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“You came to me this morning
and you handled me like meat
You’d have to be a man to know
how good that feels, how sweet…”
Wait. No. No more. They’re mere cold comfort to me now: the verse, the voices, the melodies, the scraps of my spirit. All feckless, hollow, spent as I awake, curled on my side on the floor, clutching the claret red throw pillow. Your black stiletto boots, black stockings and garter belt strewn around my head, a Gothic halo born of my futility to resist you, my need to submit. I’m yours now, the once and future stallion irretrievably broken, just another gelding in your stable. I am them.
Wincing, I clamber up, the heel of my hand braced on the edge of the coffee table for leverage. As I arise, my ashen face passes the table top, adorned with the omni-present ashtrays, brimming with filters and soot, remnants of our erotic crucible. Fire erupts when fuel ignites. We take turns delivering each catalyst.
As I limp to the shower, the crimson towel soaked with our fluids cloaking my waist, our fevered encounter haunts me. Last night, your languid form, lounging in black on the couch, eyes half closed in meditation on the smoke wafting from the cigarette dangling from your lips, fueled me. The spark crackled from the touch of my fingers grazing the top of your stocking – literally, a spark – energy brought from my shuffle across the carpet from the bar. But you were cool (as always), nearly aloof. You barely flinched. Your chin inched up, eyelids lifted, lips pouting around the thin white reed, and you exhaled in sultry contempt as if to say “Oh, you…again…”
Unsure of my next move, I froze, standing there, transfixed by your audacity. But you began to caress your breasts, tugging at your nipples, making them as long and hard as my swelling night stick pressed against my black boxer briefs. You slid your right heel slowly up, then off the couch cushion, resting it on the ottoman near my left leg. I knelt on my right knee, genuflecting to your desire to be worshiped, to be pleased, perhaps, if just for a moment, to be satisfied. My right hand pressed the inside of your left knee, gently widening your thighs as your left foot braced against the couch’s armrest. I grasped your left foot and began to kiss the inside of your ankle, edging slowly up your shin and calf, my stubble grating against the black silk.
My bliss was shattered as you snatched at me, one hand on each ear, yanking my head the length of your legs. You lifted my face for an instant’s glance through the haze into your eyes before shoving me between the cushions just below your Mons, as if dunking my head into a bucket of freezing water to sober me to my pending baptism. I struggled for balance, gasped for air, which flushed into me as you pulled me closer. You worked my mustache into your love mound, steering me side to side, scraping my forehead on the nickle grommet snaps of your leather garter belt. I bowed my neck back and tugged at your wrists to free myself, spit on your crease in a futile act of defiance, and then instantly hardened my tongue, driving it inside you, raising its tip and sides like a trough to catch your sweet flow.
As I use the bidet, I recall how my oral play chilled your violent lust, and you began to sigh and caress your ribs below your breasts. Your stomach rose and fell in time to my meanderings, and soon your right palm pushed on my balding pate. The smell of ash and nicotine on your hand was stronger than usual, even as you ran your fingers through my thinning hair. Remember how I flinched when I sensed what you did? When, seeing the ash forming ever longer on the tip of your cigarette, but too engrossed in your own pleasure to flick it in the tray, you plopped the dead embers into your right hand before pushing on my head? The soot first smudged my forehead, marking me your supplicant; then fell into my scalp as your fingers combed and petted me. My response? To shake my head fiercely from side to side while licking you; to suck each labial fold as you pulled back the hood of your clit and shuddered; to twirl my tongue on your bare clit until you spit the filter out of your mouth and inhaled through clenched teeth.
You clutched the back of the couch and cushion with white-knuckled anticipation, freeing my head so I could rear back and plunge three curled fingers against your g-spot. You immediately oozed slickly into my hand, and I lapped it up before sucking your clit while finger banging. You brought your right foot off the ottoman, and wrapped your leg around my neck, gouging my left shoulder blade as the stiletto coursed over my beck, settling near my right ear. I felt the warm trickle of blood creep down my back; you screeched in delight at the sight of it while your shoulders rolled up and off the pillow, crunching your lower abs like tensile bronzed cables. Knowing that progression all too well, I drew my mouth from your clit and settled back, fingering you madly as you moaned. The first spurt of your cum juice coated my hand as I pulled it out, and I threw my face in front of your portal to catch the massive sprays of fluid erupting from you as you rubbed your clit and writhed and moaned in ecstasy. I wrapped my forearms around your legs to absorb your convulsions as your head slumped, your face glassy-eyed and slack jawed, against the arm of the couch. As I rose and dried off, I marveled at the stillness of your repose, as if gazing at a perfectly sculpted, golden-marble sarcophagus.
