Double Obsessions

by Charlotte Sloan

  As though to pull himself even closer, he grabbed a vicious handful of thigh and hoisted my leg up around his waist, and I loved being taken so roughly in this manner, man-handled by his huge, well-trained muscles, worked into whatever configuration best suited him, and his domination, in turn, pleasing me to no end.

  We kissed for some time beneath the heat of the shower, and slowly I began to sweep my fingers down along his body, angling for his prize beneath the belt, and clutching a firm handful of his long, hot cock, squeezing onto his glorious shaft as though for dear life.

  I began to stroke him, to put all of my focus on his pleasure, which in turn began to satisfy myself as well. I loved the flowing of the skin of his shaft from his engorged, purple tip to his base, like a warm, soothing liquid almost, and though my wrist began to grow tired after some time of this, my desire to please him utterly easily overshadowed my physical discomfort.

  After having our eyes closed for so long, slowly the two of us opened up, and gazed into one another, studying fiercely, as though trying to recollect forgotten faces. We began to get lost in one another, and slowly I moved into him, putting my lips once more onto his.

  The kiss was soft, tender this time around, but it didn't last especially long. I pulled back away from him after only a matter of seconds, and instead of his mouth this time, I moved my kiss just the slightest bit lower, landing on his chin.

  Further down, planting one on his neck, then several across his broad, sumptuous chest. Then down along his abs.

  On my knees, now, on the floor of the shower, I gave the shaft of his erection a last few strokes of the wrist, letting saliva ooze from my between my lips and onto him, though most of the lubrication I intended from this was washed away by the pouring hot water.

  Slowly, I extended my tongue, lightly sliding the warm, pink thing along the edge of his shaft, giving him a very tiny sampling of what was about to happen. I could tell that he was holding his breath, tensed up and braced in preparation, and after a few, last strokes along his wet dick, I knew that he was ready to be consumed.

  I parted my jaws wide, allowing my heated breath to blow onto him as I leaned in forward, and closed my mouth along him. My lips dissolved, wet and slippery, around his penis, inhaling him to his base until at last I felt his throbbing purple tip touch against the back of my throat.

  I was somewhat out of practice when it came to the art of fellatio, and accordingly I gagged for the first few seconds of containing him down the hot crook of my throat. But I slowly recalled the process of relaxing myself, and managed to suppress my gag reflex.

  Then, gradually, I began to suck on him, pulling my face back along his erection, building up a furious suction as I made my way up to his tip, and then snapping my lips free, evoking an intense, loving sigh from the man up above.

  God, how I loved his satisfaction, and how it provoked me to further pursue his sweet, carnal satisfaction. I began to suck him rhythmically, twisting my tongue around and all over him as I downed and slipped back up his cock, each tapping against the back of my throat more sensual and more perfect than the last, and the intimacy of the act so pure for me in that moment that I thought I might never grow tired of servicing him in this manner.

  After some time of this, I could feel him beginning to pulse, to throb inside me, and I pulled back, mouth open, eyes looking up at him as he prepared to unleash himself all over me. He came abundantly, ejaculating into my mouth and across my face, the taste of his sperm like some life-sustaining gift, filling me up and reassuring me, above all, that the moment we shared was as real and as wonderful as I'd believed it to be.

  I licked some of the excess cum from my cheeks, pleasing him as it stretched in sticky strings and remained affixed to my skin, then leaned in to suck the last few drops of essence from his engorged, purple tip.

  He picked me up then, and cleaned me off, and the two of us exited the shower, scarcely able to keep off of one another as we dried ourselves and snuck away to the bedroom with bath towels covering ourselves—as though we thought we might offend Bandit.

  Once inside, Danny's cock was still too drained from that first ejaculation to perform immediately, and so instead I settled happily for allowing him to go down on me, dipping his head between my warm, naked thighs, and sucking on my wet pussy like candy.

