In the last moments of a submissive’s life, she has only to serve her master.
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The Bridge
Copyright © 2012 Allistar Parker
Cover art by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Smashwords Edition
The Bridge
By
Allistar Parker
Chapter One
So many years ago I had a love, a true passion embodied in the skin of a man, for which I credited God with the creation of a perfect Adonis. Strong of arms and sculpted along his flank so that the bronze flesh rippled with each flex of his arms. His body was my golden idol and I was his perfect slave. I could no more leave his side than I could leave my own body.
On the evenings, by the fire, we shared longing looks over a glass of wine, naked and blissfully aware of each other’s sexual nature. He loved the way I swirled my tongue across his, leaving only a faint hint of Sauterne trailing across his taste buds. The feel of his hands lightly caressing my shoulders drew me closer to him, so close I could feel the rigid hardness of his dick pressing against my groin. The pile in the carpet tickled my back as he rolled over, never pulling his magnificent dick from my pussy.
The subtle way he would kiss my lips and the forceful way he handled my body was more than any woman on earth could ask for. He was a master at manipulating me to the point I could hardly breathe. Fingers rolling across the small of my back kept the electric tension rippling up and down my spine. His slow, methodical strokes with his engorged dick drove me wild until there was nothing left to do but moan in sexual lust.
The house always smelled of him. In the mornings, he smelled of fresh soap and musky aftershave with the hint of menthol shaving cream hanging just behind his ear. I could barely keep my attention on the frying eggs and as I poured coffee just for him. I loved the ritual of wiping an errant dab of shaving cream from his face with the dish towel.
He slurped coffee as he read the paper, first the sports page and then the headlines. There were mornings when a curse word flowed from his mouth over some poor stock performance or a football team’s loss. He loved to smile wide at his ability to choose overnight winners and avoid last minute disasters by selling just before the stocks dropped or the odds ran long on the team.
His office coat smelled of menthol cigarettes and stale mothballs. The mustard yellow coat had served him well through the years in real estate. Though tattered with worn sleeves, Corbin wore the jacket with pride. I loved the way he felt as I hugged him goodbye each morning.
The house was my trusted place, the place my God left me alone for hours, knowing I would be good. I would never, for instance, leave without getting permission. I wouldn’t touch myself. I wouldn’t eat anything. I would be good.
For those hours of obedience, I was rewarded handsomely; good food for the table, relaxing evening at home, and being treated as the valued concubine he had created. I don’t know how he knew what I needed, but the way he shaped me was a stroke of genius.
We all are weak, though. We succumb to our own vices from time to time. He often left me with reminders of my small transgressions; a small hole through the nipple filled with a gold ring for playing with my tits, or a stray slap upon my ass for eating without permission. “You’ll get fatter,” he would say with each stroke of the wooden coat hanger.
The whole of my existence had become useful in a more satisfying way. I found my life unfolding around me; my reason for life was clear, my heart was filled with joy, and I had no needs that were not being met by my love. I was placed on earth to please him. His needs were mine to fulfill. From the simple pleasure of sucking his dick until his mouth moaned and his hips buckled under the strain of an orgasm, to making him breakfast in the morning, I was completing my tasks with a purpose. In these pleasures, I find my pleasure waiting behind each task I complete. He completed me as the one that gave me what I needed and in return allowed me to find my world in his control.
He loved to have my body just on the brink of too much exposure. More often than not, he allowed me to fall asleep before I ever orgasmed, making the morning all the more special.
He wanted the guys of the world to lust after me. As my body had never caused any lust in anyone, I reveled in his ability to make me lust worthy. He got pleasure out of the hound calls and dirty glances I caused in other guys. The missed meals and tightened corsets were well worth the benefits I received. Seeing the pleasure in his eyes as one guy after another begged to see my tits made living for him that much better.
Stuck at home with our dog, Ralph, he made cocoa and brightened the night with a hint of peppermint schnapps. The scent of oak drifted through the den when the fire finally caught. We hadn’t made popcorn over a fire in years, but the crackle of the embers and the corn popping brought me back to times in our youth.
I snuggled into a blanket by the fire when the current failed. It wasn’t long before I felt him spooning up next to me. Soft gentle kisses rained down on my neck as he worked his way to my shirt collar. His hot breath foreshadowed the warmth his naked body would deliver in only a few seconds.
I reached behind me to grasp his half flaccid dick and rub it against my ass. The friction from the flannel quickly brought his rod to full attention. In my mind, I could see that engorged purple gland stretching and pulling, trying to penetrate my flannel barrier with each pulse from his veins. The gentleness of his hand gliding down my pants kept me from resisting. With the last stroke, I shoved his dick between my thighs, holding him tight as I could with my muscles.
