Meanwhile, she stroked me to maximum rigidity, and guided me into her very core. We merged. She lifted one leg over one of my arms, and I took her cheeks in my hands, letting her relax her full weight onto her pussy for maximum stimulation. We slow danced – me slowly driving into her, lifting her off the ground by her pussy at the crest of my stroke, her relaxing into me at the trough, over and over and over in an agonizingly wonderful bump and grind. She was biting her lips, now lifting, now sinking, her head lolling this way and that as she dissolved into me. She opened her eyes for a moment and I whispered to her one word “Now”
Now is a simple word with a deep meaning. For us, in our intimate familiarity, our knowledge of each other’s ways and wants, now had a special meaning. Now was the time to culminate all the preparation, the weeks of anticipation, the hours of titillation. Now was the nexus of this drama that we had staged and were playing out there between the land and the sea. Now. She knew.
She let go of me and leaned back, looking me in the eye, watching for the expressions she knew well, but that still remain a mystery to me. Meeting each agonizing thrust, she rocked back and forth like a ship rolling on the waves. She lifted her hands to her shoulders, and began slowly pushing her wrap aside until gravity took over and it fell to the ground. She grasped The Dress, already bundled into a ring between her breasts and shoulders, and, giving me a little look that said here we go, lifted it over her head and let it, too, fall to the ground.
It was an electric moment as she stood there looking like Botticelli’s Venus, in total nudity, total sexuality, impaling herself on and being impaled by my cock, waves crashing into the rocks as waves of passion overtook us. The sensations of being stripped totally bare and taken in this wonderfully open place quickly became too much for her; despite the cold that had hardened her nipples into rocks she lost touch with anything but the fire that welled up within her. She took me again by the neck and threw her other leg over my other arm, literally mounting me, her only connection to this world being my grip on her thighs and the repeated pounding of her loins against mine.
She bucked up and down as if in one moment struggling to escape and, in the next, disintegrating into submission. Over and over in ethereal agony. Unrelenting, unforgiving, unconceding. Her loss of control infected me, and I soon felt a warmth that grew in intensity with every heave and thrust like a bellows blowing blast after blast of life-giving air, warming the dull ember to a brilliant red and then suddenly into open flame. The warmth within me suddenly turned to fire and I pumped blast after blast of come deep into her, driving her from passion’s trance into spasms of resolution, tensing her every muscle, sending her clawing the air, gasping guttural animal-like cries over the pounding of the surf.
She lay atop me, legs over my arms, arms over my shoulders, head down, quaking, shaking, without the strength or control for voluntary movement. I took us down slowly, continuing a slow and gentle rhythmic penetration that eased us back into the world, the world of thoughts and consciousness.
Another day, we would have stayed in that moment for the duration of passion, savoring the going as we savored the coming; but the cold proved too much for us and we soon had to make our way to real shelter and real warmth.
I eased her down to the ground and she slowly shifted her weight off of her cunt and onto her feet, disengaging from me. She took a deep breath, and with one body-racking shiver was suddenly possessed by the chilling cold that in our passion we had managed to ignore. Another shiver shook her frame as she looked about for The Dress and her wrap. Since her first priority was to warm up, and The Dress would not help much in this regard, she just picked up The Dress without putting it on. Instead, she placed her wrap about her and urged me to get her to the warmth of the car a.s.a.p.
We made our way back and I saw that her wrap didn’t cover her adequately. I said that she should probably put The Dress back on, for decorum’s sake. She cared little for conventionality at this point, being more concerned about getting warm.
We made our way over the rocks, back to the parking area. Two surfer-looking guys arrived in a VW van, parked next to the trail head, where we’d have to pass. They were cracking open a couple of beers, tailgating on the little seawall, using parking lights for illumination. We had to walk right by them, and I found myself ill-advisedly muttering, “See?”
Ashley was too cold to care by this time and just grabbed my hand harder, saying, “Let’s just go!”
