bro glen….nvr mind la…..just go ahead……wet dream can be very enjoying and stimulating…….i long time no such dream liao
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Glen2712
Damn! I better not catch any sleep tonight, don’t want to have wet dreams…
Quote:
Originally Posted by
David_Ginola
bro glen….nvr mind la…..just go ahead……wet dream can be very enjoying and stimulating…….i long time no such dream liao
Quote:
Originally Posted by
Iron Maiden
This thread is incredible! So many to read, thanks
Quote:
Originally Posted by
yellowmilk
One of the most consistent and good read
Keep it up!!
Good Evening Guys !!! Since you guys likes the stories here , well let me post one for tonight - Title : Salem’s trial . Enjoy !!!
On my birthday, she wasn’t there…. Maybe she had a late day at work… But then she didn’t come home at all. Its been almost two years since I last saw Salem. My name is Justin Teller, I’m the greatest punk Guitarist for the best Punk Revival Band of our time… Fatal Flaw. I moved to The Big Apple in early 2000, I bummed around. Alot. For about a year. I took up a job as a Pizza Delivery boy, and then I saw her. It was the last delivery of my shift. I remember the order perfectly. Pepperoni, Pinapples. Lots and lots of Pinapples. “Make sure you get the damn order right, or I will cut the bollocks off the bloody bastard who delivers the Pizza! GET ME?!” She had such a sexy voice. So rugged, and then all at once a warming embrace you couldn’t help but admire. I knew immeadiately that I had to be with her.
I got into the car, Pizza in tow, just like she wanted it. I turned the CD player on, and played The Ramones. I switched it to “Poison Heart”. After a few minutes, I arrived at her apartment, 2021 5th street. She was on the second story, and her door was still decorated with the “Happy New Year” crap. She seemed to know when I’d arrived. “Give me the damn pizza and bugger off, Yank.” She was beautiful. “Man… you Brits are very… hmm. How to put it….conspicious…” I said, grinning. “Conspicious?? Are you mad? ‘ats not even word, Yank!” she said, poking my chest with her middle finger. “I know. But YOU are beautiful.” I said, partially awaiting the slap on my cheek. Instead I recieved a wink, giggle, and a slammed door. “Crap!” My chances were smote.
By that time, it was nearing 10:30. “SHIT A BRICK! I’M FUCKING LATE!” I exclaimed, as I was late to a show. I hurried to my car, sped to CBGB’s, and rushed in. “Justin. Where the fuck have you been?? The first band has already been on.” I proceeded to tell Kenny, my neigbor, the story of the sexy British bomb that I met a few minutes ago. “By the looks of it, you just met Salem. She’s a regular here.” He looked around abit, “Shit, there she is right now! Salem! HEY SALEM!” She didn’t hear Kenny, However she did notice me… “Yank!” and rushing over to me. In her eyes was the strangest look of compassion I’d ever seen. I’d say it looked more like lust. She reached me, and was pushed from behind. She began to fall, and I caught her, my hand accidentally catching her right breast. “Shit…! I’m–Sorry!” I apologized. She shook her head. “Go ahead, I get alot of it here. Afterall, I just LOVE to mosh!” she shouted, nearly jumping into the crowd. “…I have a very good feeling about this.” I said to myself.
I headed in the direction I saw her go off in. After a few minutes, I found her. I grabbed her from behind, hugging her. “HEY! Did ya miss me??” I laughed. She couldn’t help but laugh at my simple way of hitting on her. She knew it, as did I. We were destined to love each other. After the music was finished, and everyone was filling out of CBGB’s… I talked to the owner, Hilly, who I happened to know personally. I asked him if I, or rather, me and my new friend, could use the back room to chat. He said sure, and mixed us both some Vodka and Coke, on the house.
“So, Yank. You got a name?”
I smiled, looking into the sexiest Hazel eyes…
“Yea, its Justin. I am to assume you’re Salem, right?”
She smiled, looking at her drink, and sipping lightly.
“Yes, thats me. I do, you know….”
I was confused. What the hell did she mean?
“Huh..? You do… what?”
She looked up at me and winked.
“You like me?” I asked hopefully.
She answered with a kiss. A long, passionate kiss. I reached up, and pushed my hand through her dark-colored hair.. So soft, so smooth. She broke the kiss, but not for very long, for she immeadiatly placed her mouth on my lower lip, and sucked it in like a vaccuum. I broke the kiss once more, but immediatly placed my lips on hers, inserting toungue as needed, massaging her toungue with my own. It turned out she “needed” more. Alot more. I reached out with my left hand, and grasped her breast, kneading it firmly yet gently at the same time… This earned me a moan, and a firm grip on my groin… I stopped what I was doing….
“Shit… Hilly’s not gonna want jizz on the floor of his VIP room…” I said, sadness in my voice, for I had always had this fantasy about fucking someone in CBGB’s… or a church, just to piss the Priests off."
“Then… you don’t want me? Fine… Fuck you too!” she said, getting up to leave, anger in her voice…
It hit me… “Well…” I said, and grabbed her hand, making her fall ontop of me. “Maybe if you clean up for us….” I said, kissing her quickly on the cheek.
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She caught my meaning and wasn’t mad anymore… I snaked my hands up her shirt. “Oh, I forgot… I don’t want you…” I saw the anger in her eyes rise again, but before she could respond… “I need you…” and then I pulled her shirt off, kissing each breast. As I unclasped that Black Bra, I grabbed her back, and pushed her left tit into my mouth, suckling lightly. “Aaah…. God…” she gasped, pushing my face closer to her. I lead my right hand up to her head, arching it back, kissing lightly around her neck. Her moans of pleasure only stimulated me further. She basically ripped my favorite shirt… ‘Damn… Now I’ll have to throw it away…’ I thought. I moved my free hand over her panties, and rubbed the top of her mound lightly. She sighed, and buried her face in the nape of my neck.I rubbed her slit… up and down… Up…Down…. Up, down, up down…. Up-down-up-downUPDOWNUPDOWNUPDOWN… IN! I plunged two fingers into her wet slit. I could tell by her tightness that she was either a virgin or hadn’t had very much experience… Just the way every guy wants it. “Just… T-take me… Now.” she pleaded. I agreed with her… I was hard as a stone, and needed to relieve myself.
