"Darling," said Linda, "I think you're more than ready. Mind you, I'm getting pretty hot, I guess we'll have to let Mark choose which cunt he wants first."
Mark was nervous, "oh... what? I g.." Gloria cut him off, "-It'll be our secret honey, just don't disappoint us...." She said.
Linda slowly pulled down her panties and joined Gloria on the bed. She began to finger her pussy, "Gloria," gasped Linda, "you know how much I love your finger action, but I think we both need some of Mark's cock first."
They both watched with anticipating eyes for Mark to drop his shorts. In the closet, Katelyn and Paula were recording with two camera's. "Go on! We don't have all day honey! Show her what I saw today!" Gloria teased.
Mark knew that Linda would be disappointed. "Go on honey! Show me that cock!" Linda teased. As Mark slid his shorts down, he felt his balls tighten together..... He tried desperately to hold back but he was so turned on, nothing could stop him. Hot spunk gushed from his cock before he'd even managed to get his shorts off.
He'd sprayed himself with his own semen, all over his stomach and chest. "argh!" The girls couldn't believe it, neither of them had ever seen anything like this. Mark pulled his shorts up before anyone could see his cock; but surely this was way more humiliating than 'being small'.
"I, I'm sorry," he gasped, feeling his face redden almost instantly.
"Oh my god," laughed Linda
Almost suddenly all the girls jumped out of the closet in laughter. "Surprise pin-dick!" Kaylynn shouted. Mark yelped in embarrassment and terror, they were recording this! "Talk about self control!" Paula added.
"You'll probably die a virgin! No girl wants a tiny dick-ed midget who cums at the very thought of pussy!" Gloria said. The girls continued to laugh at his expense for several minutes. Mark was on the verge of tears, "aww! Poor little limp-dick is about to cry," Linda said.
With that, the girls jumped him and removed his shorts anyway. He had major 'nervous-dick'. It had literally disappeared. The girls moved in with their cameras, recording his utter humiliation. Linda and Gloria were laughing the hardest.
"Your ego has shrunk! Shrunk!" Gloria said as she laughed harder and harder. With that, the girls had decided to make his humiliation complete and completely destroy his confidence and for all.
With her lipstick, Gloria wrote on his chest "I HAVE A TINY DICK-LET". The girls continued to laugh, Mark was defenseless, unable to move.
"We own you honey, from now on you are our little slave.... If you don't play ball, everybody you know will see what we saw tonight" Gloria said.
Through his tears Mark asked, "Why?"
"Because I'm bored and this is fun, little man" Linda said.
The End.
Alone
it's not a new sensation for her. Lately her husband has been working every possible hour nights to earn more money. To get ahead. What this means to her is that he is gone off to work by the time she gets home with only a curt text message saying he let the dogs out.
But lately, this being alone has turned into a jagged stone in her belly, a sandbag in her head. Too heavy to bear. Since moving to the country she has no one familiar with whom to visit, commiserate, only her dogs. She has taken to traveling the country roads for hours on end. Mindlessly searching for something, anything that would give that feeling of connection, belonging, and love.
In her travels she discovered a little used fishing area in a forest preserve running along a river. Every now and then there will be fisherman there, but they go to the river for fish, not to visit with a woman alone with her thoughts. For the last three nights, since discovering it, she has been drawn there, to the solitude of the suspension bridge over the farm culvert that leads to the trail to the river.
On her second visit she invited her husband to join her when he sent a text on his night off. But he was off on his motorcycle and enjoying himself. Alone again, she sat in the middle of the bridge and sipped her beer. Enjoying the swing and sway as the fisherman came and went, but wishing for arms around her, lips to brush her neck.
