Affairs/red-cuf1
                                          Red Cuffs, revised
                                              11/21/89
                       And now for a kindler, gentler sort of erotic fantasy.
             [The Writer reminds the Reader that the contents, ideas, themes and events
             of this story are fantasy and are not to be mistaken for real thoughts or
              events.  Reality makes the barest suggestion and the Writer creates the
               rest from imagination, fantas y, and a desire to titillate the Reader
                 (with strong emphasis on "Reader"!)  Also, if the Reader finds the
                 sequence of experiences and fantasies excessively long, the Writer
             suggests reading them over a period of several quiet moments.  Or several
                                            quiet days.]
                                       The Red Cuffs, revised
                   She lay in bed motionless.  She had awakened a few minutes earlier,
             langourous, her body thick with sleep.  Her first thoughts had been about
               her husband, how he had just left for two days and she didn't remember
               kissing him good-bye, although she knew she must have.  Certainly, she
               must have.  There were certain conventions to adhere to.  If even they
              began to deteriorate.  The thought annoyed her.  It hadn't gone this far
             without keeping to some sort of routine.  Or had he just crept out in the
             early morning, leaving her deep in her dreams about...  She had dreamt of
               her lover and now her thoughts turned to her friend, the man she had,
              perhaps mistakenly, indulged with on her living room carpet...years ago.
              It wasn't that it hadn't been fun.  Actually the thought made her frown
               and smile simultaneously.  The look of shock on his face when she had
              asked him, "How long have you wanted to fuck me?" His look of stupified
              delight had vanished and, stunned, his cock hard, his face a few inches
              above her cunt where he had been licking her into a lather, he looked at
                                           her, amazed...
                   It was warm and sunny in the bedroom and she felt pleased that her
              husband would be away.  Today she had lunch with her friend and tomorrow
             she was to see her lover.  All day tomorrow.  Wonderful.  It had been two
                weeks since they last saw each other, and she was looking forward to
                                   spending the day in his arms.
                     A light breakfast and she was sitting at the dining room table
               reading over some mail and preparing to work on a presentation for the
               next week.  The doorbell rang.  He was early.  Not so surprising.  For
             years he had had a crush on her, serving and servicing her as she allowed.
               He was a nice person, odd, creative, always sexualizing.  It made her
             smile.  There were some things she could always count on, things that made
                                  her feel happy and ... feminine.
                  Today he had a bottle of champagne.  "Two years," he said, "two years
                since we last had lunch."  She wondered if he had come anticipating
               resuming where they had left off.  Several times he had given her full
             body massages.  They had been nice--pleasant and fun.  But if he expected
             to resume such familiarity or, even more unlikely and preposterous,  enact
              one of the fantasies he used to tell her on the phone, he was due to be
                                           disappointed.
                     And, of course, a few months ago he had related a fantasy which
              included mild violence.  It had surprised her.  She didn't equate anger
              and violence with sexual excitement. Never had.  But when she expressed
             dismay and wondered at his motivation , he had taken great pains to assure
               her that it was all a fantasy, something he had thought she would find
                                             exciting.
                     "If it bothers you, forget it," he told her on the phone.  "My
             imagination runs wild sometimes.  You know I'm really a wimp.  Overeager.
              Your devoted sycophant.  Why else would I go to the trouble of creating
               seventeen or eighteen fantasies for you?"  He made a noise, ostensibly
               clearing his throat.  "Of course in college I was different.  In those
               days I was a monster, a macho bully whose only desire was to sexually
                abuse helpless women.  But I've changed.  You must believe me.  I've
                                             reformed!"
                      They had both laughed at that.  In college he had been quiet,
              unwashed, and amusingly insecure.  And his phone fantasies had been fun,
             an enjoyable moment in her sometimes boring days.  And he had always made
             her the center of the action.  That was the best part.  She imagined that
              if she wanted, he could be persuaded to do some fun things for her.  So
             long as it somehow involved sex.  He was a sexual obsessive.  Luckily, she
                            had better control of her life and thoughts.
                   He had moved into the kitchen, working open the champagne cork.  "I
                can't drink," she said.  "I have a meeting this afternoon at four."
                   "No problem.  But you won't mind if I have a sip myself then."  He
              walked to the cupboard in search of a glass.  Over his shoulder he said,
             "What a beautiful house!  I had no idea.  When you said it had won awards,
             well, I couldn't even have imagined."  He opened the refrigerator.  "Would
                 it be all right if I used some orange juice?  How about a mimosa,
              champagne with orange juice.  Does that sound healthy and mild enough?"