“Alright… How do you want it?” I asked, politely taking her panties off, leaving her completely nude… in a public place… “HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I WANT IT?? Like Punk Rock! HARD AND FAST!!” she shouted, with enthusiasm. I helped her up and positioned her leaning on the table. I took her hard, barely feeling something break. “AaauuuOhhhGODD!” she wailed in pain. She WAS a virgin. “Are you alright, Salem?” I said, bent over her, my chest touching her back. “Aah…Yea… Just…be gentle for a while…” she said quietly. I did as I was asked, and gently pounded her for all I was worth. Each penetration made her cry in pleasure… Pretty soon, she was moaning, groaning and grunting like a cat in heat. You ever hear a cat in heat? They are possibly the noisiest animals ever when in heat. Anyhow… She looked into my eyes, lust glazed in her eyes… “HARDER! FASTER!” she shouted, and bucked her hips back into mine. “You’re the boss.” I joked. With that, I slammed into her with such ferocity, she was flopping around like a marrionnette. “Oh! MMMYY!! GOODDDDDDDD!!!” She shouted, before crying in sexual ecstacy. That sent me over the edge. “OHHH!!!” I said, shooting my load deep in this sexy, petite little nineteen year old’s cunt.
As we cleaned up, and got dressed, we left for my car. Just before we left, Hilly shot me a congradulatory grin. “I’ll drive you to your house…” I said. “Alright…” she sighed, obviously a sigh of contentment. As we drove, I occasionally looked at her. She was definately the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I caught her staring at me too… I guess you could say that we both “knew”…
Right before I left her for the night, I asked her, “to be mine.” She replied back swiftly, “I am already yours, Justin.” she said sweetly.
Three weeks after that, Salem moved in with me. One month later, we were valentines together… four months later, we went to Miami for vacation and created a “Special Video” that I still have… I watch it some times, when I really miss her. Some times I don’t beat off. I just miss her face. Four months later, we went to a costume party as Bonnie and Clyde. I met some interesting guys there. They were awesome. Didn’t hit on Salem at all. Loved Punk Rock, and singing. Two months later, I formed a band with the guys. “The Renegades” later to become “Fatal Flaw”. Christmas day, I gave her a “Be my girlfriend until I ask you to marry me.” Ring.
Two years and 4 days later…
The last time I had seen her, we stayed in our special place and watched the sun set together. That was the night before she went missing. I first thought she was taking a break. She did that sometimes. But… only if I did something stupid. I couldn’t think of a single screw-up in the month of December. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months… By February we had practically EVERY Punk in the scene looking for Salem. A month later, a dude named Dennis McLeary had stopped in and caught one of our gigs. We were playing our tribute to Salem. “Salem’s Crucible” He was so moved, and impressed; not only by the lyrics, but also by the musical aptitude we had with Punk sound; that he signed us to Zion of Noiz Records. So, we began to bring our struggle to the Media.
Jake and Bryan, our Bassist and Rythmn Guitarist respectivly, called FOX and had an interview with Bill O’Rielley. A.J., the singer of our band, hit the Papers. Kenny, the drummer, contacted Amber Alert. And me? I pulled a Joey Ramone and furiously began pumping out tribute and love songs to my beloved. Infact, we named one of our albums “The English is Missing” and it was the lovechild of all those songs. Anyhow… it had been 3 months and most everybody had thrown in the towel… But not me. I missed her. Terribly. It was affecting me so much I turned to drugs. Marajuana was as much as I would ever do. But I drank like hell. Schaupps, Jimmy Beam..
I crawled into a wiskey bottle and have been there ever since… It is now October 21st of 2005. I have gone through rehab, and have killed my need for booze and drugs. Our band is touring once more. It kills me everytime I play those riffs. And shit… those interviews. “Justin! JUSTIN! Can you give us an update on Salem??” Or “JUSTIN! HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ABOUT SALEM??” there have been screaming girls who have said… “I want to be your new Salem!” so on and so forth. One problem…
There is no worthy replacement for MY Salem.
I have a show in a few minutes… “Gotta play that song, hear the reporters, the screaming fans… Shit. Here we go again.” I step on to the stage. Its official. I’ve become the Kurt Cobain of this generation. Except I won’t kill myself. Or do heroin. As I played… I kept having this vision of her, smiling at me in the crowd. I saw no one. No one but her. She was in the front row, smiling brightly. I snapped out of my vision… Looking to the space where she stood…
I stop playing. Drop my guitar… “Salem..?” she was there. In the crowd. She jumped up onto the stage and I swept her into my arms and hugged her tightly. Kenny stopped. They all stopped. “HOLY SHIT! FUCK ME! Its Salem??” he was just as mindfucked as I was. I heard several people saying things like “IT IS HER!” and such. There came a cheer from the crowd. I couldn’t finish this concert. I needed to just… be with her.
“Play for me, Yank.” she said, that sweet voice filling the air. We decided to do one last song. “She’s A Sensation, it is!” AJ shouted. “ONETWOTHREEFOUR!!” as I played, I didn’t play for that crowd.
I played for HER.
After the concert, the guys left me alone. Hell, the Reporters left me alone, and the girls were jealous. I missed her so much. We hugged for what seemed like hours. Then, I kissed her… It was as passionate as our first. Maybe more. I asked her why she had left me.. told her that I missed her. “An obsessive ex of mine… he was after me. I had to leave, to keep you safe.” I was scared. “I had him follow me straight to Scotland Yard. I knew that the US police couldn’t handle this fuck. Scotland Yard is the best Force out there, Yank. LAPD is just a bunch of children playing cops and robbers compared to them.” She paused… “Speaking of CHILDREN…” she said, quite seductively and pulled me down. “Lets make our own!” she growled primally.