  His tongue twisted and lapped through the floral folds in that special way he had of doing so, and it was every bit as good as it had been during our first time together, if not even more so.

  Soon, I was trembling with an orgasm of my own, crushing his head with my legs as I shot through the roof with climax, and then slowly drifting back down, my body twitching on the bed, and my eyes lighting up as I spotted Danny sporting an erection, ready and willing to be pushed into my body once again.

  I opened my body up for him, splaying myself wide and inviting him over to me with a look in my bedroom eyes that could not have made my intentions clearer. Accordingly, he climbed up onto me, mounting my body like an animal, and I loved his heat, his clambering weight on top of me, and I could feel something primal inside me coming to life.

  He was preparing to penetrate me, to slide into my pussy and fuck away. I was beginning to burn with want for him at the simple touch of his cock at my opening.

  Jesus, how I loved the feeling of him going up inside me.

  He began to pound me, to take me harder than he ever had before, and my body rang with sensation, filled up by his immensity as he thrust himself repeatedly into me, and yet I felt incapable of getting enough, wanting more and more with each progressive thrust, every nerve in my body on fire with sensations.

  And finally, after so long of this, he began to cum once again, filling me up with his seething essence and causing me to burst with orgasm, harder and more thorough than I'd ever before had the pleasure of experiencing, my spine arching and my nerves glowing as I shot through the roof, our reunion as thorough and as beautiful as I could ever have hoped it to be.

  At last, he pulled out of me, wrapping my weary, sweat-soaked body in his arms, and the two of us kissed for some time, until at last we found ourselves drifting off into sleep. And somehow, through the words were never spoken, I knew that our lives would never again be pulled apart as they had been in the past, and that the man I loved was now here to stay.

  *****

  THE END

  Sinful Pleasure

  Sometimes, I just couldn't believe what a lucky woman I was. It's amazing, really, the way some things just fall into place, and how satisfied you can become once that happens. It was early morning, and I mean very, very early, and I found my eyes fluttering gently open, processing the very early morning in a daze and making a light whimpering noise, like the sound of a cat, flexing my spine and getting myself good and relaxed for the day ahead.

  I flared my nostrils, and took in the scent of my boyfriend, his sweat and his breath, everything about him creating a pleasant haze about him. Turning me on first thing as the sleep gradually drifted away from my blurred eyes. I yawned, and stretched, the blankets rippling down from my naked torso, and the cool air of the room feeling absolutely glorious on my breasts, my arms, my heaving abdomen, all of which were lightly perspiring.

  The contrast in my body heat with the surrounding atmosphere caused a ripple of goosebumps to come erupting all across my skin. I stared down at my arm, savoring the sight of my perfect flesh being mildly interrupted in this way, and then turned back once more to look at Mark, sleeping there still, dead to all thought and sleeping like a damn log at my side.

  What a beautiful man, I thought. His dark hair, his penetrating eyes, and that face of his. Lord, what a face... It was like being committed to a male model in a lot of ways, astonishing specimen as he was, getting me so hot for him even this early on in the morning that I thought I would have to tone things down a bit if I wanted to avoid pouncing on him right there on the spot.

  His broad chest, partly hidden beneath the sheets, heaved seductively w
ith his breath, his nostrils flaring and his muscles shifting, sliding, and pulling my eyes unavoidably along their slopes. Making my mouth water, and causing me to desire above all else to be nestled away once again in his arms, to be held there forever and to never wriggle free, even if, for some perverse reason, I should ever have such an absurd desire.

  I gave a momentary glance at his crotch, then, obscured as it was by the sheets, but enough of a bulge still visible that it really got my feminine fantasizing underway. A shudder ran through my body, and I smacked my lips in an effort to get a hold of myself. As lucky as I was to have this beast of a man in bed with me, I had an awful lot on my mind right then and there, and needed to consider just what I was doing if I didn't want that which I had planned to blow up straight in my face.