                             "Fine," she said, "but not too much champagne."
                   They sat and talked about whatever came to mind.  He asked her lots
              of questions, about her husband, about work, about her daughter.  Today
             her daughter and the house girl had gone for a day trip.  The little girl
              was talking quite intelligently already and could do her ABC's and count
              to twenty.  She had benefited from the genetic strengths of her and her
                                              husband.
                   He asked about her lover.  She told him about the recent afternoon
                         when she and her lover had taken a bath together.
                    They sat in the bubble-filled tub facing each other.  First they
             splashed each other with bubbles.  Then, with a lascivious smile, she had
              reached beneath the bubbles into the water between his legs.  Taking his
             limp cock in her hand, she had slowly stroked him, and, when he was hard,
               his body trembling with desire and excitement, her hand sliding up and
              down on his soapy cock, he had stood and soaped her also, lathering her
                           breasts and her stomach, her ass and her cunt.
                   Still covered with bubbles they stepped out of the bathtub, pulled
              the plug and turned the shower on full hot.  As the bathroom filled with
              steam he put a warm towel on the sink, pressed her backwards against it,
               and they kissed and stroked each other, their stomachs and chests and
                 hands slipping and sliding over each other's soapy bodies as they
                caressed, probed and slithered, her lover's hard cock pinned to her
              stomach, sliding up to her breasts, slipping between her ass cheeks and
                               anywhere else her lover could manage.
                  When they showered off, he had turned her around, and, as she leaned
             forward, her hands on the wall, he made love to her from behind.  The warm
              shower water ran in long tickling strings of wetness off her back as he
             rammed his hardness into her wet secret place.  Her breasts shook and she
              could feel him in her stomach on every stroke.  They came together, his
              arms wrapped around her waist, his cock shooting and spasming inside her
              pulsing cunt, the bathroom steamy and hot, the water streaming off them.
                    At the end of her story, her friend asked, "What are we going to
                                               eat?"
                      "Well, I have some..." and she described the contents of her
              refrigerator.  They made do with some vegetables and cold pasta...and he
              indulged in another mimosa.  After he had washed the dishes they sat in
               the study.  The food and drink gave the room a warm glow in the early
                                          afternoon light.
                                      "How's your back?" he asked.
                                "Fine.  It hasn't bothered me in months."
                  "May I rub your shoulders?"  He moved her onto the floor and she sat
             in front of him as he rubbed her shoulders and neck.  As always his touch
              was warm.  Strong and gentle.   He moved down to the center of her back.
             After a few minutes he guided her down to lie on her stomach.  The carpet
                                       was warm, comfortable.
                     He was good, attentive and sensitive to her tiniest stiffness.
              Surprisingly he found many little tight spots, little circles of tension
               in her neck, shoulders, back and arms.  Her body sank heavily into the
              carpet, scraps of thoughts and memori es flitting through her langourous
               mind.  As his touch lightened slightly, she wondered if his intent had
             changed and his thoughts had become sexual.  It wasn't going to work this
                                    time, she smiled to herself.
                    But his massage remained direct and unlascivious and, after a few
               minutes, her suspicions were allayed.  Beneath his touch, her muscles
              melted.  She felt content and pleased with life.  She felt contented in
               the languour of sunlight, lunch and t he slight hum of the champagne.
                   He massaged her ass, but carefully, not moving onto her legs as she
              had expected.  "Here," he said, "I'm going to stretch your arms," and he
             moved away from her ass and began rubbing her arms.  There was a rustling
             in the bag he had brought and left under the coffee table, but she thought
             nothing of it.  The sun through the window was on her legs and it felt as
              though it was warming her very bones, heating her legs and flowing over
              them like a thick warm liquid.  The weight of her breasts a nd pelvis in
               the carpet felt good.  She smiled vaguely.  After two years, he hadn't
                  lost his touch with her.  His massage was fulfilling, relaxing.
                   His rubbing moved to her wrists and she noticed that he was rubbing
              her forearms and wrists with some soft material, something of velvet or
               felt.  As he rubbed he lifted one wrist and then the other and put the
             material around them, gently lower ing the arms back to the floor.  There
              was the sound of a belt buckle and she wondered if he was taking off his
              pants, perhaps to masturbate over her.  She wasn't sure she minded if he
              wanted to masturbate, but he was going to be disappointed if he expected
                her to help in any way.  And he damned well had better not cum on my
                                 blouse, she thought with a start.