But, that, my friends… is another story.
I had finally found the person I could share my sunset with…
A/N (PaganDude): Thank y’all for listening. This story was co-written by myself and my friend, Shatskater. We felt like writing a lovey dovey fiction. (Shatskater): Ya, thanks everybody, I just kinda wanted to try this out and, we put it together, ummm….oh ya…..if you would be kind enough please support, by going to
Serius Radio - Satellite Radio
and please fill out the petition. People are trying to shut it down, please….if you wont do it for us…..do it for Salem….Thank you.
The End !!!
To keep you all busy for awhile I’ve decided to post one last story for tonight - Tilte : Festival of Rome . Enjoy !!!
“Oh, to the heavens of the Gods, I love everything you do to me.”
Lucia halted in the narrow passageway before the peristyle, as much from the strange words of her slave as the grunts and sighs that floated from the depths of the garden. The peristyle was the smallest of three atriums and surrounded by the bathing room, kitchen and study was little travelled at that time of day.
“Aye, Cass, you are indeed a lusty wench, fit for a king’s sword.”
A shiver raced down Lucia’s spine at the husky praise. She leaned against the wall, not knowing whether to forge on along the columned passageway circling the garden or return the way she came. Soft sounds reached her ears, taunting her indecision with their loving urgency.
Lucia was not a complete innocent for all that she was the sheltered daughter of a wealthy banker. She knew her slave Cassia and her unknown lover were engaged in carnal acts reserved for the marriage bed. Acts that held an increasing forbidden curiosity to Lucia, who was soon to be betrothed.
To stay or go? Their loving was urgent, animalistic, teasing her imagination. Lucia softly placed her sandals on the mosaic tiles and peaked around a column, lured by temptation.
Lucia’s breath caught as she spied her erstwhile slave sitting on the marble rim of the rectangular pool that gathered rainwater. Her soft white legs were wrapped around a muscular man. His body pressed urgently against Cassia’s, the taut globes of his buttocks flexing, all the more fascinating to her golden eyes for their shocking strip of whiteness in such deep contrast to the tanned skin of the rest of his body. Cassia clutched at him with soft white arms, her Stola bunched about her waist and loosened about her full white breasts with their brown nipples. His large hand gripped her bleached hair the colour of the sun.
She felt an unfamiliar heat unfurl in the place where the man’s body moved urgently against Cassia’s. Was this what her husband would expect from her, Lucia wondered in shocked awe. She lightly pressed her hand there, feeling an answering throb. She gasped, drawing her hand swiftly from that secret place and looked about her for fear someone had discovered her licentiousness.
Heart racing, she slowly felt for the wall at her back and drew away from the shocking display before her. Lucia knew if her father discovered Cassia’s illicitness, Cassia would be sold. Despite the distance in their classes, Cassia was the closest to a confidante Lucia had. It was Lucia’s intention of asking her father for Cassia to be one of the slaves that made up her dowry. Would Cassia be happy without her lover?
As Lucia silently padded back the way she came, husky words carried to her above Cassia’s muffled screams. “Wait for me on the morrow, in the vineyards by the old well.”
Lucia all but ran to her cubicula and collapsed on her day bed, feeling feverish and strange and pondered what she had seen.
Envy and frustration were not easy bed mates. Lucia tossed and turned on her thin mattress, the leather straps creaking, and kicked the linens from her heated skin. Her dreams had been tormented by tanned hands sliding over her pale skin, leaving no inch untouched.
Soft sunlight filtered in through the slightly opened doors to the balcony, bringing with it the day of the festival in honour of Valentinus, of love and fertility. It was a day when toil was forgotten and wine ran free as the King’s push on morality and decency was loosened. Unattached men in loincloths raced through the cobbled streets blooded from sacrificed goats. Unbound women in white stolas and loose hair would dance and slap the hands of the men as they raced toward the vineyards. By honouring Valentinus of Tierni in this way, it was said the town’s pregnant women would deliver healthy babes and the belly’s of the barren would swell with seed.
Lucia knew her envy of Cassia was not in the least because she was forbidden to attend the festival or remain in the vineyard after dark. The days following the festival was always full of the secret whispers of her slaves, who would hush when she approached out fear of being sold by her father.
But the thoughts that raced through Lucia’s head, while indecent, were not impossible. Only the old or infirm would remain within the household during the festivities, and her father was far from home, negotiating her marriage contract in Rome.
Cassia was early, softly entering the chamber with a tray of fresh bread, cheese and honey and placing it on a table by the bed. Lucia ate her repast as Cassia opened the doors to the balconies overlooking the garden and straightened the sparsely furnished chamber, softly humming under her breath. Lucia watched her from beneath lowered lashes, envious of her fashionably blonde hair. Lucia was not permitted by her father to wear false hair or wigs or apply curling tongs, let alone dye her hair. Her long dark brown hair tumbled to her hips in thick waves that painfully corkscrewed at the end, neither fashionably straight or abundantly curled with tongs
Lucia was unusually solemn as Cassia fitted her feet with leather sandals and then draped her young body in a white stola, leaving one shoulder bare. The garment was edged in rich purple where it brushed the floor.
“Cassia…”
" Yes, my lady?"
“Are you…do you enjoy the festival?”
Cassia smiled as she tightened the stola about her lady’s tiny waist. Her lady was sweet and possessed the fragile beauty that demanded men lay down their lives to protect her. Or they would if they saw her, Cassia mused, but she feared Lucia will go from her father’s prison to a boorish old husband too old to please his young wife. It would not do to remind her mistress of the simple pleasures enjoyed by those surrounding her.
“It is pleasant, my lady.”
