I’ll be sure to let you know how it all pans out.
An Unknown Force
by Eva Hore
It was dark and deadly quiet in the little cabin that I’d rented for the weekend. Apart from the rustling of leaves, as the wind ripped them from their branches to scatter over the porch, and the trickling of water as it gently cascaded over rocks that joined into the creek, it was exactly what I’d wanted. Peace and tranquillity, no phones, no neighbours, nothing to do but sit and relax. I was coming to terms with the break-up of my marriage.
Bone tired, I closed the door behind me and headed out to explore. The lounge had an open fire and a comfortable suite, the kitchen looked quite trendy with all modern appliances and the bathroom was gleaming, the scented towels thick and luxurious, the spa inviting.
The bedroom was quaint compared to the rest of the cabin, decked out in old fashion furniture, a four poster bed with mosquito netting draped over fluffed up pillows and duvet gave it a mystical feel and I wondered who else had slept in this bed and why.
‘Probably someone on their honeymoon,’ I muttered to myself as I checked the bed linen was fresh.
Packing away the few things I’d brought with me I set about lighting the fire in the hearth and some candles. I was too tired to enjoy the spa, so donned my nightie and opened a bottle of wine.
I lay back to enjoy the isolation and ponder my future. The wind whistled and a distant boom of thunder promised rain was on its way. I was onto my third glass and had just reached over to pick it up when an icy chill ran down my spine and the temperature in the room dropped.
Frightened and alarmed, I quickly scanned the room. Nothing! I slipped out of bed checking the doors and windows. They were all locked. A few splats of heavy rain hit the old tin roof, probably what caused the temperature to drop. Shrugging off my nervousness I settled back into bed, snuggling in further and, as I did, the candles began to flicker, casting long shadows across the walls, almost going out before they glowed again.
I knew I’d locked the windows and the doors were definitely secured, so why would the candles be flickering? There wasn’t a draft anywhere. That uneasiness returned and I tried hard to fight down a panic attack.
A weight pressing down on the duvet frightening me. I gasped and half-screamed out, pulling the duvet right up to my chin as though to ward it off. It lifted but I had the distinct impression it settled at the foot of the bed. It happened so quickly I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it or not. I reached over and downed my drink, laughing nervously.
I don’t usually sleep with candles lit but now I was too scared to blow them out. Burrowing back down, I closed my eyes and unexpectedly the duvet began to levitate. I yanked it back, tucking it around me and closed my eyes tightly. I didn’t want to see anything. I was so frightened. Something tugged, I pulled back.
It kept tugging, yanking furiously. It would let go, then all of a sudden it would stop. I’d relax my grip slightly and then it would again try to wrench it from me. I don’t know how long this went on, I lost track of time. It was playing with me, that was obvious. Finally, fear gave way to curiosity and I allowed the duvet to be torn from me and watched it thrown into a corner of the room.
I lay there breathing hard. My eyes searching every inch of the room for something, some sort of vision, a being, a hint of what was in this room with me. The word poltergeist, and that horror movie from years ago, the one with the girl whose head spun around, filled my mind.
Seconds ticked by, then minutes. I was beginning to think it had gone. I wondered what it was thinking, what it wanted from me and was beginning to think it had gone and went to sit up, but I was pushed back, not by fingers but by a cold puff of air.
Now my nightie was being inched up my thigh, very slowly, so slowly that my eyes were riveted to it, trying to see how this was possible. An icy trail ran over my flesh, causing goosebumps to form over my skin wherever it touched. I held my breath as it circled my breasts. I hadn’t realised I was holding my breath and suddenly, as two cold hands grabbed at me, I screamed. Something descended over my lips, forcing my mouth to open while a cold tongue snaked in and slithered inside.
I was breathing hard, frightened yet exhilarated. This was the most incredible sensation. I tried to relax as the hands roamed over my body leaving goosebumps wherever they went.