                    With that annoying thought she lifted her head to see what he was
               doing.  Her wrists were held by straps of velvet, red velvet.  As she
             moved to sit up she was surprised to find her wrists were fastened to the
                                         foot of the desk.
                  "What are you doing?" she asked.  "~This is stupid.  I have to go to
                                    a meeting at four o'clock."
                    "I know.  And it's only one o'clock, which gives us two hours to
               relax and enjoy the afternoon sun.  So lie down, take a few slow deep
              breaths, and let me make you feel good.  Please.  I promise you'll only
               enjoy yourself.  The moment you feel t hreatened or unhappy, I'll take
             them right off.  Of course, with the handcuffs you have to trust me.  Some
             people like having someone serve them, having someone lead their pleasure.
             There are even slave and master love games.  One person is the slav e for
              an afternoon, the next time that person gets to be the master.  'Course,
             slave-master is not a game I expect you'd enjoy.  Unless you get to be the
                       master.  But try this with the red cuffs.  Trust me."
                  "You had better not do anything hurt me or upset me.  I'll be awfully
                                 angry"  She gave him a stern look.
                   "Don't worry.  Have I ever done anything to you that scared you or
             hurt you?"  He was creative and sexually obsessed, but he wasn't a hurtful
               person.  Her stern look softened.  Perhaps she should relax a little.
                        Perhaps this would be interestin g, even enjoyable.
                   He moved her gently to lie down and once again went to work on her
              neck, stretching the muscles, working slowly down her back.  With a sigh
              she gave up and decided to see what happened before making a fuss.  With
               her head to one side on the carp et she noticed a pen that had rolled
              under the desk.  But she forgot about it as her back again warmed under
                                             his touch.
                   He worked with slow broad strokes of his hands, gently pulling the
                blouse out of her skirt, sliding it up to the nape of her neck.  He
             unfastened her bra.  "You have a beautiful back, you know.  Nice muscles."
              With his hands he drew and worked the muscles in a ripple down her back,
              just to the waist of her skirt and then back up, tracing circles around
             her shoulder blades.  His hands were warm and his touch strong but gentle.
                    Warm repeated strokes on her back, each time a little lower until
             they were almost to her buttocks.  She took a breath and released it with
                                              a sigh.
                  His hands left her back.  There was a pause.  And then a touch on her
             ankles.  Almost a tickling followed by a slow, firm skittering scraping of
             fingernails drawn gently up the insides of her legs. "Wouldn't it be nice
             to have a tongue crawling up the inside of your legs.  An erotic slug, so
               to speak, seeking refuge and haven.  Somewhere above the Tropic of the
                                              Knees."
                   "You're being silly," she said, laughing.  Sliding her skirt up to
               her ass, he scratched gently up and down on the insides of her thighs,
              moving closer and closer to her crotch, the panty hose accentuating the
                                        tingling sensation.
                     "Does this feel good?"  And she started as she felt his tongue,
             ambiguous through the nylon, but a tongue clearly, on the back of her leg.
               The sun had moved and she could feel its heat on her naked back.  The
             tongue, damp and warm through the n ylon, moved in slow circles, advancing
                  gradually upwards until he was licking the fabric at her crotch.
                  His hands worked her buttocks, massaging deeply into them, releasing
               the muscles in her hips, muscles she had never really noticed before,
               muscles pleased to be released.  Her legs moved gradually apart as he
             worked.  His hands kneading her buttocks, his tongue massaging happily the
              crotch of the panty-hose.  The wetness of his mouth was beginning to be
                               joined by a slight wetness of her own.
                   Moments later his hand reached under the waistband of the skirt to
              pull down the panty hose, and a second after that she felt the tongue on
                the inside of her thigh, again making its way upwards.  She felt his
                   scratchy cheeks on the tender skin immediately below her cunt.
                  A pause and then his tongue plunged inside her, pressing the lips of
             her secret place apart, his hands on her thighs, then her ass, his fingers
             pressing her ass, molding it, rolling the muscles of her cheeks even as he
                                         slowly licked her.