“And after?”
“After?”
Lucia swallowed, heat creeping over her face. “When the festival is at an end. Do you…do you return here or stay? At the vineyard I mean.”
“It depends.” On seeing her mistress’s unspoken question, she continued “It depends on whether it is worth remaining.”
“Oh.” Lucia mulled that over. “And this year, do you think you will remain?”
Cassia nodded, fussing over her mistresses locks and biting back a smile as her body clenched in anticipation.
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The shouts of laughter and merriment filled the air as half-naked men raced through the cobbled streets of the town. Goats and cattle with bells and ribbons tied to them roamed aimlessly, creating havoc in the crowded square and the streets that branched off from the heart of the town. Here and there sausages were roasted over open fires and skins of wine passed about.
Lucia moved unbidden amongst the throng of people, the hood of her green lacerna pulled protectively close around her face. Each step took her further and further from the safety of her domus.
The momentum of the people jostled her into the path of racing men. One man captured her hand, obviously spying the white dress beneath her cloak. She had laughed up into green eyes as his momentum dragged her a couple of steps in his path before she tried to tug her hand free. Her eyes widened in shock as warm lips pressed firmly against hers for a heartbeat before he once on his way again, his long legs striding over the cobbles before disappearing around the corner of the brick inn with its red tiled roof. The image of his broad muscular back and light blue loincloth was burned in her memory.
It was only as she moved among the people that she learned there was a prize. Hidden somewhere in the vineyard was the relic believed to be the toe of Valentinus of Terni. Whomever seized the velvet pouch containing the sacred relic would also find a silver coin from the coffers of the her father, enough to feed a large family for a two-month. The women in white would scatter through the vineyard, distracting the men from their task, for it was only the strongest of men that would ensure the town’s fertility.
As the gates of the vineyard appeared, so did too Lucia’s doubts. She should turn back, for the risk of discovery was now great. The chanting increased as the crowd swelled, and somehow Lucia found herself pushed closer and closer to the circle of women in white gathered beneath the gate’s arms. There were not more than twenty women, young and old. Some faces were familiar to her, but it was Cassia at their centre that posed the greatest risk to Lucia. As she turned, fighting against the buffer of the crowd, she felt her lacerna caught between the press of bodies and tugged from her hair and shoulders.
“Aye, here’s another,” someone shouted near her ear, and she felt hands pushing her towards the gathered women. Her lacerna slipped fully from her shoulders, and she tried to grasp it as it fell and almost tripped over it in the squeeze of the crowd. With little ceremony she felt herself shoved towards the gates.
The stirring in the crowd increased, and so too the shouts. With screams and shouts, the women raced into the vineyard, scattering widely. The crowd parted as the men pushed through. Lucia gazed wide eyed behind her in a split second of indecision. Stand still, and be trampled, or run and find freedom among the vines. Lucia ran.
Lucia was all too soon short of breath and lost. She stumbled through the vines, hearing unseen men and women thrash about her, laughter and shrieks filling her ears. She twisted and turned, spying a flash of white skirt or bare leg here and there.
She had lost all sense of direction and was unable to spy the township. The vines on the wooden trellises rose high above her head, heavy with ripe fruit. The juicy globes were the livelihood of the township, making a heady mulsum wine with hints of cinnamon and thyme.
Lucia shrieked when arms wrapped about her waist from behind, lifting her off her feet. She squirmed and struggled breathlessly, shocked and angry at being held so intimately by a stranger, and a half naked one at that.
She was tumbled over a shoulder, her hair brushing the tops of his sandals. The blood rushed to her head, from the angle and not being so close to glistening male skin. Her struggles only earned her a large hand on her bottom holding her firm.
She didn’t, couldn’t speak. Ignorance held her tongue. She didn’t know what his intentions were, or where he was taking her. Was this somehow part of the festival rites? Perhaps Lucia should have asked Cassia more about the “after”, on a half laugh, half sob.
After what seemed an age, when the distant cries of men and women could no longer be heard, he eased her to her feet before him. Her chin was tucked against her chest, her hair a tumble about her flushed face. Her hands rested shyly against his hips for balance as her trembling legs threatened to collapse beneath her.
Lucia had never been alone with a man before, and had rarely conversed with one in her father’s or brother’s presence. This man, from what she knew of him, was tall and well defined, her head barely reaching his broad shoulders. And he smelt of laurel, soap and something uniquely masculine.
Fingers tangled in the thick rivers of her mane, gently pushing them back over her shoulders and smoothing it down her trembling back.
“Are you a maiden yet?” he asked her, his voice gentle. Lucia nodded, her forehead bumping against his chest. Still she was unable to look upon the fierce warrior that had captured her. For she knew the finely hewn body was not from working in the fields or the vineyard. And Lucia guessed it was only a warrior that carried a dagger tucked into his sandals. Was she to be his prize?
She felt lips press against the crown of her head, the side of her neck, her bared shoulder. Green eyes imposed themselves on her memory, and it was curiosity that finally gave her the courage to lift her chin.
He gazed down at her with familiar deep green eyes, triumphant, prideful, but with a tenderness that made her ache in her forbidden place.
Palms caught her chin, and his head lowered. His lips were firm against her hesitant ones, slow and seeking. Lucia forgot to breathe at first, her lashes fluttering shut. The vineyard and the celebrations were forgotten as her whole being concentrated on the lips caressing hers, the warm breath feathering over her skin, the scent and feel of him beneath her fingers.
A stolen kiss in her father’s vineyard would not matter. He was a stranger to her, she would never have cause to see him again. He believed her to be a slave or a plebeian. The fluttering heat he caused between her legs would never be discovered by her future husband. When his tongue probed between her lips, she moaned softly at this unexpected invasion. No wonder Cassia gave naught to the thought of a man lifting her stola while on an errand from her mistress.