As I stand leaning forward to twist the handles of the double – spout shower, I’m gripped by how you sprang from your slumber as I walked beside the couch toward the pitcher of ice water. Still lying on the couch, your right fist snatched my rod as I walked past your shoulders, then pushed me back on my heels with urgent non-chalance until I was standing near your ribs. You pulled my cock like a bridle strap on a rented mule until I straddled over you, my right knee wedged into the couch seat just under your left arm as my left foot remained planted on the floor. You pumped me with your right hand as your left groped for your lighter and another cigarette on the coffee table. I plucked the lighter from your hand and lit the blunt as you stroked me. You pulled me closer to your mouth with your first deep drag, and barely exhaled as the blanket of haze shrouded my staff like smoke rising from a thurible. With each deep drag, you held the smoke in your lungs, then gobbled my saber to its hilt, holding it, then freeing it as the smoke escaped. I steadied your outstretched left arm so you could finally drop the spent fag into the ashtray, then painted your lips with the smoky spittle clinging to my bulbous member.
You reached over your head and grabbed the pink, double -header dildo from the lamp table, brandishing it against my throat, then licking one end. As I reached behind me to rub your clit, you thrust the toy against my chin – your lusty grin told me in no uncertain terms to suck on the dry end until it was wet and ready for action. I devoured it, doing my best to mimic your ravenous deep-throating. You snatched it out of my mouth with a loud “pop” and slurped on the other end, our eyes locked in a lusty trance. You drew it away, and closed your eyes and sputtered when I thwacked my engorged miter on your chin and lips and nose. You worked your left hand under my scrotum, lifting me so you could suck gingerly on each ball sack. When I saw you sweep the dildo behind my back, I assumed you were guiding it into your damp, dusky delta. Imagine my sweet horror as you began to tease my anus with the wicked wand.
There’s no escape for a man from a woman literally holding him by his balls, a fact you knew only too well. I could only look down with gleeful dread as you inhaled my cock while goring my ass with the smooth rigid weapon. I swooned as you simultaneously guided each shaft into each waiting orifice, second by second, inch by inch. As you pressed your advantage within me, the toy nudged my prostate, causing semen to seep onto your tongue. You pulled my cock out of your mouth and twisted the head with your right hand while poking me deeper, a glorious torture that has etched my being to its core. As I convulsed above you, nearing the point of release, you gripped the base of my rod, and slid the tool out of my ass; then bucked me off your body and onto the floor beside the couch.
As I stumble into the steaming shower, I recall how quickly and efficiently you sat up, and swung your legs off the couch, your feet landing in my lap as my stunned form slumped on the floor against the ottoman. You honed your devilish improvisation as your left foot traced a line over my belly, up my sternum and over my panting mouth. Your toes had ripped through the end of your stocking to the ball of your foot, and I tore at the remnants with my teeth as you curled your bare toes on the bridge of my nose. My trembling fingers pulled the shards away from your instep as you pushed my shoulders back with your right foot, exposing my aching prong to more prodding. Your right foot, encased in fishnet, raked through my black chest hair, matted with your juices, until it settled, sole side down, on my pubic bone. I grabbed both of your legs to steady myself as my eyes darted – first to my cock, then to your navel, as you swept the pink double dong across my view and down to your simmering delta. I stared down in wonder as your bare left foot pinned the topside of my pole against the top of your right foot. With your right foot motionless, you began milking me by gliding the ball and arch of your left foot up and down the shaft’s tender underside. My face jerked up at the sound of the dildo squishing in and out of your flesh tunnel, still juicy from your first climax. The epiphany of the moment swept over me - you were bringing both of us to climax with your hands and feet, as I sat on the floor, with my face at point blank range of your sweet release. You churned cream from your pussy with fierce determination, and the soft plinking sound of fluid seeping into your chamber drove me over the edge.
My load erupted in a warm, volcanic display, ribbons of delight darting against my pelvis, then dribbling through the fishnet of your right foot, still underneath my pulsing snake. I raised my chin and closed my eyes the instant you drew the dildo from your vault and blasted my neck and collarbone with one holy stream of cum water after another until you rocked back against the couch and flung your feet on the ottoman on either side of my neck. We were mute, motionless and spent. A dizzying array of emotion engulfed me – I felt vanquished and violated, yet vindicated and validated, knowing you shared such carnal creativity only with a lucky few. But that satisfaction drained away, as you peered down on me with a sardonic smile, swung your left foot over my head, and walked away, leaving me in a rubble of cum and ashes.
The thought of it all now, under the hot streaming shower, unsteadies me, till I reel back, my shoulder blades slammed to the tile wall for balance. And just when I vow to leave you, to emancipate the soul you’ve enslaved, you appear nude in the mist like a goddess, fresh cup of coffee in each hand. Whether to soothe or seduce me, I care not. As you lean against the shower wall beside me, with the pulsing jets and kona reviving us, the pleasure of your presence is all that matters.
-Enrico Sandista
(note: Thank you for your delicious story! I very much appreciate your writings) Muah! xox