                   She shivered when his lips found her clitoris and he sucked on it,
              pulling in gently, first with his lips and then with a gentle nibble of
                his teeth, sucking on it, licking it as his hands pressed her pelvis
               forward, pulled her ass up to give his insistent tongue better access.
             From the clit he moved upwards to the sensitive spot between ass and slit
                and he toyed there, the tip of his tongue teasing her, waiting for a
                     reaction, waiting for her to move her pelvis in response.
                    She was looking to the left, her nose in the carpet.  It smelled
             clean, the carpet smelled like the vacuum cleaner.  She could see the legs
              of the chair a few feet away, sunlight spilling over the chair onto the
                                               floor.
                    His tongue still doing its service to the gateway of her melting
             insides, he slid a finger into her cunt.  She moaned and moved to make his
              access easier.  He added a finger and began to love her wet secret place
             with two fingers.  She moaned.  "This is only the warm-up, the preview to
                               the main event," he said breathlessly.
                    Still sliding his finger in and out of her moist cunt, he finally
             moved his head away.  His other hand took hold of her shoulder and pulled
             her onto her back.  She looked up at the ceiling, and, closer, the edge of
             the desk.  They seemed miles a way, years in the past.  He reached to his
              left, took a cushion from the couch and propped it under her head so she
              was looking across the room at a picture she and her husband had bought
              several years ago.  Her friend's head disappered once again between her
                                               legs.
                  She felt his hot wet lips on her clit, pulling it, working it around
               and around, letting it slide out and then diving back onto her cunt a
             second later.  She bent her knees and slid her feet up, opening her knees
                                               apart.
                   "I'm going to take you on a fantasy, alright?  See if you like this
                   well-hung man you're going to meet without so much as a word."
                     "You're going to visit your lover," he said, "and you're at his
               house, for some reason or another.  His wife and kids are away for the
              week, so you go into his house to surprise him.  But he's not there, so
             you change into a t-shirt and shorts and sit at the kitchen table to wait
              for him. There's a knock at the door and when you answer there is a man
               standing there you've never seen before, a very handsome man in a blue
              pinstripe suit with a blue cotton shirt and a lawyer's tie.

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  He's surpr
               ised to see you, and, in his shock, he steps into the kitchen.  He is
                   surprised, nonplussed, obviously very taken by your wholesome
                                          attractiveness."
                  "You're staring at him, admiring his square jaw, his red-brown hair,
             when he looks up.  Your eyes meet and you know that he wants you and that
              you want him.  You say, "Hi," and he says, "Hi," and the two of you move
             towards each other until he's holding you in his arms.  You press yourself
                against him and you can feel his cock getting hard, your own pelvis
              rolling and swaying against him, urging him, encouraging him.  His hand
              moves to your breast and he holds it, playing with it, moving sl owly to
              squeeze your nipple through the thinness of the t-shirt, the palm of his
                            hand feeling it, pressing it, wanting it.  "
                   "You put your hand on his cock.  It's hard and hot through the wool
             fabric.  You clutch it, squeeze it in your hand several times as he gasps,
             taking your other breast in his free hand, fondling it, searching for the
              nipple so he can roll it bet ween his fingers.  He presses you backwards
             against the kitchen table so that the two of you are grinding against each
               other, your hand kneading his cock, his hands fondling your breasts."
                    "Suddenly, without a second thought, you drop to your knees, open
                his pants and take his cock in your mouth.  You suck him, his hands
             caressing your hair, touching your face.  He is almost ready to come, when
             he pulls you up, pulls down your sh orts.  He parts you with a finger and
              spreads your juice over the outside of our slit and lifts you to sit on
               the table.  He maneuvers his cock to touch you, to slide it around the
               edge of your cunt.  And then he slides his cock into you, standing in
               front of you in his suit with his fly open, his eight-inch ramrod cock
                                   probing into your eager sex."
                  "Your arms are around his neck, holding him as he makes love to you.
                You both come together, the toaster and microwave, visible over his
              lurching shoulder, blurring in your ecstatic vision.  For thirty seconds
             you hold it, he slowly shrinking i nside you, you feeling the drops of cum
               falling to the polyurethaned oak table beneath you.  He pulls away and
                      puts himself into his pants.  You pull up your shorts."
                  "'He's not home?' he asks quietly, his square jaw hardly moving, his
                              eyes turning sleepy from spent passion."
                             "'No, but I expect him any minute,' you reply."