Cool air against the flushed skin between her breasts and belly was the only warning Lucia was given before a large hand was sliding beneath the linen of her stola. Lucia gasped as it settled above her belly, a thumb resting against the under swell of her breast.
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Lucia felt heady and giddy, his strength and maleness surrounding her, consuming her as his tongue languidly stroked and teased hers. Somehow her arms had found their way around his waist, drawing him tightly to her as she kissed him the way he had shown her.
His thumb make distracting circles against the softness of her breast, soft, teasing, until finally his hand captured the fullness of her breast and pressed against the budding nipple.
Scared, excited, Lucia pulled back, struggling free of his arms. Before she could set her clothes to right she stumbled on the purple edged hem. She saw his arms reach for her and instinctively pushed them away even as she fell to land hard on her bottom at his feet.
Lucia dragged the edges of her stola together, fearing the sight she must have presented him. She saw the smile tug at his lips and frowned. His smile widened, and he held out a hand to her. She tucked her hand in his and he helped her to her feet, where she promptly presented him with her stiff back. Lucia had to resist the temptation to stamp her foot on his.
“Does not the race to discover the prize hidden with Valintinus’s toe challenge you, sir?” She managed and she straightened her stola as much as she could without her slave’s assistance.
“She speaks,” he murmured, his front pressing to her back as heavy arms settled about her waist. Lucia imagined she could feel every ridge and dip of his loincloth pressed against the small of her back. She tried to wiggle from his grasp, but he would not be surprised a second time. “No prize matches the one I hold in my arms.”
“You would have your way with me?” Fear and excitement clawed at her belly. But she knew it could not be. Fingers slid down to cup her between the thighs through the soft linen, and her eyes shot wide open, her heart racing.
“I would show you the way of loving a man, yes.”
“I - no.” Her head fell back against his chest as his fingers moved, stoking the sensitised flesh between her thighs. Her breasts rose and fell as she struggled to breathe, to think.
“You are promised to another?”
“N-no.” Not yet.
“You love another man?” his voice was dangerously soft.
Lucia shook her head, unable to answer as he teased and tormented a tiny ridge of flesh between her thighs that made it impossible not to writhe against him. Her skin felt tight and pleasure danced between her thighs. She knew she should feel shame at the wetness dampening the cloth, but the demands of her neglected body were overpowering.
“Then there is no impediment to our loving.”
“I must …I can’t give you my maidenhead.”
His fingers eased from her body and she whimpered in distress. He eased her about, his hands on her shoulders as he gazed down at her with intent green eyes.
“I will not take anything you do not freely give. Tell me of your wish to halt and I will heed your command.”
She gazed at him for what seemed an age, her lips swollen, her face flushed, the crowns of her breasts tight and aching. And between her legs, there was incredible need for something only he could give her and end this torment he had wrought.
He promised not to take that final barrier. He was a stranger to her, yet she knew she could entrust him with her maidenhead. He had done nothing to frighten her, his touch gentle yet firm. At her shy nod, a glimmer of what seemed like relief passed across his handsome visage before his head lowered and he sealed their bargain with a soft kiss. Yet she feared her torment will only grow unabated before this madness was ended.
When he kneeled before her on the dirt path and his hands captured her ankles bound with their leather ties, her brows raised in curiosity. “I do not have a blanket on which to lay us down and partake of each other at leisure,” he murmured, his hands sliding up over the backs of her calves to tickle her knees beneath her stola. When his hands slid higher sliding between her quivering thighs, her heart began to thunder in her chest. A moan escaped her when fingers teased the line of her lips with a dusting of curls their only protection. Her hands found his shoulders as her legs were eased apart. Nothing could have prepared her for the touch of flesh against flesh at the juncture of her thighs. Her head dropped back, her lashes lowered against the fading glow of the setting sun.
The fingers explored her, coaxing, teasing, stroking. Everything faded but what was happening there. When something firm and damp settled there, delving between her lips to probe the heart of her, Lucia had never felt anything like it. And wondered only for an instant how anything so good could ever be considered indecent before her body flowered with pleasure. Her body arched, a drumming between her thighs, yet still his tongue wedged itself into her tight entrance pushing her further. Two more times his fingers and mouth impelled her over that before unknown crest, until finally she collapsed in his lap, her thighs straddling his, her mouth pressing absent kisses against his throat.
He eased the stola from her body, revealing her fully to his heated gaze. “You are exquisite, so fragile and perfect,” he murmured, his large hand sliding up over her thigh and belly to mould her breast. He guided the crown to his mouth while his fingers teased its mate, pinching and rolling the rosy tip.
His other hand drew hers between their bodies, beneath the cloth swathing his loins. He groaned when her fingers found the hard length of him, wrapping around him as she marvelled at his girth. Was this what Cassia’s lover pressed against her, making her scream so?
She felt herself lifted for a fraction of time as he hastily drew the blue cloth from him. Then there was no inhibiting her curious exploration. He throbbed against her thigh, her fingers trailing up the surprising length of him.
“How is it you fit against a woman?” she whispered, staring down at him in awe. It was huge and beautiful in an ugly way. And by the way it jerked in response to her touch while the rest of him remained tense and still, it seemed to have a will of its own.
“Here,” he seemed to croak, the tips of two fingers pressing between her spread thighs. “A man enters his woman here, filling her. Her body’s wetness lets him know she enjoys his touch and eases his way deep inside her.”
There was no denying this stranger possessed a powerful allure. What he said filled her with an undeniable desire to feel exactly what he described. Yet she could not allow that final trespass, as much as her body ached to have him fill her. “And does my body tell you I enjoy your touch?” she whispered, stroking and squeezing him.
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“Yes. Incredibly so. And it pleases me greatly.”
Lucia smiled a secret feminine smile. He shifted her, and she found the imposing length of him nestled along her vulnerable cleft. Her body clenched, her body’s pleasure coating him. His hand held her hip firm as he began to glide along her damp cleft with tantalizing deliberateness. “A man slides in and out of his woman, deep, shallow, hard, fast.”