A tugging at my ankles as it tried to pull my legs apart had me struggling at first but it was too determined, so in the end I allowed it all to happen. Hands were roaming over my pubic hair, then down over my slit. I shuddered with longing as my flaps were pulled apart and icy fingers explored me.
I licked my lips enjoying the icy touch. My own hands went to my breasts and I massaged them as I squirmed on the bed but then they were slapped away, pulled up and tied with something to the bed head. I tugged, trying to free myself, frightened at being in this vulnerable position.
There was movement between my thighs and something hard probed my lips.
I peered out of the slits in my eyes wanting to see this thing, this being that was ravishing my body, but nothing was there. I opened my legs wider and thought I heard a chuckle as fingers stretched my lips wide open.
I wiggled deeper into the bed, titillated, no longer frightened, now enjoying this erotic encounter. A cock or something like one was inching its way inside me. I opened my eyes wide, searching the room for some indication to what this thing was. I could see nothing but felt everything.
I gasped with desire when my nightie was ripped from my body as hands roamed all over me while something pushed and shoved its way inside my hot pussy. I thrust back up into it, loving it, moaning with pleasure as a mouth descended cruelly upon me and icy lips covered my face.
Now I was bucking back into it, my arms straining while my legs encircled nothing but were able to hold up against this invisible force. It was fucking amazing. It slammed into me over and over and I came and came, nearly delirious with pleasure and then, just as quick as it came, it released me and disappeared.
It left me alone and just vanished. I lay there staring up at the ceiling hoping it would come back, but it didn’t. Pulling the duvet over my battered body I eventually fell into a restless sleep.
The next morning I woke tired and exhausted. My body displaying all the signs of a good fucking. I ran the bath and eased my sore and aching body into the warm scented water. I was thrilled when soapy hands covered me, caressing, washing and exploring my body. I lay back, opened my legs to enjoy the best bath I’ve had in years.
Rising, a towel enveloped me and busily began to dry me. The fear from last night left me and inquisitiveness and eagerness took over. Wanting desperately to see this thing that entered me last night I searched my handbag and came up with a condom.
I jumped back onto the bed, ripped open the package and left it lying on the pillow. It lifted into the air, stretched it open and rolled it down the biggest shaft I’ve ever seen. This cock was massive. No it was bigger than that, bigger than John Holmes, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen.
And all I could see was the cock.
My eyes opened wide as it inched itself inside me.
‘Oh yeah,’ I breathed, as he began to fuck me rhythmically.
Hands slapped at my thighs as I reached out and pulled him to me. I lifted my legs, encircling his waist as he fucked me mercilessly. Then he rolled me over, pulled me up by the hips so I was in the doggy position and slammed straight back into my pussy.
It was fucking awesome.
Desperate to please this apparition I pushed him away from me and lunged towards his cock. Trying hard I managed to swallow half of him, he was so huge that I honestly thought my mouth would split as I began to suck him off.
I groped around and felt his icy balls. Cupping them in my hand I squeezed gently at first and then a bit harder. He seemed to like that. His hands held my head as he pumped himself into my mouth.
I felt him stiffen and then I was gagging as he thrust himself deep i
nto my mouth. Finally he withdrew this monstrous cock and I could see by the end of the condom that he must have shot gallons of semen in there as the condom was stretched a further four inches. I pulled it off him and threw it on the floor.
Suddenly my bag was opened and condoms were being ripped out of their packets. Dozens of cocks appeared around me and as hands held my legs and arms open I was fucked continually in every position imaginable.
I’ve never in my life experienced anything that could compare to this. Every orifice was sucked, fucked and licked.
My favourite was sitting astride one, his cock high in my pussy, while another ravished my hole. Then another was ramming a cock in my mouth while hands pinched and pulled at my nipples. I’ve never come so much in my life and let’s face it, it was certainly the safest sex I’ve ever had.
No STD’s from these guys I can tell you.
I spent three days there, being fucked in every position imaginable and only God knows by who. I left exhausted but sated and promised them I’d be back soon, very soon.