                    "'I'll call him tomorrow,' he says, and he leaves by the kitchen
              door.  Your lover comes home five minutes later and as he walks from his
                    car to the house, you rush into the bathroom to freshen up."
                  As he told the story, he slowly opened her blouse, button by button.
                 He pulled her bra up around her neck, exposing her breasts to the
                  afternoon sunlight.  The nipples stiffened as they both watched.
                "Beautiful," he said.  As he looked up, their eyes met and they both
             laughed.  "Warm in here," he said, and he took off his shirt.  "Very warm
                          in here," he said, and he pulled off his pants.
                   He had on black bikini underwear.  She could see the cock, hard and
             bent downwards through the taut black fabric.  He stood over her, his feet
               on either side of her and he slowly rubbed his cock through the cotton
             fabric, slowly, hypnotized by the sensations he gave himself, sliding his
             hand up and down on its hardness.  He slowly lowered himself to his knees
                                so that he sat lightly on her belly.
                   "I don't want you to have to dryclean your skirt," he said.  And he
                    unzipped it, slid it down her legs and put it over a chair.
                   She flinched as he quickly reached out of sight over her pillowed
             head.  His hand reappeared holding a bottle of massage oil.  He poured it
                onto his hands, rubbed them together and began to work them over her
               breasts.  The oil smelled like sandel wood and as he applied it to her
             body she felt stimulated, sensitized.  It was a wonderful feeling, the hot
               slippery oil on her breasts, on her belly, on her shoulders and neck.
                     She felt so calm, so relaxed from the massage and the warm sun
              through the window.  She revelled in the rush of sensation from his oily
               touch on her nipples.  He rolled them, squeezing them, gently spinning
                                     them free from his grasp.
                      "Good?" he sighed.  She barely nodded.  His palms flat on her
             breasts, he massaged them, the slippery contact electric through her skin,
             her breasts aching to be held, cupped, worshipped.  They needed attention,
              they needed to be relieved of thi s arousal which made them ache.  With
             his forefinger and thumb he gently flicked the nipples as though they were
             marbles, tiny drops of the scented oil flying each time his finger touched
               them.  He leaned his head down and drew the nipples between hi s lips,
             teasing them, letting them pop free.  He pulled them, sucking and licking
                            them and the puckered aureoles around them.
                   Pleasure built inside her, flowing from her breasts to her cunt and
             down through her tingling legs.  "Do you want to fuck me?" she asked.  She
             realized a second later that her next words were going to be, "But I don't
             want you to."   He simply shook his head "no" and rubbed her breasts in a
                                wide sensuous circle with his hands.
                   His right hand travelled downwards and he gently placed his fingers
             below her slit and drew them upwards, spreading the wetness and sending an
             electric shock through her body. Suddenly she wanted something inside her,
             a cock, even fingers assuag e the aching she now felt.  As he stroked the
                entrance to her sex, her pelvis arched off the floor in time to his
                                             stroking.
                  He coordinated the stroking with the sucking of her nipples.  Stroke!
                and he lifted his head, letting her left nipple release, her breast
              shivering, the nipple hard and erect.   Stroke! his finger teasing just
               inside, sliding up and past the clitoris.  Pop! he released the other
                                       nipple from his lips.
                   "I don't want to fuck you.  I just want you to feel good.  Think of
                 men's cocks and your cunt and your beautiful breasts and the warm
                                          afternoon sun."
                  His cock bulged beneath the black fabric.  Suddenly,  she wanted  him
              to touch it.  "Take off your underwear and show me your cock.  Touch it
              for me.  And I'll sit on your face.  And you'll make me cum.  But first,
                    touch yourself.  You can masturbate yourself, if you want."
                    He stood up and took off his underwear.  His cock was rigid.  He
                licked the palm of his hand and slowly began to masturbate for her,
             stroking his cock as he stood beside her.  His hand moved in slow strokes,
                 the cock pulsing with each rhythmic s troke of his hand.  She lay
              mesmerized.  His balls swinging slowly beneath the cock, the purple head
               getting larger and darker each time he stroked his hand up its length.
                     His face became tense with pleasure, his mouth open, his breath
             whistling hoarsely at the end of each stroke.  For a second he stopped and
              a tiny clear drop of fluid quivered on the tip of his bulging cock.  His
             legs were locked and Maryann saw the muscles of his thighs clenched, their
                                    shape hard beneath the skin.