She clung to his shoulders, her breathing ragged. Something her mother had said, when she was younger, teased at her. “Does it hurt a woman?”
“Only the first time, and then only briefly. A woman’s maidenhead is pierced by the man as he enters her, then he fills her deeply and she stretches to accommodate him. If her lover has prepared her, making sure she is slick and damp when he comes into her, then the pain is lessened.”
“Oh.” About every third or forth torturous glide, as if by chance, the tip of him thrust up and a different angle, pushing at her body where his fingers had rested until her body’s natural resistance halted him, then eased back.
“If a man…his first time, does it hurt?”
“Only his pride, if he and his lover are not careful. A man always wishes to impress his lover, yet his control may not be as he hoped.”
“Has a lover ever told you that it…you…”
“Weren’t impressive?”
She nodded, just as the crown of him probed her entrance. He rested there, his breathing harsh, his muscles strained beneath the dig of her fingers. His hands slid down to squeeze and mould the creamy mounds of her bottom.
“It is different for men then it is for women. A woman never fails to impress because she is inexperienced in loving a man. So long as a woman is passionate and willing, she has nothing to fear that her lover will find her wanting. Tell me your name.”
She answered his command without thinking. “Lucia.”
“Lucia,” he husked, and a shiver stole down her spine. “Lucia, let me come inside your warmth. Let me show you what it is to take a man inside of you for the first time, to love your sweet body. Let me give you pleasure.”
She moaned as a finger found the sweet nub between her thighs, lightly stroking her. Her body clenched and unclenched at emptiness, the feel him lodged at her entrance an aching reminder of all that she could have. His words returned to her. He would take nothing freely offered. Indecisiveness warred within her when there should have been none.
His mouth captured hers in a possessive kiss. Her body yearned that he fill that emptiness that he had created, to bring an end to this sweet torment. She knew then that she could not leave him without knowing, without once having him.
“I give myself fully to you,” she whispered, and his eyes closed for brief moments before opening and gazing down at hers with a startling intensity that made her body tremble.
He kissed the valley between her breasts, the hollow of her throat, her lips. “I will worship you, sweet Lucia. There will be no regrets.”
He flexed slightly, butting the barrier that stood between them. The pressure of his hand on the small of her back eased her hips forward, her nipples rubbing against the dusting of black hairs on his chest as she steadied herself against him. His hands settled over her hips, his mouth on hers. He began to slide up inside her and she gasped at the sharp pinch of her maidenhead. He whispered intelligible words as he stole further into her melting warmth, his hardness forcing her innocence to yield to his possession.
“Push down on me,” he encouraged, his hands on her hips showing her how as he pressed on. Even though there was a tender soreness as he slid impossibly deep, there was no denying the incredible sensation of two bodies joining. His mouth was unrelenting on hers, kissing her as he came to rest fully inside of her.
She burned beneath his intense regard, the heavy beat of his heart racing hers. It felt incredible to be held in his arms, to have him pulsing within her. The breeze lightly stirred the silken hair against her damp back as she knelt astride her golden warrior, his tongue tangling with hers. Her body felt complete without ever having lacked.
He began to rock against her, creating eddying thrills that drove away the languid heat as a renewed urgency struck her. She whimpered against his mouth, his hands on her hips guiding her as she lifted and plunged to meet the intoxicating thrusts.
She felt stretched beyond bearing every time he drove deep, her nails digging into his shoulders. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, her back arched, her hips rolling as her body took his all.
His hands moved possessively over her young body, sliding down over her belly to discover the glistening bud. His fingers massaged her, dragging husky moans from her. Her whole being was focused on the heat between her thighs, the driving hardness that slid impossibly deep as she rode him. His groans mingled with her cries as the intensity of sensation reached fever pitch.
Her body felt needy and tingly as she opened to his surging thrusts, writhing and wriggling on the full gloriousness of him. He was impossibly thick and hard, banishing all thoughts except of him and every wicked thing he was doing to her eager body.
Her whimpering moans turned to gasping cries, moisture trembling on her lashes as she struggled with the overpowering sensations tore through her. It was too much, too intense.
She clenched around him as ripples of pleasure stormed through her, a soundless cry escaping her. His fingers caught her chin, his gaze locked on hers as her body reached its zenith. “Lucia, sweet Lucia,” he groaned, surging deep over and over as fire consumed her. She clung to him, her nails raking down his back. His thrusts became more jerky, faster, his groans reverberating in his chest. Then he was bucking inside her silken tightness, his hot seed pouring forth into her welcoming heat.
She collapsed against his chest, unable, unwilling to move. His heart thundered against her ear, his chest glistening with sweat. Arms wrapped about her tightly, holding her close. Lips pressed against her forehead, her hair.
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When the night cooled, he tugged the stola about her body and nestled her sideways on his lap as he leaned back against a wooden trellis. She lay quietly nestled in his arms beneath the stars, not wanting these stolen moments to end.
~*~
Hadrian gathered Lucia in his arms and lifted her, her delightful shoulders and knees left bare by the hazard stola. He gazed down at her serene face, framed by the tumble of silky brown waves. The dark crescents of her lashes rested against her creamy skin touched with gold, her soft peachy lips slightly parted. The portrait he had been presented with did her little justice. It pleased him to know he would be the only one to see her thus, tired and satiated from his loving.
Guided by the moon and his tracks, he made his way back toward the township and his waiting horse. Lucia only stirred twice, and quickly settled with gentle kisses.
Perhaps she would be angry upon first learning of his deception. He had come to this town for a purpose, and by chance had found himself dragged into the festivities by the locals at the inn. He had done so only because he thought tongues loosened by wine would garner him more honest words than otherwise. He had discovered what he sought of this lady and more, much more. He had found her by chance, and some small part of him wondered if fate or Valentinus of Terni was responsible for what followed. The time for recriminations, if any, would be tomorrow. He had promised her no regrets, and he held none.