On her third visit, a very dark evening with the promise of heavy storms, she sat as usual on the bridge, drank her beer and smoked her cigarettes, a new habit to deaden the weight of loneliness. As the storm built, she was alone, no fisherman ventured out to this secluded place. She thought of the building pressure in herself, the emptiness of not having someone to hold her, scold her for being morose, love her. She placed her hands above her head on the cable and felt the yearning for the stretch of her muscles, a sudden desire to be tied to the cable. Possessed by a lover who would fill this need. When the beer was gone and the storm breaking both around her and in her, she lay back on the bridge and ran her hands over her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. Feeling the rain falling down on her trying, wishing it would wash away the need. But the tension in the air only added to the tension in her body. Each crash of thunder, only made her body quicken, desiring now the contact of any type, she slipped off her shorts and began to caress herself. Knowing, and not caring, that no one would venture out and find her. Feeling the warmth of her lips, the wetness of her need. She fantasized about a lover who would tie her to this very bridge and take her. Stretch her desire and take what he wanted. She rubbed furiously at her clit and lips, every now and then plunging her fingers into her empty, waiting vagina for more moisture, to quench her need. The orgasm, when it came was a relief of some of her tension, but was empty. There was no lover to hold her, caressing her body whispering his pleasure in her ear.
On her fourth trip to the river she gave into the pull of the water and stripped away her clothes, her inhibitions, waded into the moonlit water and floated in the arms of her imaginary lover. Her breasts floated on the water like two white orbs, to match the moon in the sky. She reached up and played with her nipples, imagining once again that the emptiness could be filled, that the hands on her breasts were that of the man she loved. Rolling over and diving into the depths, she felt engulfed by the warm water, completely in tune with the needs of her body.
Floating free on the river, her mind given over to need and desire, again she began to stroke herself, floating weightless she attempted to bring that harmony, that weightless release of sweet orgasm as she rubbed and fondled herself. The tension built, and ebbed like the gentle waves of the river. A lover teasing her to distraction. Finally in one last explosive push she burst with ecstasy into that realm of peace, floating above herself. Her need, for now, assuaged.
She climbed back out of the river, collected her clothes and stood naked, drip drying on the bridge. Still alone, but with her secret lover, the river, no longer quite so lonely, knowing it would be there to fill and surround her again, when the emptiness became to unbearable.
The End.
Bodyguard
Burgeonie, spoke quietly with Silvonia.
"Silvy, do you ever look at your Guard?"
Her friend looked confused.
The two noblewomen were having a light lunch together in the sanctity of Burgeonie's fortified mansion. Burgeonie, at least, was confined to the house for the entire day by necessity. Her Bodyguard, Baynor, had his day of leave. And Silvy's Guard had gone with him. And the two Noblewomen friends had arranged to spend the day together in their Warriors' absence.
Burgeonie was required to allow Baynor to leave whenever he requested absence, to serve his needs, but she didn't mind. It gave her the chance to speak of something forbidden with her best friend. Something to do with him.
Burgeonie could talk of him now only because Baynor was with the Warrior Whores, having his needs satisfied by many women, as was custom for the Warrior kind.
Silvy looked perplexed, wondering what Burgeonie was getting at.
"Well, no. I have never looked. But it's forbidden for them to look at us. So I just assumed always I did right by the Warriors to not look at them."
Burgeonie blushed, not knowing quite how to broach this delicate subject with her friend. She tried a different
angle.
"Have you not ever watched yours while he bathes? As he sleeps? When you take a lover to bed?" Burgeonie stared hard at Silvy, willing her to understand what she feared she could not simply say.
"Burgeonie, their beliefs and their code are sacred. I am ever grateful my Warrior protects me. I respect his way of life. Why do you ask?"
Burgeonie sighed. She'd have to come out and say it. She believed she could trust her oldest friend not to speak of it to anyone else, but still, old habits die hard and they were taught from birth to keep the classes segregated, in life, in deed, in word and in thought. The Warrior class, of all classes, believed in this code with all their strength and heart. It helped them to focus so they could do their jobs.
Taking a deep breath, Burgeonie just plunged straight in.
"I... My Guard is beautiful," she spoke, softly, reverently. "When we met, I saw the most lovely man I have ever seen. But apart from that, I saw something else, felt and heard something. In his eyes, there was such hunger. In his voice, such buried yearning. I think that he loves me."
