stifled a yawn, took my credit card, ran it through the machine, and gave it back to me.  She reminded me of the grandmother I’d never met, and I felt vaguely self conscious knowing that she’d just read through the intensely personal questionnaire I’d just filled out.  (Date of last menstruation? Anal penetration y/n? Any phobias; piercings, allergies? Aversion to urine or other bodily fluids?) “You can go in now.  First door on the right.  The doctor will see you shortly.”

I swallowed hard and headed for the corridor behind the receptionist’s desk.

“Take your coat!” Delia (I only learned her name later) called after me, “Our clients leave through a separate exit.”  She pronounced every syllable of ‘separate’ distinctly.  “Enjoy your visit Honey.”

Heart fluttering like a butterfly, I scooped up my wet rain jacket and bustled past Delia’s desk into the beige-carpeted hallway.  Going through the first door on the right, I found myself alone in a small, nearly bare room that smelled faintly of bleach.  The floor was hard and cold, tiny white tiles, and there was a drain near the center of the room.  There was a d-ring on a steel plate bolted into the floor.  The only furniture was a black folding chair, a medical-looking cabinet, and a coat rack.  I sat down on the chair with my jacket wadded up in my lap, and waited.

After what seemed like a long time, but was probably only five minutes, the door opened and an efficient young black woman in a lab coat came in.  She introduced herself as Elka and asked me to disrobe.  She was about my age, slender and attractive, and spoke with a faint accent that I couldn’t place.  Egyptian?  Peruvian?

Feeling her eyes on me, I stood up and started undressing.  I stepped out of my shoes, pulled off my blouse and skirt.  I looked over at her and she nodded.  I unsnapped my bra, and stepped out of my panties.

“Very good.” Elka said nodding, and I took it as a compliment and flushed.  The air in the room was cold.  “You may hang up your clothing or fold them on the chair.”  I did so.  “Now I have to get you ready.  You will kneel please?”

I got down on my knees.  The tile was cold and hard on my flesh.  Elka opened the cabinet and pulled a few items out.  “I have to secure you, yes?”  She fastened my wrists behind my back with velcro restraints.  She placed a studded leather dog collar around my throat.  Then she took out a heavy chain with snaphooks on both ends.  She fastened one end to the d-ring in the floor, the other to the collar around my neck.  It was just long enough to allow me to kneel upright.

“Comfortable?” she asked.  I nodded.  “The doctor will see you shortly.”  She smiled, a big friendly smile full of perfect white teeth, and she left the room, closing the door behind herself.

I waited another eternity.  My skin was goose-bumpy and I kind of had to pee, and my knees ached on the hard tile.  Finally the door opened again and the doctor entered the room.  He wasn’t what I had expected at all: he was a cherubic little man in a tweed suit, maybe fifty or so, plump and balding with rosy cheeks and delicate round eyeglasses and a perpetually amused smile on his face.

“So what brings you in to see us today?” he asked as he put on a pair of latex gloves.  He had the faint New Yawk accent of an educated native.

“It’s complicated…”

“Of course it is.”  He snapped the latex gloves around his wrists and started rummaging through the cabinet behind me, just out of my sight.  “It’s always complicated.  Hopefully you will find what we do here interesting and you will want to come back.  Then we can get to know each other a little better and start to understand your reasons for coming here in the first place.  What do you say we start with an enema?”

Naked, collared, and chained to the floor, I was in no position to argue.  And anyway, arguing would have been contrary to the purpose of my visit.  Nonetheless, I had never had an enema before, and I felt a rush of self-consciousness and nervous excitement.

The doctor lubed up my anus with his latex-covered fingers.  I felt myself blushing all over.  I had never felt so naked before, so vulnerable and exposed.

He shortened my chain so I was bent over with my face pressed against the tile floor and slipped the rubber nozzle into my asshole.  I realized that I had become intensely physically excited: my clit was swollen and tender and my pussy felt juicy and the sensation of the enema nozzle in my butt only exacerbated my condition.