                      Slowly, he resumed.  And as he worked, he began to move down,
              kneeling over her so that his cock was almost between her oiled breasts.
             "I'm going to make love to them, I'm going to make love to your beautiful
                                      breasts," he whispered.
                      And he put his cock between her shining breasts, the sunlight
             relfected by the oil and sweat that now covered them.  He took a breast in
               each hand and pressed them together around his cock.  And he began to
             slide himself between them, the oil an d sun blanketing them, the breasts
                 and cock and his hands a marvelous passionate focus of attention.
                  She arched her back so that her breasts were higher, so he could get
             his cock totally wrapped in her oiled breasts.  The unbidden thought, that
               what would feel best was his cock in her cunt, crossed her mind.  She
               turned her attention back to her breasts, to the slippery work of his
               cock, to his ass sliding on her stomach, the muscles hard beneath his
              weight, her breasts hot, the nipples pressing into his palms.  Again she
             thought of how it would feel to have his hot hardness slide slowly in and
              out of her sex, her insides sucking him up, taking his cock from him and
                                         making it her own.
                    He moved to hold her breasts in place with one hand, putting the
             other hand behind himself and between her legs.  With his finger he began
                                     to gently stroke her clit.
                  "Ohhh," she said, "ohhh, that feels good.  Put your fingers inside of
              me.  Please."  He moved them down and slid them inside of her.  He slid
             his hips forward and with the tip of his cock he teased her lips.  She put
             out her tongue and licked it .  He held it there while she slid her tongue
               around the tip, pursing her lips so she could take it between them and
             feel and taste the salty smooth skin.  He slid further forward and put his
                                         cock in her mouth.
                   However uncomfortable she may have felt an hour ago at that thought
             of his cock in her mouth, at this moment it felt good, a prelude to things
              he would do for her.  As she let her lips slide over him, she tasted the
                        oil from her breasts, slightl y bitter in her mouth.
                   He lightly touched her face, his fingers tracing the outline of her
                cheeks, her eyebrows and nose.  He ran his fingers through her hair,
                threading his fingers in it, pulling it lightly.  The pulling of her
             scalp, the massaging of her hair felt g ood.  With his fingers he touched
              her lips around his cock, he slid them over her lips, her saliva wet, a
                           drop sliding down her chin and onto her neck.
                  He pulled his cock from her mouth and moved off of her.   His strong
              hands lifted her and turned her so she was sitting up.  Sliding beneath
              her, he lay on his back and slid under her so she sat on his chest.  Her
               hands lay on the top of his head, the cuffs dangling through his hair.
                    He began to move his tongue slowly around her clit.  "Ohhh," she
               said, "ohhh, that's good.  Go slow."  As his tongue teased her clit he
             brought his hands around under her arms to fondle her breasts.  His chest
               felt oily and as he fucked her with his tongue she began to slide her
              forward and back on his chest.  Her ass on his oily chest felt slippery
              and warm and his hair tickled between her ass cheeks.  Now that she was
             sitting up she could see the top of the desk.  The books and papers wer e
                    scattered about.  "I'll have to pick up later," she thought.
                  Still eating her, he massaged her ass with one hand, kneading it and
              massaging the muscles deep inside.  Sliding his tongue in and out of her
             slit, he also began to press with his upper jaw on her pelvis.  She began
             to fuck his mouth, his tongue inside her cunt, darting over her clit, his
                          mouth pressing forward rhythmically against her.
                  With her arms in the cuffs she was unable to use her hands, unable to
                 do anything except pull his hair, pulling his head forward to her,
             pressing her cunt and hips and ass and pelvis into his mouth, her oily hot
                body fucking him.  She pressed her tits forward into his hands, her
                nipples standing hard and dimpled, her breasts sliding and shivering
             beneath his caresses.  He cupped her breasts in his hands, he pinched and
                                       squeezed her nipples.
                   For a time they loved, rhythmically making time stand still in her
              erotic pleasure.  His lips and tongue lead her down a path of contented
             pleasure.  After a time he stopped.  And gently moved out from under her.
                  There was contentment in the air, a peace, the silence of siesta time
              in the afternoon when all the world seems to be napping and the sound of
                         the random car passing by seems muted and faraway.
                    And in the background of this afternoon haze, a soft click darted
               through her reverie, followed by a gentle whine.  She half-opened her
                           eyes, but he had already turned away from her.