Silvonia was openly shocked, her mouth hanging open wide.
"Tell me details," she smiled, betraying her own secret curiosity of the strict Warrior men.
Burgeonie looked pained, as if what she spoke of was so sacred, that to utter words would be to sully it.
But finally, she said, "I was so struck by his beauty and the discordance of longing in his soul, that I peeked while we bathed."
Silvonia's brows hit the roof.
"Oh, Silvy. His body is poetry in motion, his muscles are sculpted like an angel, powerful and perfect. His face reflects the beauty of Heaven above. And... I looked at his manhood."
Silvonia gasped.
"Tell me of the Warrior's sword. Oh I'm dying to know. I've heard such stories."
Burgeonie rolled her eyes at her friend, but secretly she was greatly relieved to be able to confide in her.
Burgeonie swallowed, closing her eyes as she remembered the sight of her Warrior's naked body and penis. Her body fluttered involuntarily, responding to the memory of glimpsing her own virile example of masculine power.
"It is magnificent. It hangs the length of my forearm, as thick around as my wrist. His sac is heavy, like plums. The cap of his weapon is sleek, like a helmet. And... I have seen it in readiness."
Silvonia's eyes lit up.
"Tell me all of it, in detail."
Burgeonie worried at her lower lip with her teeth.
"Well, when it is engorged, its color blushes to deep pink. It grows in size and stiffens, stretching up high and bowing when he walks. Dewy beads of fluid seeped from its slit. While we bathed, when he thought I was not looking, I saw him grip the shaft in his fist and rub it."
Burgeonie demonstrated the graceful pumping motion of primal male self-pleasure.
"He realized it not, but he groaned aloud. Ohh, the sound! It made me wet for him."
"I can imagine. Tell me, have you taken a lover to bed with Baynor?"
Silvy referred to the rule that the Warrior's charges may not ever be left alone, unguarded, not even during intimate couplings.
"Yes. Just once. Baynor looked pained with emotion and his tool bulged in his breeches. Silvy, would it be terribly wrong to ease him? I want to feel his maleness. I want to satisfy my warrior."
----
The warmth of the water seeped into Baynor's muscles.
He didn't feel aches or pains really but the heat was soothing anyway, and Burgeonie desperately needed the bath to get warm.
He had placed her in the hot pool after carefully removing her clothes, averting his eyes the whole time.
Bodyguards did not mean anything to their Charges, as the law was taught. Guards were there for protection only. And so Baynor pushed aside his own desire to protect his beautiful Charge from the chill of Death himself.
When he'd removed his own clothes and slipped into the large hot bath pool beside her, it was business only. Be near your Charge at all times. Those were the rules.
So he lay on his side facing Burgeonie and tried to enjoy the bath as he waited for her to awaken.
In the four years since he'd been pledged to protect her, he'd been naked with her many times, in bed with her many times, and not one stray thought, not one furtive glance, and definitely no inappropriate touch. That was the code.
He'd been diligent in all aspects of his job. Except one.
Bodyguards were not supposed to care for their Charges.
And he hadn't before. His previous Charges were all business arrangements. He hardly remembered what they looked like, so much he'd avoided looking at them, as was proper.
You don't get emotionally involved. It throws off your instincts and skills. And besides, the Charge should feel like they are always alone.
He'd been in bedrooms dozens of times while his Charges had sexual intercourse, as part of the furniture, though he could hear the liquid sounds of sex, the grunts and groans of fucking, smell the musky scent.
He'd been in showers while they bathed, bathing himself. Ignored by the Charge and ignoring.
But not Burgeonie.
When he'd accepted the post, the only time he was permitted to speak with and closely look at his Charge, he'd met her and had been astonished. She was so tiny, so fragile, gamine and fey in her pale-haired, pale-skinned beauty, so different from his darkness. He'd immediately worried about her, a cardinal rule already broken.