He skirted the ribald revelry for the most part, and unbidden in the darkness he guided his horse to her domus.
~*~
Lucia was drawn awake by the opening of doors to the atrium. Sunlight flooded the room, lighting up the blue and gold mosaics tiles decorating the walls of her cubicula.
“Wake up, Mistress. The master is here and demands your presence in the tablinum.”
Confused at finding herself in her own cubiculis, Lucia sat up. And winced at the slight tenderness her body expressed. What had she done? And what did her father know of it? Lucia searched her memories, and did vaguely recall a horse and the shouts of revellers but nothing to explain how she now lay naked in her bed.
With Cassia’s help, she donned a simple stola and her hair was coiled on top of her head. Cassia made no comments about the dirt on her knees or the soft bruises on her hips. Not long later Lucia presented herself in her father’s study. When her father was absent it was used as a passageway, the doors pushed wide to allow light from the inner courtyard.
Her father gazed up from paperwork littering the table before him. “I have signed your wedding contract this morning.” Lucia knew she would have no choice in a husband. Marriages were for political or financial alliances. She would become a freewoman, free from the control of her father. She would be able to own her own property, run her own household. A marriage offered her many advantages.
Lucia felt her chest tighten and the skin on the back of her neck prickle. It wasn’t unexpected. She knew the purpose for which her father travelled to Rome. Yet memories of her warrior intruded and she struggled to deal with this news. Her new husband would divorce her on discovering her lack of virtue. Her family would become the target of gossip. No regrets, he had told her, and Lucia knew she would struggle to hold onto this promise in the days to come.
Movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to the opposite door. A tall man, his toga revealing broad shoulders filled the entrance. Lucia’s breath caught even before she met unreadable green eyes, her own golden ones wide.
“I am Hadrien Graccius.” He moved toward her and caught her unresisting hand between his, a shocking reminder of the race yesterday. She felt him slip a ring on her finger, and only later would she recognise the possessive of the act. “Many believe a bridal ring is connected to the heart of its wearer.”
Her warrior was her intended? Unanswered questions raced through her head. Yet the presence of her father stilled her voice.
Hadrien’s grip tugged her closer, his head lowering until his mouth rested against her ear. “It pleases me that Valentinus favours our match,” he whispered.
No regrets he had promised. Joy flooded her. Lucia smiled, lifting his hand to her lips and pressing them against his golden skin. Valentinus indeed.
The End !!!
Good Night To All And Sweet Dreams !!!
Cognac
The hotel was the most extravagant yet for the annual party a group of Simon’s associates held. I knew a few wives, and did my best to mingle while Simon played the “must” politics. It did not take long to complete the rounds and run out of familiar faces. I looked for Simon, but saw he was involved in conversation and so I decided to find a safer harbor to bide my time.
As I slowly made my way to the grand bar at the back of the ballroom, the tall blond bartender caught my eye. He looked a bit younger, and more attractive than anyone has a right to be. The real killer was that lop-sided grin; the one that makes a woman’s knees go weak. It was impossible not to return a smile and acknowledge the impact of his silent flattery.
With a polite greeting, I named my drink, something stronger than my usual, something more appropriate for such a…tedious occasion. The bartender stared back for a moment, the edge of his cocky smile lifting, deepening the crease of his suntanned cheek before he turned his back to pour. I found myself sizing himup, the stylish cut of his hair, the broad shoulders in the short white jacket of his uniform, the hard buttocks that filled the seat of those black, perfectly creased slacks so well. When I looked up I realized he had been watching my bold perusal in the mirror. This time he gave me a more seductive grin. Embarrassed, I feigned a cough and looked away.
“What’s your poison?”
Startled by the voice, I turned. The speaker was a saucy, voluptuous brunette with pouty lips and a pair of gorgeous, expressive brown eyes. I placed her age somewhere between the charming bartender’s and mine. She wore little makeup, and her short layered hair was carelessly tousled. Her dress, her informal manner, all indicated a distinct earthiness. And when she did not fabricate a smile, I took it as further evidence of her easy casualness, her total lack of pretense. I had no doubt we could be friends.
“Cognac,” I answered, meeting her gaze.
“Same,” she informed the bartender, her glance falling below his waist briefly before she returned her attention to me. “Meg. My name is Meg.”
“Hello, Meg. I’m Bella.”
“Great party, isn’t it?”
The question sounded tentative, a gauge. When I sent her my best get-serious look, she chuckled, sounding relieved at not having received the standard polite bullshit.
“Are you staying here, at the hotel tonight?”
“Only way Simon can get me to attend these socials.”
She laughed, with one of those sexy throaty laughs that melt men.
Before either of us could say more, the bartender set her drink down on the counter then casually, leaned on his elbow with all the confidence in the world. He looked from me to Meg, his lascivious thoughts no secret. His glance inched to her full breasts, swelled high in her strapless black gown. Who could blame him; carnality exuded from the woman, and there was no lack of want there either.
When Meg, unruffled by his boldness, continued to sip her Cognac, the bartender made a small sound of desire then returned his attention to me. Gone was the previously playful smile, replaced by a candid expression of pure lust.
When a guest broke the sexually charged atmosphere, I became aware of the hot moisture our silent but intense exchange had generated, and shifted for comfort in suddenly dampened panties.
“Yeah, me too,” Meg announced in a soft voice.
Discomfited by the frank and unexpected admission, I cleared my throat and took another sip of cognac.
Meg studied me through slanted eyes, then really floored me with her next comment. “Bella? Let’s fuck.”
I stood frozen, mouth agape, mind racing to distinguish fact from imagination before I was able to force my eyes to blink and collect my wits. Slowly absorbing her advance, I allowed her candor to encourage mine. When I met her eyes, it was with equal forthrightness, and we established an understanding.
