by K D Grace
The vision changed. Now we were on the way back to my place, walking through the park close to my home. Aidan pushed me up against a tree so we could kiss, tasting each other properly for the first time as my fingers tangled in his silky hair and his hand gently kneaded one of my breasts through my top. From what felt like a strangely long way away, even though he was still holding hands with me, I heard Aidan give a soft groan, caught somewhere between nostalgia and lust. We’d done more than kiss against that tree; he’d eased up my skirt and rubbed me through my panties till I came, not caring that we might be seen by anyone passing. I’d bitten his shoulder to stifle my cries, loving his wicked streak and his ability to make me come without ever making contact with my bare skin.
Now the vision was showing us the messy flat Aidan had lived in before we’d married and moved in together. We were lying on his bed in the middle of the afternoon. If I recalled rightly, we’d both phoned in to work that day claiming to be sick, simply so we could spend the whole day fucking. I was wearing nothing but a black lace bra – something Aidan had always found more sexy than if I was entirely naked and something, I now realised, I needed to put back into my repertoire of sex moves. I was crouching over him, grasping his cock and slowly licking along it from base to tip. As I did, I was gazing into his eyes in my best porn star fashion. We were having the kind of dirty, horny fun that seemed to have completely disappeared from our lives in recent months. How, I wondered, did we let that happen?
Just as I was beginning to really enjoy the sight of Aidan’s cock disappearing into my mouth, the scene changed yet again. Now we were looking at our honeymoon suite. I was in Aidan’s arms as he carried me to the bed, the white lace of my skirts frothing around the two of us. He set me down carefully, wrapping an arm around me as we lay together on the satin quilt. We’d been so tired when we’d reached the room we hadn’t done anything more than fall asleep in each other’s arms, but we had felt so incredibly close that night, so full of love for each other.
‘We could lose so much if we’re not careful,’ I murmured. I’ll never know whether it was my words that broke the spell or whether we’d been shown all we needed to see, but the vision suddenly dissolved.
‘So what do we do?’ Aidan asked.
‘Well, first I apologise for doing my best to ruin this holiday, then ...’ I raised myself up on tiptoes so I could kiss my husband, fingers laced together round the back of his neck. He pulled me hard on to him so I could feel the bulge in his crotch. Clearly he’d got just as turned on watching those hot, romantic snippets from our shared past as I had.
A little awkwardly, as both of us were reluctant to break a kiss that was becoming increasingly passionate, he lowered me to the sand. Our bodies pressed together; we could feel each other’s excitement even through all the cumbersome layers of clothing.
I fumbled with Aidan’s sweater, pushing it over his head, anxious to see him at least partially naked. Between us, we stripped each other of everything but Aidan’s T-shirt and my bra. When he reached to undo that, I shook my head, thinking back to what I’d just watched. Instead, I encouraged him to pull my breasts out of the cups so he could lick my nipples into tight peaks.
As we writhed and grappled, we were erasing the marks Aidan had made in the sand, but that didn’t seem to matter. The magic wasn’t just in the circle; it was in us, all around us. As I lay back and spread my legs, ready to be taken, I was acutely aware of the fine sand beneath my back and arse, the breeze that ruffled Aidan’s hair, the soft hiss and drag of the waves. I had never felt so at one with nature, so in tune with my husband’s rising desire.
He shimmied down my body to plant his head between my legs. His hot mouth latched on to my pussy, sucking on my long, frilled lips for a while before turning his attention to my clit. When we’d first been together, he’d loved to lick me like this for as long as I could bear it, but as time had passed it had become something else that had been largely bypassed in the race to the finish line. We’d have to stop making that mistake, I thought, arching my back in pleasure as he hit a particularly sensitive spot.
‘How long have we got before we have to get back to the boat?’ I asked.
Aidan broke off from what he was doing. ‘Who cares? They can sail away without us, as far as I’m concerned.’
We changed positions, me climbing on top of him so I could straddle his hips. His cock reared up at me and I guided it into my cunt, the breath catching in my throat as he filled me. I paused for a moment, relishing the hot, solid feel of him inside me, then started to rock.