We continued walking gingerly up the rocks, me in my tuxedo, she in heels and a wrap. She had one hand in mine for support and the other, holding The Dress, was stretched out to her other side for balance, leaving her wrap wide open, giving our two spectators a full-frontal view of her body. There was no way to be inconspicuous in passing, so we walked causally by, exchanging “hi’s” and “good evenings”. Once on the solid, flat ground of the parking lot, she let go of me and clutched her wrap shut, folding her arms over her chest; she strode determinedly towards our car, looking just a little bit steamed.
I must’ve given her one of those I-told-you-so looks; by the time we got to the car and I unlocked her door, she seethed “Okay, I’ll put it on. You happy, now?”
She took off her wrap and laid it over the open door, standing naked on the public street for a few moments as she fumbled with The Dress and shimmied back into it. She put her wrap back on and said sharply, “Now, let’s get this heater back on!”
The whole interlude at the beach had not taken long enough for the engine to cool down much, so very soon the car was toasty and Ashley relaxed. She apologized. She said, “I’m sorry ... I just got too cold!”
I said, “Yeah, it was pretty chilly.”
“Nice to be here, now,” she said of the car.
“We’ll have to come back some time,” I said.
“In the summer,” she said, and laughed.
I laughed too.
An hour passed by the time we completed the drive home and prepared to sleep for the night. I was still riding high from the whole evening’s experience; rather than get into my nightclothes, I placed them by my pillow and remained naked, readying myself for bed. I slipped under the covers, not particularly conscious of sex; as we warmed each other under the covers, Ashley took my cock in her hand, much as she had there on the beach, giving me the sweetest, slow, soft caresses with her slender fingers – and brought me to full erection. She gave me a little peck on the lips, then slid down the bed, pausing here and there to plant a kiss on my chest and another on my stomach. She snuggled in close, lying on her side, and after a few introductory kisses and licks, took my cock into her mouth.
Oral sex was not easy for her; for oral sex to be comfortable, penetration of her mouth had to remain relatively shallow. Sometimes, as my own spasms racked my frame, this line was crossed accidentally, sending her gagging and retching. She would simulate a deeper penetration by sliding her hands along my cock in sync with her sucking, and this was what she was doing now.
We were both feeling pretty easy, relaxing in the glow of a truly remarkable night together, with the aura of our beach-front lovemaking still above us. It was almost as if we’d picked up where we left off when the cold had overwhelmed. I’d been easing us back from our climax by continuing my penetrations in a very slow and gentle mode, rhythmically caressing her from within, just as I might stroke her cheek from without; it was that kind of motion we settled into.
She lay still with her hands about the basal half of my cock as I slowly executed shallow penetrations into her mouth. We often did this rather vigorously, in what might crudely be called a face-fuck. She seemed to be expecting this, and was gripping me somewhat tightly with both hands and mouth as she usually did on these occasions. I was in a much more pliable mood, and asked her to ease and relax. She did, and in a few minutes became sufficiently relaxed that she shifted position and lay her hands behind me, caressing the cleft of my ass, letting her mouth do all the work. Her mouth relaxed, too, and I noticed a subtl
e and unfamiliar change.
It’s funny how two people can know each other so well that such a subtlety can be detected. It was there. I knew her mouth. I knew her style. I knew her way of forming a pocket to receive me, and knew its shape and depth. It was different. As I continued my slow and steady probing, the nature of this change took shape in my mind, and I realized she was relaxing the blind end of that pocket, inviting me to penetrate her deeply. I did so cautiously, only the smallest fraction of a millimeter with each stroke, until I filled out this new, elongated pocket, really only a speck of an inch longer than the old one. But my cock knew the difference; it knew where her teeth came to rest on each stroke, and it knew this was new turf.