I felt a small, cold chill develop on my mons. My red pubic hairs stood straight, all aligned with the goose bumps developing over my body. Ice! That sneaky guy slid an ice cube between my legs and was using it to draw all kinds of sensations to bear on my body. The cool feeling spread across my skin and down into my lower lips. A small river of water dripped onto the blanket as he trailed the ice to my belly button. Shivering, I still couldn’t stop him. Even with the discomfort, I loved the feeling he was building in my body.
I pulled my belly tightly into my body, hoping this would stem the tide of laughter building inside of me. Each pass of the cube along my pubs sent another shiver rattling the goose bumps. I sucked air in to keep my composure.
I didn’t fight him. On the contrary, I welcomed his invasion between my legs. The feel of the ice was stimulating me, but I wanted his dick to service. His hands finally removed the ice from my pussy lips and hair, dropping the ice to the floor. He never stopped his assault on my lap, though.
I found my way to my back, opening my entire front erogenous zone to my husband. From the tip of my most sensitive nipple to the depths of my vagina, I knew he was about to ravage my body. His finger rolled over my clit gentler th
an usual. The warmth from his touch relived the chill I still felt from the ice. Shivers echoed up my waiting tunnel. His finger slowed from the tension in my muscles. My fluids flowed freely around my cunt, wicking up to my clit. Had it not been for his slow, but deliberate circular strokes on it, I might have lasted long enough for him to mount me. My moaning started in the back of my throat, pulling a cool shiver up my spine. Once my hips felt my vibrating muscles, they joined the fun, spasming with their own reverberations.
His warm lips covered mine, pulling my attention from the aftermath of my first orgasm. His tongue swirled around mine, entangling our tongues in a game of lustful temptation. I felt his hand slowly moving up my back, making a wet trail along my spine. He found my breast, yes the one breast craving attention. With each touch of my nipple, he created a new thrill for me. All this stimulation had me begging for his dick. I wanted it deep in my pussy, buried deep enough to fill me and drive me closer to ecstasy.
As he crawled over me, I could feel his approaching monster dragging across my thigh on its way to my sexual center. Again, my pubic hairs cringed, not from cold, but the anticipation of his thick cock sliding into my cunt. Thick, large and dripping with pre-cum, his dick rubbed my lips with just enough pressure to part them. I gasped slightly as he pushed his penis all the way down.
“Give it to me, honey.”
He rolled his hips, continuing his pressure on my entire body. Stroke after stroke pounded my pussy so that my juices pumped out of my cunt and drooled down over my ass. The sound of his balls slapping against my skin darkened echoed through the house. His grunts became more pronounced and guttural. The color of his face ripened with each stroke of his cock. I knew he was coming soon.
A loud moan and several gasping breaths seeped from his mouth. With orgasm inevitable, my love pulled his dick from my hole and jabbed it in my face. Through my gritted teeth, he sent mouthfuls of semen over my lips as I fought to be released. I hated that. I wanted nothing in my mouth. Spitting and coughing the fluid from my lips, I struggled to free myself from his impalement.
“You dirty bitch! You take my seed wherever I say.”
“Not there. Please not there.” I wiped my lips with my arm.
“All whores drink my cum. You included. If you can’t, leave.”
I stared at his face without understanding. Surely my lover wanted what was good for me. I wanted him, but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t bring myself to drink his seed. I begged for mercy as he dragged me to the door. I cried out in pain as he shoved me off the porch. I wailed as the door slammed behind him. I was out and he was gone.
Chapter Two
A lifetime past and no one found me their lover. The droning loss of my well being settled into the blue fog of lost love and detrimental hope in the return of my passion.
Down by the river, in the brackish waters, a bridge crossed over to the neighboring town. There, among the salt marches, I spied a lowly drifter, dank and dirty, sleeping under the bridge as if he was a troll, ready at any moment to demand a toll for crossing over.
He agreed to kill me, thank God. The offer to have sex with me was a bonus, a kindness he needn’t do. I smiled, knowing that sex would seal the deal and he would not be able to back out. With our pact, I began to feel, again.
I stopped to kiss him just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. After all, a bum for a murderer was so cliché that I might have concocted the story in my own mind only to awake to the dreadful pain of life in the morning. The alcohol rich aroma in his mouth dulled the stench of his breath, yet I delighted in the knowledge of what the solid kiss and the physical groping meant as we slumped into the concrete.
Ending my life this way seemed so moral, so intensely prudent. This bum was the perfect solution. No one was going to mourn over me at my death, nor would anyone know to look for him. If I should die alone, he would be safe from society’s wrath for a poor man destined to help a desolate woman die. If I should take him with me, who would come looking for him?
The roguish feel of the cold wind upon my face hastened the walk to the concrete slab beneath the bridge. The angular slope offered some comfort from the ground, but kept that damp feeling running through me.
We talked. Someone else might have rushed to sex, but he knew I needed death more than sex, although I think his motives were more to stop my death than to hasten it.