‘Oh, that’s good,’ Aidan sighed. ‘Just like the first time...’
He was right. Somehow it did seem as though we were getting to know each other all over again. I was listening more intently than I had in a long time, tuning into his sighs and gasps, those little clues telling me I was stimulating all the right places. As I rode Aidan lazily I stroked my own clit, not just for the pleasure it was giving me but to see how much it turned him on.
I could have carried on making this slow, stately progress towards orgasm, but Aidan decided he needed more power, more friction. He grabbed me by the hips and started thrusting up hard, taking me with him as he raced towards the summit of his orgasm. Eyes closed, toes curling against the sand, I felt the tension build to the point where I almost couldn’t stand it any more. Then something seemed to shatter, sending countless shards of sensation rushing through my body. Together, Aidan and I screamed our ecstasy to the deserted landscape, knowing no one could hear just how much noise we made as we reaffirmed the love and passion we felt for each other.
It was quite a while before either of us had the strength to reach for our scattered clothes. Despite Aidan’s comment about letting the boat leave without us, I knew we’d have to make a move soon, or risk the wrath of the captain for returning late and delaying everyone. I didn’t want to ruin our chances of being invited to dine at his table, after all.
Having finally struggled back into my jeans and boots, I watched as Aidan retrieved the scrap of paper containing the spell. He rolled it up and stuffed it back into the bottle once more. ‘What are you going to do with that?’ I asked, as he hammered the cork firmly into place with the heel of his hand.
‘Throw it into the sea, let fate take it to whoever might be in need of it, just as it brought the bottle to us.’
He heaved it into the waves, and we watched it bob for a moment before the current carried it away. Who knew where it would be washed up, and how long it would be before someone else found it. And when they did, would they trust in the magic the way we had? Looking at Aidan’s handsome face and feeling a fresh surge of desire for him, I really hoped they would.
‘Come on,’ he said, taking my hand in his. ‘We’ve got a boat to catch.’
Making Lewis Hard
by Esmeralda Greene
This was the third morning in a row. A faint streak of something was on my skin. It was dry now, but clearly had been wet to start with. It was whitish, flaky, and washed away easily.
The first morning it had been on my belly. I figured I’d spilled something on myself before going to bed, and didn’t puzzle over it too much. The next morning there was some on my forearm as well as my stomach, and it looked like some had pooled in my navel. What the heck? I wondered. A few possibilities occurred to me: I could have drooled some toothpaste froth, or maybe a squirt of liquid hand soap had flown out of the dispenser at an odd angle. That night I remembered the little mystery as I was getting ready for bed, and gave my torso a careful looking-over before lying down. Nothing.
This morning it was streaked across and between my breasts. ‘There’s just no way I went to bed with that amount of goop on my boobs,’ I mused. I gathered up some of the dusty flakes on a fingertip and, hesitating a moment, touched them to my tongue. Mostly tasteless, but ... maybe, just a little bit, it tasted like ...
I spat into the sink. It tasted like come. ‘This is fucked up,’ I said aloud. Not that I
talk to myself; I was speaking to my cat Chicklet. Chicklet had no response, preferring to stare contemplatively at the empty bathroom doorway.
That night, instead of sleeping naked as usual, I put on a T-shirt and sweatpants. Then I took the sweatpants off, put panties on, and put the sweats back on over them. I tucked the T-shirt into the waist of the sweatpants. I checked that the front and back doors were locked, and locked the windows too, although my condo is on the third floor with no fire escapes. I wedged chairs under the doorknobs of the front and back door. I took a third chair into the bedroom with me and closed the door, wedging the chair under that doorknob. I opened the closet and poked at the blouses and skirts, kicked at the shoes. I left the closet door open. Then I unwedged the chair, opened the bedroom door and went to fetch Chicklet. While I was doing this I checked the locks on the front and back door again.
With Chicklet and me sealed in, I got into bed, leaving the overhead light on. I sat up with my back to the headboard and opened a book, not really intending to go to sleep.