Devils And Angels
by Fransiska Sherwood
‘Nice machine.’ I finger the chrome fender, my head cocked saucily to one side.
Its owner stares, unable to believe such audacity.
He’s one of those ageing Easy Rider types – about fifty, at a guess. The bike’s a vintage Harley.
‘Go play someplace else, little girl,’ he growls in a voice that’s deep and gravelly, and smacks of wind, weather, axle grease and sex.
‘Only trying to be friendly,’ I reply.
‘I don’t need any friends.’ He turns his back on me with a frown.
‘Hmm.’ I smile to myself. This isn’t going to be as simple as I thought. But he’s the only way I can see of getting away from here right now.
He swaggers off to pay for his tank-full, the leather tassels that hang off him at every seam swaying like a cat-o’-nine-tails as he goes. Like the bike, the gear’s all authentic – right down to the pot helmet and spurs on his boots.
I wait to see if anyone else pulls up at the pumps. They don’t. It’s a sleepy little place. The kind of town you pass through on your way to somewhere better. A place that bores me rigid.
I watch the grumpy old sod drink a coffee inside before he returns. An ambling bear – more grizzly than teddy – but there’s something cuddly about him, nevertheless.
‘You still here?’
‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’
His whiskers twitch. A sweeping moustache of grey that cascades over his mouth, concealing an involuntary smirk.
‘Trying to cadge a ride?’
I give my sweetest smile, and throw back my head. ‘Thanks. I’d love to.’
He scowls, flicks his ponytail aside and reties his neckerchief. ‘Ever ridden anything like this before?’
If he only knew what kind of guys I’ve been for rides with.
‘Reckon I’m just out of nappies, do you?’ For a last-ditch attempt to win him over, it maybe wasn’t the best of lines.
He begins to strap on his helmet, eyeing me as he does so. There’s a definite spark of interest in that look. Blonde might just be his type. But then he swings his leg over the saddle and my heart sinks. I guess you can’t wind everybody round your little finger.
He pulls on a pair of gloves with flared cuffs. And then, to my amazement, retrieves a helmet from one of the black leather saddlebags. He tosses it to me. I catch it and flash him a grin. One he returns with a hint of annoyance.
He watches as I shake back my hair and put on the helmet.
Maybe he’s not such a lone wolf as he likes to make out. And not so bad, either. If you’re into raw hide and whiskers. As he grips the handlebars, arms outstretched, I’m reminded of Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda, decades earlier. Cult figures to a whole generation. The very symbols of freedom.
I climb onto the seat behind him.
‘Wanna go any place particular?’ he asks over his shoulder.
‘Just out into the country.’
Anywhere away from here and its stifling, middle-class tedium.
I zip up my red leather jacket, thanking the skies above there was an autumn chill in the air today and I’m wearing stiletto ankle boots and jeans, not something flimsy. All designer labels, deliberately worn cheap.
He kick-starts the engine and gives it some throttle, playing with the throaty roar a few times before letting it carry us away.
I slip my hands round his hips and huddle close to him, the biting tang of leather stinging my nostrils and transporting me to a forgotten land of road movies and westerns. Even if these weekend Hell’s Angels often turn out to be doctors or lawyers.
When we get out into the open he really lets the machine rip, tearing up the tarmac with a deafening rumble.
His earlier question was valid – riding a Harley is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if a swarm of hornets are trapped beneath my seat, getting angrier and angrier the faster we go. A buzzing underneath me that soon starts to invade my flesh; first of all a mere tingling in my bottom that grows to a hum and works itself up through my sex, threatening to drive me insane.
I curse the responsiveness of my body. I can do without this just now. Although at other times I crave the pangs of want that shoot through me.
I push myself hard onto the saddle, close up against his pelvis. ‘I’ve got to stop. My bum’s gone numb,’ I shout into his ear. Although numbness is the last sensation I’m experiencing right now.