                  He gently moved her back from her sitting position, putting a pillow
             once again under her head, making her comfortable.  She felt as though she
              was at the beach, lying in the sun, having a dream, a fantasy brought on
                 by a hearty lunch and strong drink.  It felt wonderful lying there
              relaxing, her body langourous in the soft warmth of the carpet.  She was
                content to lie resting, her breats warm and heavy, her cunt wet and
                                              steamy.
                 And then, down in her warm, wet, well-tended cunt, she felt a touch, a
             pulsing, a soft singing on the wet lips.   For a second she thought it was
             him, that he had put his cock to her sex.  The thought only seemed mildly
              disturbing.   She decided she'd wait to stop him only if he tried to put
                it inside her.  But he slid it around the edge of her secret place,
                          teasing her, playing with the lips of her slit.
                    It felt somehow odd, somehow not quite what she expected of a hot
             thick cock.  The singing humming thing wasn't him, it wasn't a real cock.
                  The thought crept towards her, arriving she didn't know when, an
                 inconsequential thought as she lay sunbathing on the beach on this
                                        delightful vacation.
                   He moved it longways, and slid it slowly up and down, masturbating
             her, teasing her, pressing it for a moment against her clit, then sliding
             it downwards across the entrance to her passion-stained cunt.  She arched
             against its shivering warmth.  It was hot and big and it made her tingle,
              sending waves of excitement through her body.  She began to move against
                it, her body enraptured with the stroking hotness against her cunt.
                  He changed the angle and slid it into her.  She opened her legs, her
              legs pressing outwards, akimbo, to give the widest space for the blessed
              pulsing warmth.  He slid it in and out, in and out, making love to her,
               sometimes fast, sometimes slow.  He moved his face closer and with his
              tongue stroked her clitoris, at the same time loving her shivering cunt
              with the humming surrogate penis.  Rhythmically he ran his tongue around
               her clit, stimulating her, working her passion higher, moving in slow
               circles, building her towards her climax, the mysterious plastic penis
                                       keeping erotic tempo.
                   Her passion built and suddenly she was unable to control her body.
             Her pelvis arched up to meet every thrust of the vibrator, every circle of
             his expert tongue.  The tropical beach were she was lying suddenly became
             alive with men, populated with handsome naked men sporting erect penises,
              men lining up to serve her any way they could.  The sun gleamed from the
               penises as they worshipped her, their cocks saluting her, helping her,
                                   urging her on in her passion.
                   Time lost meaning.  In this secret place of fantasitic passion and
               excitement they moved together, he making love to her with his mouth,
              tongue and surrogate penis, making love to her in the golden heat of the
             afternoon sun, the room echoing dis tantly with muted love sounds, the air
                        passionate with tropical sexual enraptured silence.
                   Her face and torso were beautiful in the sunlight streaming through
              the window, madonna-like in their white purity, rosy and glistening with
                            her heightened state, her state of ecstasy.
                   Her breasts were gorgeous and heavenly, her nipples standing out in
              relief, casting tiny shadows across her breasts.  Her glistening stomach
              was outlined with muscle, her smooth-skinned legs knotted with love and
              passion.  Her thighs pressing to gether and apart, involuntarily keeping
               the rhythm of his loving.  Her toes dug into the carpet, pressing her
                          pelvis upwards in passionate embrace of the day.
                   Her body shivered uncontrollably, and she cried out.  "I'm coming.
              Oh, I'm coming!"  With one hand he stroked her breasts and nipples, and
              with the other, clutching a singing piece of white plastic, he made love
                                              to her.
                  She shook and arched and moaned.  Streams of colors flew through her
             vision, the sunlight falling across the two of them, a slash of warm gold
                bathing them as they achieved ultimate pleasure, ultimate emotional
             release.  And then she exploded, shivering and arching and pulsing and...
              And exploding.  The ecstasy lasted a year.  The ecstasy lasted a moment.
               Her spirit sang with joy, filled with emotino, with passion and love,
               and...  and...  Passion.  Silence came again.  An exhalation.  A sigh.
                                  And she lay warm and fulfilled.
                   A pause.  "I have a meeting at four," she said.  "What time is it?"
              Her voice quavered slightly.  Which was his pride as he moved to get her
                                             her skirt.
                                                 --
                                                  
                                                   
                                                  
                                                  
              
                                                  

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