Ned, my boyfriend of two relationships ago, was brushing his cock against my face. Lightly, gently, he moved it to my lips. I opened my mouth for him, but he pulled away, teasing. He started jerking it, inches away. I could hear the sound of his hand, his heavy, irregular breathing. I smiled, watching as his hand froze in place, waiting that exquisite interval between when his orgasm starts and the come appears. And then there it was, flying out of his cock, a thick, healthy, ballistic spurt of it, landing, wet and warm on my cheek, followed by another, against my nose, and another, on my lips, and another ...
My eyes snapped open.
It’s an interesting experience, looking back on it, to scream. To truly scream, not with any deliberation or thought or control, but to scream because my body, some primeval part of my brainstem, decided I must scream. Now. Loudly.
In addition to screaming, I scrambled out of bed. Like the scream, this was a completely visceral action, and completely uncoordinated. I was trying to keep my face toward the whatever-it-was as I put distance between me and it, but my feet were tangled in the sheets and I fell. My bottom hit the floor and the back of my head hit the bedroom wall at the same instant, and everything came to a halt. Screaming and scrambling clicked off like a switch, as a fuzzy, sparkling darkness swam in front of my eyes. I’m dead, I thought. I’m lying here stunned and I can’t move and he’s going to kill me. I was sure there was a “he” involved, though I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t see much of anything except fuzzy sparkling darkness.
‘Oh dear!’ a voice said. ‘Oh dear! Oh good heavens! Are you all right?’ The voice was deep, a little throaty; very masculine despite the effeminate phrases.
I tried to focus my eyes. Then I tried again, closing them tight and opening them. On the third try it seemed to work pretty well; the bedroom settled into focus. The bed, the walls, the bright overhead light all became reasonably sharp and stopped moving around. That’s better, I thought.
Only it wasn’t really better, because the bedroom was empty. The door was closed, the chair jammed under the doorknob, the window – I turned my head to look – closed and unbroken. Chicklet looked at me from the bed and made a puzzled ‘Mm-rarr?’ I reached up to the back of my head. It hurt, but wasn’t bleeding. I rubbed a hand over my face, and it came away wet with a thick, gooey substance that made strings between my fingers.
I started swearing. I started with ‘What the fucking …’ and went on from there. Still swearing, I scrunched my body down so I could look under the bed – nothing. Still swearing and holding my come-sticky hand away from my body, I struggled to my feet. With my back to the wall and the closet door open, there wasn’t a square inch of the bedroom I couldn’t see. I looked at the come dripping from my hand again and went on swearing, though I’d long ago run out of unique words and was having to repeat myself.
‘Madam, please!’ a voice said. The same voice.
I stopped cussing, but left my mouth open.
I stood there for a while. The remaining come on my face started to itch and tickle, but I didn’t wipe it away. I didn’t want to acknowledge that it was there. I didn’t want to move at all. Eventually a glob of it dripped off my chin and landed on my T-shirt. Keeping my head still, I strained my eyes downward to look at the wet stain over my left tit.
Then Chicklet got bored with me. He hopped down off the bed and walked over to the far side of it. There he raised his tail and made a happy little purring sound, rubbing his head against... against ... against ... I squinted, trying again to focus my eyes. When that didn’t work I tried un-focusing them, the way you do to look at one of those annoying hidden 3-D images. There! There it was! A leg. Chicklet was happily rubbing his head and neck against the faint, transparent shell of a man’s leg.
‘You’re a fucking ghost!’ I said to the leg. I tried to make it sound like an accusation; like something more exasperating than frightening.
‘Well, yes, actually, I am,’ the voice said apologetically. ‘Evidently.’
‘OK.’ I took a deep breath and let it out. ‘I can deal with that. I’ve seen ghosts before, when I was little, in my Gram’s house. I can deal with a ghost.’ I hoped I sounded more sure of that than I felt.