The black girl, Elka, knocked once and entered the room pushing a rolling stand from which hung and improbably large bag of clear fluid.  The doctor connected a hose, turned a valve, and said “I’ll be back in a moment.”

The two left brusquely, leaving me alone, kneeling with a chain clipped to the collar ‘round my neck and my cheek resting on the cold tile of the floor.  I immediately felt the warm, soapy water start to invade my body.

At first the sensation was relaxing, even pleasurable.  I was still excited from being so exposed in front of the doctor, and I discovered that by squeezing my thighs together, I could stimulate my horny clit.  Not enough to get myself off or anything, but it felt nice.

Then I started to get worried.  I was feeling bloated, full beyond full.  I didn’t think I could take much more, and I really didn’t want to have an accident.  The pressure increased, and I started to cramp up.  I glanced behind me.  The bag of water was only half empty.  I gritted my teeth and clenched my fingers and my toes.  I moaned out loud.  Nothing I did seemed to help at all. I felt stretched to the bursting point, humiliated and uncomfortable and incredibly aroused.

Half an eternity later, Elka bustled back into the room.  She checked her watch, noted that the enema bag was empty, nodded, closed the valve and detached the hose.  Leaving me writhing in misery, she rolled the stand out of the room and shut the door after herself.

Another half an eternity went by.  Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and my gut felt like it was going to explode.  I was just about to blow the nozzle out my ass, squirt dirty brown water all over the doctor’s office and suffer the consequences which, I was sure, would be dire as well as humiliating.

In the middle of a long, deep-throated moan, Elka came back.  She was bearing a metal bucket like the kind a farmer might milk a cow into.  She smiled at me, showing off two rows of perfect white teeth.

She unclipped the chain around my neck.  “You will squat, please.”  She indicated the bucket that she had set on the floor.

I obediently squatted over the empty bucket.  My breasts felt huge and heavy on my chest.  Elka put her rubber gloves on and pulled the nozzle out of my asshole.  The sensation made me yelp.

Now that it came down to it, I had a hard time letting go with Elka standing so close to me, watching intently with arms crossed.  A wave of shyness and embarrassment swept over me.  I looked up at her, begging silently for a show of mercy.  She just observed dispassionately.

Finally the inevitable happened.  Exhausted sphincter muscles won out over social conditioning.  With a horribly loud sound, my body let go and shot gallon after gallon of warm, wet, messy brown water into the bucket.  It seemed to go on forever and ever, and it was the most intense sensation I think I have ever experienced.  At last it was all done, and I realized I was weeping.

Elka wiped me clean with a towelette, and disposed of her gloves.  She led me back to my kneeling position in center of the room, and clipped me back into my chain.  “You are a very pretty girl” she said.  She glanced furtively at the door, and untied the waistband of her white scrub pants.  She pulled them down around her thighs.  She was wearing electric blue panties.  She pulled aside the fabric of her panties and I caught a tantalizing glimpse of her snatch, black and pink and shaved bare.  She ran a finger up and down her slit, and offered it up to me.  It was covered in her slick wetness.  I took it eagerly into my mouth and sucked it clean.

I hadn’t tasted another girl since I had been in college.  Elka tasted amazing and I instantly wanted more: salty, slick, clean, feminine.  She pulled her pants back up, straightened her shirt, flashed me a toothy smile, picked up the bucket, and left me alone.

I realized that the wetness on my thighs had leaked directly out of my pussy.  My clit felt like it was the size of a ripe plum.  Scrunching my thighs together made squishing sounds and felt good, but ultimately only served to make me more frustrated.  My arms, cuffed behind my back, were starting to get the pins-and-needles.

The doctor came back in the room, followed closely by Elka.  She uncuffed my hands, and allowed me to shake my hands out before posing me on all fours like a dog.  Meanwhile the doctor was fiddling with some equipment.

I had to physically resist the urge to bring my hand up between my legs, to pet my aching sex, to rub my cunt against the doctor’s pant-covered leg like a dog in heat.

“You’re doing an excellent job,” the doctor told me as if he could read my mind, “It will only be a few more minutes.”