“Are you here by yourself?” I asked as an afterthought.
“I am now. My brother’s date showed up after all.”
I turned and searched the room. Simon was speaking to a squat, balding man but his gaze was fixed upon me. We made eye contact, then his glance moved to Meg.
“Is that your husband? Not bad,” she remarked.
Now that the course had been set I was simply too aroused and too anxious to dally. “Let’s go,” I said decisively when she continued to regard Simon with a calculating expression.
Meg shot me a rapturous look, and then quickly downed her drink.
We had only taken a few steps when, as if prompted by an unspoken signal, we paused as one and turned for a last look. The sexy bartender was wiping a wineglass but we seemed to still hold his undivided attention. He squinted in return, a hedonistic squint combined with regret. Meg and I sighed simultaneously, like a couple of lovesick teens, then turned and left with shared reluctance.
As she led the way out of the ballroom, my focus remained on her voluptuous bottom, quivering underneath the jersey fabric of her formal with each step she took. More hot steam pooled between my legs and I hastened my stride.
We rode the elevator in silence, oblivious of the elderly couple who had followed us in. Meg stared at my shapely leg, visible up to the upper thigh through the long frontal slit of my evening gown. As for me, I shared the bartender’s appetite for her heaving breasts. By seconds, the moistened gusset of my panties was growing more uncomfortable.
I let Meg enter the room first. Just as I shut the door, we reached for each other, hungrily, without the usual formalities between two strangers. Driven by lust, there was no feminine gentility when our mouths parted and our tongues began an urgent, passionate acquaintance.
As we kissed, we tugged at clothes anxiously. Meg snapped open my bra, and we separated, both pulling at the straps to rid me of the restraining undergarment. My eyes fell on her curvaceous body wrapped in black corset and lace-top stockings. Her large erect nipples, popped over the half cups, looked ripe enough to make my mouth water. Mesmerized, I licked my lips and swallowed before I started to drool.
Meg literally shoved me onto the bed with a growl then came down herself. “Your skin is so soft, so creamy,” she murmured, anxiously caressing my arms, chest, tummy while her glance took a slow tour down the length of my long legs. Turning back abruptly, her eyes locked on mine and without preamble, she shoved an elegant finger deep into my flaming center.
“Aaahhh,” I sighed and raised my hips high to greet her.
“That feel good?” she asked, and covered my mouth with hers. Her tongue blasted through my parted lips in a mission of invasion. She took as liberally as I gave, and offered the same in return. All the while, my body pushed and churned on her comforting hand.
I moaned my loss when Meg tore her mouth away to posture herself for a more significant seizure. Welcoming the pain of passion, I clenched her hair and encouraged her hungry assault on my breasts.
“Delicious,” she cooed as she switched from one insistent nipple to the other.
I squeezed the breast she was suckling. It encouraged her to work harder. “So you like sucking tit, hmmm?” I teased.
With her lips pursed tightly around my taut peak, she could do little but moan.
“Me too,” I agreed and, unable to resist any longer, reached for one of her heavy succulent mounds, only to have my hand pushed away.
“You’ll get your turn,” she teased and slid lower. “I want to taste your pussy.”
The sound of the door opening gave us only a momentary pause. “What took you so long?” I questioned when Simon entered.
“You know business, hon,” he answered, removing his tuxedo jacket.
Meg turned her head, but kindly kept her finger buried. She regarded Simon, one thick eyebrow arched with interest.
After the introductions, Simon removed his shoes and stretched out by my side. “Did I miss much?”
“A lot more to…cum,” I replied.
He chuckled and gave me an affectionate kiss.
“So, Meg, what’s a nice girl like you doing in my bed?”
Meg gave him a brazen once over, then leaned across me. “Getting a good lay, I hope.”
“You got it, baby,” Simon promised and took that edible pouty mouth of hers with his. While he kissed her, Meg did not neglect me, her slender finger burrowing even deeper into the heat and humidity it worked to promote.
Releasing Meg, Simon asked, “What did I interrupt?”
“I was just about to taste Bella’s pussy.”
“Then let me help.”
He spread my delicate nether lips, gently, wide, using thumb and forefinger. Together, they stared long and hard at my vulnerable clit while it cried for attention. Then Simon’s heavy tongue came down and took a single slow lick, leaving me quivering.
“Mmm, that there is pure honey, Meg.”
Meg shot him a glance then dipped her head and snatched my swollen nub between velvet lips. My body responded instantly, welcoming the impatiently longed-for onslaught.
Simon’s eyes remained on my writhing form as he first removed his bow tie then eased my legs wider apart. Meg accepted the invitation and carefully moved to lie in the “V” he had provided, her finger never slipping out of my honeyed nest in the process. I, in turn, bent my knees deeper around her and provided her with a more splayed access.
Settled, with her warm breath fanning my pubic hairs in a pleasant distraction, she extracted her buried finger. Before I could feel its absence, a soothing plump tongue slipped in to take its place, intoxicating me. I took Meg’s head in both hands and pushed my crotch to her face. She held nothing back, huffing and slurping as she reached farther and farther into my depths. It was heaven.
I cried deliriously when she next removed the essence of my pleasure, that nimble tongue of hers. Then cried again when she filled me with two fingers in its stead. And when she took my greedy clit once more, I became lost in the climb toward nirvana.
Simon pinched my nipple, forcing me to arch my back, to offer him more. “Cum,” he ordered, his dark eyes demanding the pleasure of seeing me in ecstasy.
My heart pounding with love, I submitted, to my needs and to his command, breathing his name just as the little death arrived to make its exalted claim.
I flowed with soft screams, fighting to keep my eyes open. Meg pushed her fingers in deeper, her mouth firming on my little nub, her sucking relentless. Simon watched proudly, victoriously, as my body bucked and churned in its attempt to cram Meg into my cunt.
In the end, it was his pleasure that brought me the greater contentment.
* * *