T01 Playmate {Addesso} (MF) ----------------------------------- WARNING NOTICE: The following story is erotic fiction and includes descriptions of explicit sex. If you are a minor or if such things may offend you, quit reading now. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Playmate by Addesso (C) 2003, All Rights Reserved I visited Good Vibrations today. Passing to my right on Valencia, it was quite difficult to miss the signs taped upon their windows, one letter per page announcing their S-P-R-I-N-G C-L-E-A-N-I-N-G S-A-L-E. Miraculously, a car in front pulled out into the street vacating its space for me -- quite a rarity in parking-impared San Francisco. With a few flicks of the wheel, the WRX was parallelled and alarmed, and I stepped to the curb with quarters jingling in the palm of my hand. The meter though already had a full twenty-minutes left on it. How fortuitous is all of that? I was interested in checking out a Taschen book called Motel Fetish by Chas Ray Krider, a photographer with an affinity for '50s-'60s era lingerie and undergarments, '70s-'80s trashy pulp motel settings, and '90s contemporary Betty Page-ish models. What a delightful combination. I hadn't stepped into Good Vibes in quite a while, my last being a few months ago with my ex. With her disappearance, the clanging of sexual excitement had faded to a morose whisper. Funny how some of my peers would say otherwise; that when attached to someone they adore, they suppress their filthy, mind-in-the-gutter desires in fear of loss, and only as a bachelor do they have the freedom to let their inner perv out, usually in a chain of promiscuous one-night-stands. Myself, the opposite has always been true, sharing pornography, erotica, and pushing sexual limits with only the one closest to me. I suppose it's all a matter of finding the right playmate. Lately, another playmate has come into light and my thoughts turn to her like a spotlight trained on a dancer's body. Every move she makes, I keep that light steadily on her, never waivering. I believe she likes the attention as well; certain people are just born to exhibit. Although never meeting, we've played numerous times on the phone, our voices exchanging pent desire back and forth, patiently waiting our turns as we intently listen to the other moan in pleasure. There is nothing that makes my mind race more than the sound of a woman lost in her own touch. She alone has thrown the breaker inside of me, again turning on my concupiscense for the perverse. My custodian playmate, donning coveralls tantilizingly open between her breasts and a tilt cap on her dainty head, has decended to the basement within me and primed the furnace. Unleashed, I ease back into old habits, like fantasizing about my new playmate in bed or in the shower. With a thought, my ears can recall her moaning my name while lost in her self-made pleasure created literally with her own hands. That thought is enough to get a rise out of me and once it begins, that appetite has to be sated. (Although the game where I'm left hungry is also a delight, I only appreciate that when played in person.) Lately, her influence has, as well as kick-starting my lust, unlocked my creativity and imagination, pushing me to sprawl my words continuously. Even a gentle snowfall can cause great avalanches. And so my perversity finds itself at Good Vibrations, an old habit that I comfortably slip into. My only thought to make this visit more perfect would be the eager company of my playmate, slipping through the frosted door hand-in-hand, the rousing tension felt through every curve of our interlaced fingers. I pull that earnest thought back deep into my mind, not letting it dwell too long on the surface. That day may come soon enough; best let it come in due time. My feet walk through the stacks, my eyes spot the book I'm searching for, and my hands split the covers open, letting the pages fall open as they may. I'm delighted by the images conjured up by Krider's photography -- of a classy yet sinister by-gone era seeping in an atmosphere of pulp noir, but lost due to its antiquity. Too classy to be prostitues, but not so much so that they wouldn't entertain the thought of an illicit fling in dark hideaways. The ultimate listless mistresses. Resting the book back on the shelf, my eyes fall upon other delights, familiar as well as curious. Erotic fiction, sexual guides, vibrators and dildos, plugs, lubes, videos and DVDs, sensual games. The cuffs and whips catch my attention, arresting me in ways figurative as well as literal. My fingers wrap around the handle of a riding crop and I swat gently upon the base of my thumb, then my outer calf to get a feel for the control and sensation. I examine the workmanship and details of a new set of padded cuffs hanging on a collection of hooks, wondering how delicate wrists would look bound in their leather and buckles. I fancy a strappy rhinestone-jeweled collar around my playmate's slender neck. I imagine the purring eminating deep from within her, passing her lips as I fasten the thin collar around her, and once bound, feeling the gentle patter of her heart as I lay my hands against her chest. Once back home, surprisingly exhausted, this is what my thoughts turn to as I lie in bed. The beginning of May has been quite an ordeal for her, dividing her time between family and occupation, with a scant few minutes left over for me. It's understandable, and I always tell her that I'll be here when she has the time. But for now, I play with her mental doppelganger within my mind that pays me a visit with just the closing of my eyelids. From the vapors of imagination, I quickly unpack and expand the room I reside in, the whole unfolding like a crumpled paper diorama in reverse. With a simple mental gesture, our figures are upon my bed, me lying on my back, my playmate above me on all fours, collar sliding to rest upon her neck. I will my hands upon her hips at the point where the curvature of her body begins the shape of her behind. Her