  I turned back onto my back, folding my hands behind my head, and stared up at the ceiling, thinking, pondering, and getting so lost in my thoughts that I nearly fell back asleep again a few times. I considered, between bouts of near unconsciousness, how the two of us had met. I had, quite literally, run into him at a bar one evening during my senior year of college. Spilling my drink down the front of his clothes and apologizing profusely, before getting caught up in his smoldering gaze and so sucked into the man that trying to escape was completely pointless.

  It had been finals week at the time, of the fall semester. It hadn't, perhaps, been the ideal time to go out drinking given that, you know, my girlfriends and I had test crammed into every day that we needed to be prepared for, but by this point we were all just so damn exhausted by the process that a break seemed almost more necessary than deserved.

  We sort of thought our brains would up and burst if we didn't take some personal time to unwind ourselves, and we thought going out and getting hammered might just be the precise sort of antidote we needed.

  I hadn't at all expected to find myself flirting with a handsome stranger after having just doused him with alcohol, and the fact that I was doing so came as something of an extreme surprise, I assure you. But, as the two of us started talking, I found that I was able to communicate extremely well with this man. I felt understood by him, and as though my words were appreciated, which, I have to be honest, wasn't something that a girl could expect to come across just every day.

  And plus, this guy was cute... Damn cute... The kind of cute that you only think one can ever only come across in the movies, and that is almost a sin to let slip through your fingers once you happen to stumble onto it.

  And perhaps most of all, I didn't expect to find myself going home with a stranger from the bar that evening, slipping into his bed with him, and the two of us making hot, hard, passionate love until dawn the next morning. Nor did I expect that beautiful, excruciating roll in the hay to eventually result in the current, months-long relationship that it now was, the two of us moved in together, sharing a bed and slowly merging our heretofore distinct lives into one.

  It's amazing how life pans out that way sometimes, isn't it? One thing leading to another to another, sometimes on a path that's completely random and unpredictable, but in a manner that ends up leading you to a place that's happier than anything you might have ever imagined.

  But here's the kicker-when Mark and I first met, I was already seeing someone at the time... Sort of... In a way... But not quite exactly...

  God, what a mess this all was, and at present it felt like it was all coming back around to choke me just when I'd thought I was through the thick of all of it. Maybe I should start from the beginning here.

  The other man, the one I left for Mark, had been a high school classmate, named Justin, and things between the two of us had been a little bit difficult to define on any certain terms. I guess it's really hard to say whether what the two of us had was a traditional “relationship” relationship, but as far as that goes I don't know if it's really easy to define what that means, period.

  But, at any rate, the two of us had started having sex together when we were eighteen, during our senior year, banging with enough frequency to call it something, but without enough of a direct emotional connection to know just what sort of label to slap on it. I'd been a cheerleader at the time, and Justin a football player, which, as far as a sexual relationship is concerned, is a coupling that goes together like peanut butter and jelly.

  Justin was a huge dude by comparison to me, hulking and a stud, and I loved being pounded by him, torn into and thrusted inside with vigorous force, pushed beyond my limits every time I leapt into bed with him, and left screaming with pain and pleasure with every lethal, smashing force of his body.

  In many ways, it's really difficult to describe just what it was the two of us shared, because even if you want to call it “just sex,” it really seemed like so much more than that at the time. I mean, sure, both of us had had our share of experience up to that point, and it wasn't like we were two clumsy virgins just discovering ourselves for the first time. That wasn't at all the sort of thing that made what the two of us had so spectacular, or so significant in our lives as to warrant more consideration than just a simple “casual fling” label.

  The fact of the matter was, the two of us mutually agreed ourselves to have unleashed a hotter, spicier side to our sex lives together than either of us had thought possible. Our trysts began to grow absolutely mind-blowing as they progressed, kinky in every way, each of us pushing ourselves further and further beyond our comfort zones whenever we happened to be in one another's presence.