He glances back at me and I note the tell-tale, crow’s-foot creases of a smile.
We cruise down an allée lined with old chestnuts, their leafy canopy making a green tunnel of the road. My flesh is now purring along with the engine.
At the next opportunity we pull into a field gateway, spraying pebbles into the grass. I swing my leg over the saddle with relief, wondering just how much of this very particular tickling I could have withstood before I keeled off the bike.
‘Backside need a pummelling, does it?’ he asks as we take off our helmets. Above the neckerchief, still pulled up over his nose, his eyes twinkle at me, crinkled at the corners by a stealthy grin I can’t see. He may have seemed like a surly old codger at first, but he’s got a wicked streak, if I can trust my intuition.
I flutter my eyelashes. ‘Ooh, that would be nice!’
Still wearing the gloves, he flexes his fingers and wiggles them a bit. But from the sudden serious look on his face I realise he’s not clowning. And we both know my exclamation of mock pleasure wasn’t purely pretend.
I look into his eyes. Hazel eyes that I now notice are speckled with flecks of yellow. Like some animal’s. An animal I could befriend, or something dangerous?
I hesitate for a moment, wondering if this is wise, but knowing that I’m a sucker for an older man and any kind of adventure. Then I turn and offer him my bottom, enticingly neat in the tight jeans.
He kneels down behind me, and a frisson of excitement ripples through me. I could be in for something special.
Clad in the leather gloves, he starts to knead the cheeks of my bottom, working the flesh with expert hands, moulding it with firm, practised movements, a few exploratory strokes coming excruciatingly close to the aching lips of my sex.
‘That hard enough for you?’
‘Just right.’ And it’s doing things to me worse than those induced by the bike.
I hear him give a throaty hum in return, before he continues the treatment. Is he enjoying this as much as I am?
Yet after a while this pleasure no longer does enough for me. I’m craving something more.
‘Let’s pretend I’ve been a naughty girl, and it’s your job to deliver my punishment,’ I say.
I look to see if his whiskers twitch. They do, and the corners of his eyes crease up, too. Much to my satisfaction.
‘If I’m to know how severe the punishment is to be, I need to know what the crime was.’
I begin to wonder if he is in
deed a lawyer. But it really doesn’t matter if he’s going to take me up on the game.
‘I’m a repeat offender – all the wrong kind of boyfriends. And I don’t regret a thing. I’m in need of some hard disciplining, so don’t be too lenient.’
He gives his throaty laugh. ‘I’d say you deserve a good leathering.’
I smile. Just the verdict I was hoping for.
He takes off the gloves and strikes me on the bottom.
‘Too soft,’ I say, ‘I can hardly feel a thing through my jeans.’
‘We can soon put that right – if you really want to.’
Do I really want to? You bet I do.
I undo the zip to my jeans and pull them down, receiving a smack on one cheek the moment it peeks from beneath my string tanga.
But this spank was only a playful one. A mere foretaste of what’s to come. A little starter to test my willingness.
‘Harder!’ I say.
And harder I get. My skin sings as if it’s just been stung. And he does it again and again, until my flesh is just one big, red-hot tingle.
‘Like that, do you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ I moan.
‘Then you really are a very naughty girl.’
It’s not long before a leather finger strays between the folds of my sex and the string of lace. I don’t protest – quite the contrary – so he starts to rub and caress me, then seeks out the nub of my clitoris and winds little circles round it, while the other hand saucily clasps the cheek of my bottom.
Then, without warning, he pushes his way into me, his finger like a leather cock massaging my inner walls. I gasp with surprise and delight.
Soon spasms are shooting through my cervix more urgently than ever before. Pulsating contractions he can surely feel.
‘Punishment fit the crime?’
‘Oh yes.’
A tingling wave of pleasure now floods my body, more furious than that released by the angry swarm of hornets under my seat. A climax so violent and sudden it leaves me reeling in its wake.
Whip Me Page 12