The changes continued. Again, I detected the boundary of this pocket receding shrewdly, and it seemed to subside more this time than before. Once I was sure, I again let my stroke elongate to meet it, and my consciousness was overtaken by an altogether new sensation that it took some time to shape in my mind. As the image came together, I dared not believe it, but as I continued the agonizingly slow penetrations, I knew it to be real; she had relaxed her mouth enough so my glans slipped past the base of her tongue and entered her throat. The realization went through me like a bomb from a terrorist blast, yet I managed to maintain control over my entrance to avoid any untoward movement which might disturb the unfolding miracle.
The changes continued still. She showed no signs of discomfort; I no longer could discern the existence of the familiar pocket, took it from the causal lay of her hands across my body without the slightest tension; she was inviting me to continue forward. This I did, ever so slowly. Agonizingly unhurried, maintaining the same speed, just gradually lengthening each stroke.
I was increasingly threatened with physical incapacitation as the new sensations were quickly overwhelming my ability to control my movements, but I maintained enough of it to stay the course and continue the long easy rhythm, nearly withdrawing from her mouth, then sliding in again, deeper and deeper, past the base of her tongue, into her throat, heading for her toes. The crescendo of deeper and deeper penetrations continued to build until I felt her nose nestled in my public hair and her lips against my balls for the first time in this life.
I erupted. Like Vesuvius. Like Krakatoa. Like Mount St. Helens. My hands behind her head; her face pressed against my body; hot come boomed deep into her throat. The sleeping gag-reflex awoke in all the commotion, but did nothing more than grip my cock all the harder, and catapult me over a peak I’d never really hoped to scale. Sounds boiled out of me I’d never heard before: pitiful timbres of a man reduced to a whimpering, helpless, and quivering collapse.
She pulled back for a moment, to grab some air, and then slid gently back onto me – one long, smooth, unimaginable stroke from Earth and all the way to Heaven. When I felt her face press into me again, my body reacted of its own accord, convulsing as tsunami surged outward from my epicenter, laying waste to any conscious thought, as I dissolved into pure sensation.
She pulled back, and, as at the beach, I eased us back into the world with slow, gentle strokes, caressing her from within; she now eased me from the out-of-body experience, coaxing my soul back into my body, with a series of ever more shallow strokes, ending her relaxation back into our familiar shallow pocket, where she held me motionless for some minutes, as I slowly softened in her mouth.
She released me, pressing a parting kiss deep into my pubic hair, then joined me face to face on our pillow. We kissed; I tasted myself. I babbled incoherently. She pressed a finger to my lips and we lay in silence, each in our own thoughts, as, slowly, sleep overtook us – like guards over prisoners.
Inauguration of the Dress: sans Underwear
The Dress was but a piece of cloth.
After numerous false starts, Ashley and I finally got it together to give The Dress its bare-assed inauguration.
I almost didn’t believe it would happen; each time we’d attempted (three times) had fallen through. I was patient with Ashley’s dubiety.
It was just before the New Year; we made up for it by resolving to spend New Year’s Eve lounging in our open-air spa. For fun, we decided to do a little photography – something we do now and then, just for ourselves. Unfortunately, my good camera was on the fritz, so we had to use one of those point-and-shoot things I hate, but are necessary in times of sudden need. Even under optimal conditions, the pictures are of a lesser quality than is possible with the other camera; and, being auto-every-thing, it’s tough to be creative. We were shooting outdoors in minimal light and adverse conditions, with a choice of no flash or full flash, and no control over the exposure.
I had her model The Dress sans underwear, standing on the edge of the spa where I could get a good angle of her ass, using spa light as background illumination. Later, I tried to get a shot from a more normal height, which would catch the spa light between her legs, giving some indication of the confusing semi-transparency of The Dress.
After squeezing off a few shots in this manner, we stripped and got into the spa, spending a couple of hours sipping martinis (stirred, not shaken) and talking. Once we rang in the New Year, we decided to call it a day, and a year, and finished off with a few in-spa shots of her fully-exposed body. I was not much of a photographer, and she wasn’t a professional model, but I liked doing this and she liked the fact that I like it.