He should have rescinded his post straight away, by the laws, but he didn't. He couldn't. He had to protect her. It was a need in him so strong it couldn't be overruled. He would devotedly sacrifice his considerably large muscles and bones, happily siphon off his lifeblood, in the course of discharging his duty. He would die for Burgeonie. He cared that much.
In the world of Warriors, it was expected of them to die for their Charges, but the death was clean, dispassionate, a strategy employed to tactical advantage. Not because you loved the Noblewoman. The emotion itself could cause massive errors in judgment, get the Charge killed and instead of the Guard. It was utterly forbidden.
But Baynor didn't care. His heart was taken and his fate was sealed the moment he laid eyes on her.
Burgeonie lay facing him, unconscious and shivering.
She'd been attacked today, for her jewels, and had gotten caught in the snow as Baynor dispatched the assailant in a violent rage.
She had been freezing, had fallen faint. In a panic, he'd carried her to the nearest bathhouse to warm her up.
And here they were.
Burgeonie's skin was so soft where he'd had to touch it to move her, undress her, so soft and pale. His big warrior body had betrayed him and gotten hard, his penis punching erect and throbbing.
He'd have to go visit a Warrior Whore soon, maybe straight after. He needed to ejaculate and that's what the Whores were for, to keep Bodyguards and Warriors, burdened with insatiable appetites, on a level.
Their bodies were carnal engines, huge and strong, and the visits to the Whores were the few times Bodyguards ever left their Charges. But Baynor hated that he had to do it, to sully his own body with women he knew not and cared not for. He wished he could sate his desires with Burgeonie, with his love.
But the notion was ridiculous. Burgeonie cared as much for him as the bed she slept on, the food she ate. Which is to say, not at all.
Baynor blamed her not, it was how all were raised.
He tried to suppress his pulsating cock while placing her in the pool and had managed only somewhat. His dick was at half-mast but if he avoided touching it, the erection would eventually go limp.
Still. He really wanted to fist it, pump it off until his come spurted everywhere. Inwardly he swore. He'd waited too long again to see the Whores.
He closed his eyes, blocking at least his view of her naked skin, and tried to brand this experience, this closeness with Burgeonie, as commonplace, routine.
Bodyguards did not actually watch their Charges. They
averted their eyes, scanning the area around the Charge, relying on superior hearing to alert them, and offering a modicum of visual privacy.
But did the Charges avert their eyes also? Baynor wondered how many of his Charges had watched him undress, watched his muscles flex as he moved, watched his massive cock and heavy balls as they swung between his thighs.
He supposed they had every right to, never mind what they were taught. It wasn't really against the rules for a Charge, more a matter of decorum. And the Bodyguard's body belonged to the Charge. So he had no real reason for modesty.
With his eyes still closed, he heard Burgeonie move, felt the water tumbling under its surface. What he did not expect was warm flesh, wrapping around his huge naked frame.
His eyes opened and he nearly jerked out of the water. Burgeonie had nestled into him for comfort, folding her graceful arms around his waist and his neck, nudging her knee between legs, rubbing up against him.
He tried to shut her out, close his eyes again, clamp down on his instincts. But it was impossible, his blood was boiling, making him sex-starved.
"Baynor," she said, her voice still high and musical like bells, but strained from her ordeal. "You saved me."
Ohhh, God.
Her hips touched his cock and it ripped into readiness, hard as diamond. Her skin kept grazing the sensitive head, sending waves of pleasure through his body.
Oh no.
She had to feel his full mast. How could she miss it?
"Hold me, please, my beautiful Warrior," she said softly. "Please."
Her tone was desperate, pleading. He could no more deny her than turn the Earth in the opposite direction.
Baynor wrapped his arms around her tiny frame, and her breasts brushed his nipples, slid across his pecs.
"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.
He lay with her in the heat, his instincts screaming to push his dick into her wet hole, and even with a Warrior's discipline, he barely controlled himself.
The Rougher Explicit Collection of Stories Box Set Compilation Page 85