Cold chills rolled down my spine when he licked my ear. I usually hated that, but his tongue was so preciously soft, I couldn’t help but love what he was doing. The slow rush of his breath on the dampness ignited a small flame in my passionate zone. Rolling a few sweet words in my ear was all he had to do to make me collapse onto my back, pulling him down with me. Curling my fingers in his hair, I found myself too involved to care what happened next.
Smoother than ice cream, he slid his hand under my shirt. I wondered if he would unhook my bra and release my tits to his waiting lips. Nimble as cat paws, he followed my straps to the clasp. A sudden flick of his fingers released the clasp. A couple of tugs at the straps freed the weight of my breasts to fall from the cups.
He smelled of the salt air from the salt marshes around the bridge. I had spent lots of time leaning against the rails in the evenings after the rains and often I could distinguish a faint hint of salt air in my clothes. He must have been there for hours. Drinking in the aroma made me feel at home with him. How could anyone not trust a man who smelled of seaweed and salt air?
His gentle touch along the globes of my breasts delivered what he knew I desired, an uncontrollable urge to kiss him. And kiss him I did. Long, deep and sensuous kisses passed between us, first deep in his mouth and then to mine. I loved the almost perfect motions of our tongues with each other as if we had practiced this for months.
He must not have noticed the difference in the sizes of my boobs, for clearly, my left was bigger than my right, a point that becomes more noticeable when they are excited. The only thing more embarrassing would have been for him to discover just how wet my pussy was from only kissing. My panties were soaked from his touch.
It had been a year since a man looked at me this way. First the old guys stopped hitting on me when I gained a few pounds. Then the ugly guys found other women as I aged gracefully. Soon, I was left alone to find satisfaction wherever I could. In the darkened streets dividing the worlds of normal and insanity, one can never be sure where their next fuck will come from.
Fuck. Such an ugly word for the pleasures a woman can give a man. She can make his world wonderful for a few minutes. There never is anything else that makes a man so happy as the single pleasure a woman gives him with her body.
By the time I realized we were being intimate, he already had run a finger across the lips of my cunt. The audible slushing sounds shook me from my daydream to the realization that he was rubbing my g-spot so perfectly that if I didn’t do something quickly I would come in an embarrassing torrent of pussy juices and screams.
The wind blew the brine smell of rotten fish across my nostrils. The morbid taste of his breath dissolved into the acrid fumes of the sea. Still, I couldn’t break the manifest power of his grip on my pussy. My senses were awakening like a flower opening in the morning sun. I felt every single pebble under my back as I squirmed beneath his talents. The sounds of lapping water on the shore kept time with his thrusts as I listened for the passing of another boat under the bridge.
I laid back against the concrete, resting my head on the grassy patch growing up between the seams. He followed my motions, never releasing his lips from mine. The dark shadows caused by the passing cars overhead on the bridge danced across the retaining walls on the other side of the river. It was a sensual distraction away from the fear I was experiencing with such close contact with a man I met while standing by the rails of a bridge.
Some looked like bodies intertwined in lust. Other shadows resembled a murder scene. I could still feel the utter hopelessness that led me to the bridge being part of my salvation, but clearly the shad
ows were playing my life in black and white.
The first moan escaped my lips. A subtle slip of my tongue let the first hint of passion leave my body. Fighting to stop the mounting pressure to scream and thrash about wildly caused my legs to a spasm. I couldn’t release the muscles without releasing my sexual secret. He would have to work harder than this to have me make such a spectacle of myself.
Harder he did. Invigorated by my slip, he delved slightly deeper, allowing his thumb to come to rest on my clit. The static charge between this man and my clit jolted my spine with a wave of pure ecstacy. Greater moaning forced his lips from mine and allowed me to breathe deeply.
Under the illusion I was still in control of my body, I sighed in simple relief when he moved from my face to my chest. Breasts have never been a big deal to me. My nipples usually are too sensitive to be of use in any sexual manner. One gentle lick released his dogged force and I could stop the tide of orgasm rising in my body. I welcomed his lips to my nipples with a smile on my face.
The bite hurt; it hurt so good I couldn’t believe I had missed this all my life. He gripped by breast with his teeth sinking in my nipple, stretching the whole of my breast with his mouth as he pulled away from my body.
This fickle man knew my secrets. He knew the lustful remnants of ecstacy buried in my body so deep I didn’t know they existed. How he knew mystified me. Could he have seen me in some other world? Were we lovers in a previous life? The questions bounced around my mind and distracted me so much that his lips touching my clit startled me.
The tongue that started this whole chain delved into my most sacred place. I couldn’t stop the short, staccato breaths, the only air feeding my lungs. The more I wanted to breathe, the quicker he licked, keeping my breath in time with his stokes.
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