Where to go for this Risqué Night Out – it presented some problems. Since Ashley would barely be clothed, wearing only The Dress and shoes – no panties, no bra, no slip, no panty hose, no nothing – she’d feel exposed and vulnerable. I could relate to her reservations, despite my stirring. One important criteria: she should not feel in danger of recognizition; we could not go to any of our usual haunts, or places where other people we knew could be. The possibility made her touchy.
This would require heading out of town. We also needed a place that was relatively busy, allowing her to feel invisible – yet have quiet, dark corners where we could feel free to feel free. There’d have to be a bar so I could relax her with a few drinks. And, with less than usual to shield her body from the cold we’d already had an experience with, the establishment needed to be reasonably warm.
I considered all these factors and ended up settling on a place without much investigation. It was far enough from the city and impractical to check it out ahead of time. I just played a hunch on suitability, which was unlike me. Most places like this start to pick up around 9 P.M.; I planned to have us there well before, so we could get a decent pick of seats and still have a chance to go somewhere else if the venue turned out to be inappropriate.
As the appointed date and time approached, I grew restless with apprehension – we were actually getting it together this time. Ashley, recognizing this as well, became skittish. As she had before, she’d work off her perturbation by half-amusedly, half-seriously attempting to negotiate a way back into more a demure attire. But, having had things fall through three times, I was in no mood to barter. This was our marriage; this adventure was what we had agreed upon.
I pulled her onto my lap before we left, and looked into her eyes, and told her not only would I insist she wear nothing but The Dress and shoes, but my poor libido had been so jerked around anticipating this night I would also insist she submit herself completely to my desires: whenever, wherever, whatever. She sat still for a moment, then half-grinned and said, “Oh, yes sir!”
My one difference was to allow her to wear the long overcoat for coming and going; for warmth, yes, and as a security blanket. Also, anticipating she might be sitting with her bare ass on a cold chair in the night club, I thought having her coat to drape over the chair would make her feel more comfortable and less self-conscious; she was not so brazen an exhibitionist that she’d take any delight in having her exposed cunt slickening a plastic seat cover that Bubba and his buddies might’ve been blasting with chili-farts an indeterminate time earlier.
So many details for just a few precious moments.
&nbs
p; It was enough to drive you crazy.
The time finally came to go. We approached our car like misfits of Eros. I unlocked the passenger door. Before opening it, I took her in my arms for a little pep talk. I kissed her, and held her face in my hands, looking into her eyes.
“Now,” I said, “you’re going to feel deliberate tonight, as you probably should. Your naked body is just barely concealed, and I have every intention of taking full advantage of that. People will look at you, but you will ignore them and look at me. Your sole interest tonight is to relax and place yourself pliably in my hands . . . Okay?”
“I’m putty,” she said.
We arrived without incident, and found the establishment nearly empty; only twenty or so customers were scattered about the multi-tier club, which had a capacity of several hundred. It was early. This worked out very well. We found two bar stool seats in a far corner of the club, well shielded. Our backs were to two walls (sort of); our front was safeguarded pretty well by an elbow-high bar-like wall overlooking the lower levels and the dance floor. There was one open side where the bar continued across the back of the club. Ashley sat next to the far wall, and I sat between her and the rest of the bar.
It was not quite that simple, as nothing ever is. The wall opposite her side was the front of the DJ’s booth; the wall behind us had a little walkway for coming and going to said DJ’s booth. What made things considerably more interesting was the front of the booth, covered with mirrors down to a couple of feet off the floor; and the wall ended just a little above her standing height, opening the rest of the way to the ceiling, where the DJ pottered around. In their normal doings, the DJ and others who happened to occupy the booth were not in a position to see low enough to catch any interesting views, but there was always the possibility that one of them might come close enough to the edge to see something, if there was anything to see. The mirrors were another matter. Although I effectively secured Ashley from any direct observation by others further down the bar, the mirror made it possible for glimpses to be had from quite a distance away. It was a question of whether someone was in the suitable line of sight and, of course, whether there was anything to see.
The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of Michael Hemmingson Page 5