Working to keep my eyes in the same not-focused state, I started scanning up the leg. The foot and calf were bare. Upward, a bare knee. Then a bare thigh, heavy and firmly muscled. Up a little further, and ... Um, wow. It wasn’t fully hard, but drooping down in a long graceful curve. Reluctantly I continued scanning upward. Flat stomach, hard, tight chest. His face came into wavering view: Wide jaw, a long bent nose, high cheekbones. An old-fashioned haircut, and deep set eyes that were frowning with concern.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he said. Then before I could answer, ‘Wait, you can see me? Oh, my.’ He dropped his hands to his crotch. He had big hands, but they weren’t big enough. ‘This is quite remarkable. No one has ever been able to see me before.’
My nose itched at that point, reminding me of something. ‘Hey, goddamnit! What the fuck is the fucking idea of jerking off onto me the past four nights?’ I pulled the front of my T-shirt up and used it to scrub off my face. ‘You think that just because you’re a ghost you can be a fucking pervert too?’
His face looked pained. ‘Madam, really. Such language! And from a fine, sophisticated young lady such as yourself!’
‘Oh, can that Victorian crap, mister. What’s your name, anyway?’
‘Lewis, ma’am. Lewis Williams at your service. I happen to know your name is Juliet Regan. May I call you Juliet?’
‘You fucking damn well may not. Now talk. What’s with shooting your come on to me the past four nights? Is that your goddamn pervert way of haunting this place?’
‘Ah, well,’ he said. It was getting easier to see him. I could look away for a few seconds at a time now without having to cross my eyes to get his image back. He sat on the side of the bed with his legs angled away from me, hiding his formidable cock. Chicklet hopped onto the bed and curled up next to his hip. ‘This is most embarrassing, Miss Regan, and I do humbly beg your forgiveness.’ He looked down at Chicklet and petted him. His hand passed through the fur without disturbing a hair of it, but still the cat purred contentedly. ‘You see, it never occurred to me that you would ever know – that you would ever be able to see me.’
‘How could I not know?’ I shouted. ‘You squirted half a cup of jism in my face!’
He winced at the word “jism”, but thankfully didn’t reproach me for my language again. ‘Yes, but ... you see, I’m a ghost, as you pointed out.’ He waved an arm behind him, and it disappeared into the wall. ‘I’m quite insubstantial. So it’s most remarkable and unexpected that you could sense my, uh ...’
‘Jism? Come? Spunk? Spooge? Nut juice?’
A series of little winces. ‘Yes.’
I looked down at the wet stains on my T-shirt, noting with some annoyance that my nipples were rigid and sticking out. ‘Yeah, that is
weird. If you’re a ghost, how come your come is ... you know, real?’
‘Yes, exactly,’ he said. ‘And this is a recent development, you see. I didn’t realise until just this night that I’d started ... uh, leaving evidence behind. It’s quite remarkable, Miss Regan.’
‘“Started leaving evidence”?’ I mulled over his words. ‘So you’re telling me that you’ve been jerking off onto me for longer than the past four days?’
‘Ah ... well ... yes.’
I gritted my teeth. ‘Just. How. Long.’
‘W … well, since you moved in here. Four months now, isn’t it?’
‘Every night?’
‘Y … yes. Miss Regan, you must try to appreciate how few opportunities there are for a person in my ... situation to get any sort of sexual gratification. The last person to occupy this space was an extremely elderly woman. Before her there was a man – an invert – most distasteful. And then ...’ He held his hands up, the palms inward as if he was holding something delicate and precious. ‘Then you appeared! So wonderfully beautiful! Such an exquisite vision of young womanhood! Such a strong, healthy figure! So graceful, so poised, so …’
‘Awright, awright, get on with it.’
‘Yes, well ... And then there were your activities at night ... walking around nude after you bathed, sleeping naked, and your, uh ... unbridled, joyful, enthusiastic fondness for ... um ... shall I say, pleasuring yourself?’
‘Fucking pervert,’ I said, but I didn’t say it with much conviction. The anger was draining out of me. I couldn’t deny that Lewis had a point. We all need to get our jollies somewhere.
I looked at the clock. ‘Listen, Lewis. I have to start getting ready for work in two hours, but I don’t think I’m going to get any more sleep tonight. Can we go into the kitchen and have some coffee?’