He affixed two clamps with small weights dangling from them to my erect nipples.  The pain was sharp at first and I wasn’t at all sure I could take it, but then it settled down into a dull ache that harmonized nicely with the ache in my clit.

“Ok,” he said, “Shall we get down to business?”  He slapped me hard across the backside with a suddenness and ferocity that made me cry out.

Just as I was starting to be really aware of the pain from the first blow, he slapped me again, just as hard, on the other ass cheek.  Elka looked on smiling as he beat me.  Pain and heat washed over my body as he spanked me without mercy.  I wept piteously, begging incoherently for him to stop, but he paid me no mind.  I don’t know how long he spanked me, but the next day I had bruises and stinging red welts all over my butt to remind me of the visit and to savor during the week.  Later I would masturbate while tracing the imprint of his fingers on my ass.

Finally it was done, and I was left a sobbing, sticky mess, my ass on fire.

In the meanwhile, Elka had taken a dildo from the cabinet.  It was black and realistically molded, way bigger than any toy I had at home.  She poured clear lube all over it.  “Like this?” she asked, “I hope you do because it is going straight up your ass.”

She pressed the lubed-up silicone cock against my asshole and I gasped.  The pressure of the huge dildo invading made me whimper, but to my surprise it wasn’t at all painful, it didn’t split me open or tear me apart; and after the initial shock of entry, the sensation felt amazingly, surprisingly good.  I felt myself humping back against the invading toy.

“That’s a good girl.” Elka’s hand felt soft on the small of my back as she slid her big black dick in and out of my hungry ass.

Meanwhile, the doctor had stepped out of his charcoal-colored slacks and was pulling off his white briefs.  His erect dick was on the shorter side, but exceedingly thick, with a bulbous scarlet head that was oozing clear precome.  He tore the wrapper off a latex condom and rolled it carefully down his shaft.

Elka shoved the dildo up my butt extra-vigorously, and I groaned involuntarily.  The doctor slapped me across the face, hard, first one cheek then the other.  It stung.  The clamps on my dangling tits swung and ached deliciously.

The doctor grabbed a fistful of my hair and jammed my face down on his cock.  I sucked him eagerly through the condom as he fucked my mouth.  I couldn’t really breathe, but I didn’t really care.  He was grunting and moaning as he slammed his engorged cock in and out of my mouth, and I could tell he was about to come.  Suddenly his body went rigid, and he pulled me hard into him so that my nose was buried in his prickly black pubic hair and his balls were pressed against my chin.  I sucked with everything I had, swirling my tongue all over the latex material covering his shaft.He growled, a long, drawn-out guttural animal noise, and shot off, filling the condom with his semen.  As his cock twitched spastically in my mouth, Elka took one long slippery wet finger, reached down between my thighs and oh-so-gently stroked my aching clitoris.

I came harder and longer and louder than I had ever come before.

I stood up on my knees and masturbated while the doctor disposed of the used condom and pulled his pants back on.  While I fingered my clit and dripping pussy, Elka hugged me from behind, alternately fondling my breasts and tugging fiercely on the nipple clamps until I came again, shaking and moaning.

Elka gently removed the dildo from my poor abused backside, and took off the nipple clamps and the collar around my neck, and led me to a small room with a shower stall where I cleaned up and changed back into my street clothes.

I was lost in a hazy cloud of endorphins as Elka led me down to hall to the reception area (a separate area from the waiting room, with its own exit to the street).  The doctor met me there.

“I think we made a good deal of progress this time.” I nodded enthusiastically.  My ass throbbed where it had been beaten and invaded, and my clit was still swollen and tender.  “Is next week at this time going to be good for you?”

Again I nodded, and he wrote down the date and time on a business card which I accepted with trembling hands.  “I think we are going to enjoy working together” he said, smiling amusedly but warmly.

I took the elevator down to the street, where it was still raining hard.  I was going to be late for work.  I headed uptown toward my office, ass cheeks still stinging in my panties, nipples sore and swollen in my bra, uptown through the rain toward real life and home and work and husband and dinner and bills and chores.  I was already counting the days until next weeks’ appointment.

Comments (3)