  Quite simply, our sexual chemistry was a devastatingly remarkable thing, and our inner beasts were routinely unleashed whenever the two of us were around one another. Prior to Justin, I hadn't even thought of myself as a remarkably sexual person. I liked sex, sure, but no more so than almost the entirety of the human and animal population.

  But when it came to Justin, I loved sex, I craved sex, and I felt so much lust for him, so much damn want, and so much burning in my loins, that I became like a damn firecracker any time he climbed on top of me, or mounted me from behind, or I got on top of him, or any number of other positions, really.

  The lengths to which our sweet depravity spanned really didn't know all that much in terms of an end, and it seemed that as our time together spanned on and on, things only got hotter, stickier, sweatier, and far, far more intense. There wasn't much at all that the two of us wouldn't do, really-oral (mutually), anal, sex with toys, humiliation, bondage, role play, handcuffs... He even asked me to peg him a few times, an act which I carried out with a strangely carnal fury, feeling empowered and enlivened with the strap-on harnessed devastatingly around my waist.

  Nothing seemed beyond the realm of possibility in the bedroom for the two of us, nothing too depraved or too scandalous, and in fact the more and more we progressed, the more desperate and kinkier we became for one another.

  And for a while, at least, our arrangement, nameless as it may have been, seemed like a suitable one. The two of us ended up going to the same university together, even living in the same residence hall, on different sides. So whenever the weekend would roll around, as well on a fair share of our weeknights, I would simply hop on over to his dorm room wearing booty shorts and as scandalous a top as I could squeeze into without getting booted from the hall, and the two of us would lock ourselves away for however many hours, for him to bust me up and leave me moaning like a banshee at the force of his tight poundings.

  But then things got just a little bit complicated, I'm afraid to say...

  The kicker came when Justin ended up transferring universities, moving across the state, and leaving us uncertain as to what the hell we should do with what was left of this. I mean, we'd more or less gotten dependent upon one another as far as sex was concerned at this point, and even the prospect of having to find and to settle for someone else seemed deplorable in the event that the two of us split up.

  Yet, on the same token, the connection that the two of us shared was almost exclusively sexual in nature. I craved being pounded by the man, but to this d
ay I'm not sure whether I can clearly recall a conversation that the two of us ever shared, the gist of our interaction being mostly physical in nature as it was, and the need for words almost entirely superfluous between the two of us as a result.

  And so, I guess we kind of had to face the facts, that if the two of us couldn't fuck routinely any longer, there really wasn't much point in keeping whatever the hell this was alive any longer. We decided, then, to tone this down to a friends with benefits thing. We could screw one another whenever we happened to both be in town, but we were under no obligation whatsoever not to see other people and have sex with whomever we damn well pleased.

  But then, of course, Mark had come along, and his love had been largely the opposite of what Justin had offered me. I mean, he was still dynamite in the sack, but he didn't thrill me, really, the way that Justin did, pushing me to the brink and then plowing me over the edge... But that really didn't matter all that much, because, you know, I actually had an emotional connection with Mark, and something deeper to relate to him on than just sex alone.

  The only thing I regretted was that, in taking on a “traditional” relationship, I was sealing away that part of my life with Justin for good, making it impossible to engage with him, even on a short term, occasional-roll-in-the-hay basis.

  I thought I could deal with that, though, and for the longest time I really more or less did just that. Justin was out of sight, and out of mind, and so I was able, for the most part, to pretend that that aspect of my life was as good as gone and buried, and therefore not worth giving another thought. I was with Mark now, happy and carefree as could be, thrilled to have found someone who felt for me the way that he did, not to mention to have someone I loved just as much in return.

  And then the time for my high school reunion rolled around...

  It was this juncture that became problematic for me, instantly filling me with nostalgia for the good old days of being smashed by Justin, and not totally sure how exactly I could go about dealing with my fondness for days gone past. It was almost certain that I would end up seeing him again if I ended up attending the thing, and at this point I felt for sure that seeing past one another in a sexual context would be tantamount to impossible.