hands, fingers splayed, wrists wrapped in padded vinyl, are each in the space between an arm and my body. I can feel the cool metal rings adorning each cuff pressing into my side. She stares down at me, hair, whatever is not in pigtails, cascading down in tufts, eyes vibrantly green, even in the dim light. She lays one hand on my chest, the rings brushing my nipple causing a slight tremor to run though my body. She then lays her other hand on top of the first, lowers her breasts to my stomach, her hard nipples dragging against taught skin. Perched on her knees, rear high in the air, she rests her chin upon her folded hands and with a wry smile, she looks into my face. I cup a hand behind her head, pulling my playmate towards my lips which dance across hers. Eyes closed, she moans against my mouth. I picture my walk-in closet with two hooks lined on the wall for jackets. The jackets now lay in heaps upon the floor, and in their place bound to them by rope is one cuff each, wrapped around a fragile wrist, the contrast between the pale flesh and the dark vinyl dizzying. My playmate stands between them, facing the wall arms spread wide. Her delicate shoulers face me craving a caress with fingertips or lips, the gentle triangle of her back continuing downward before pinching at the waist. The rise of her bottom follows to long, lilt legs which are spread slightly apart, ankles bound to a short rod of wood keeping her stance wide. I press the entirety of my body against her back, crushing my playmate against the wall, an act of aggression and passion folding into one. My hands slide around slim hips to her stomach, fingertips meeting then wandering apart from each other, one upwards to her breasts and the other downwards snaking around her inner thigh. Her head is turned to the side, ear pressed to the wall as if eavesdropping on illicit acts instead of being involved in one. She cranes her head upwards as my lips nuzzle against her curve of neck, precursory nibbles dotting her shoulder. My fingers ply over her body, one teasing an erect nipple between index and middle, the other circling ever closer to a warm pubis. Resting my thumb on the top of her triangle, I curve my fingers inward to the fold between her legs grazing my playmate's clitoris. I feel her body shift downwards, pressing against my palm as her knees give ever so slightly, thigh muscles tensing up beneath her soft skin. Gingerly, teasingly, I caress her clit, letting time excrutiatingly pass between touches, waiting for hips to cry out in frustration before I resume. My middle, resting across the entrance to her body, can feel the warm, moisture gather beneath. A slow steady rhythm is established and with every passing moment that pace is quickened. My playmate begins to rock hips against my own. Her soft cheeks brush against the front of my thighs and hips, my cock stiffening between the space of my body and part of her behind. Each of her motions is carried out along the base of my penis, pulling the skin upwards and downwards, quickening my own breath in time with hers. Her movements become more rapid, and as I keep my speed up against her clit, she cries out to me, calling my name in between labored breaths, begging to be felt from the inside. Now bending my middle towards her wet, sticky lips, I oblige. Inner muscles tighten around my finger as I slide it deep within her. Her body drops again beneath me, rhythm lost as my playmate's composure begins to slip. Slowly she gathers herself up beneath me as I curl my finger forwards, pressing first softly against her G-spot, then more forcefully as her moans increase. The heat radiating off her skin as my chest is pressed against her back makes my head swim. Throwing her head from side to side, her pigtails dance before my eyes, swatting against my cheeks. Building up to climax, her moans straining to escape her lips, I wrap my free arm around her body embracing her against me. Holding her tight, securely and comfortly, I whisper in her ear to come as I slide another finger past her lips to force her over the edge. With two more curls of my middle, my playmate is falling, surrendering to orgasm, throwing her head back against my shoulder, hair pressed hard, burning against my chest. Body tense, her legs give from under her and straining against the cuffs; I hold her up with an arm wrapped around her. As the tide of her pleasure receeds, I position myself behind my playmate, and before her head can clear, ease my tense and waiting cock into her. She eminates a quick gasp past parted lips and relinquishes control to me. My hands firmly holding her sweaty hips, I push into her body, closely on the heels of her previous orgasm. Lungs panting, she returns herself against me, accepting my forcefulness willingly. Soon another orgasm tears through her, and through clenched teeth, she cries for me to not pull out -- to come within her. That yielding demand sends me shooting out of control, and my hips thrust into her as an explosion races through my mind and body, lifting her to her toes, grappling for her body to embrace. Hot and sweaty, moaning the requiem of frenzied passion in choral unison between breaths, we rise and fall pulled along in the receeding tides of our sexual avarice. I now slide up between her and the wall, my eyes level with hers, first holding her face in my hands as I stare into luminous green, moist with tears. I look from one to the other, delving deep into her soul, my thumbs wiping away drops from the corners of her lashes, culminating with a touch of our lips. I envelop my arms around a tiny waist and small of back, pressing her body towards me. Once again her body yields to my embrace and -- her arms still spread wide bound to cuffs and hooks -- impetuously we kiss. These moments never last long enough. My doppelganger playmate fades as I drift away into sleep, her perfectness slowly sinking into the depths of memory. Languidly she stares back at me during her decent, those pools of green the last traces of color shimmering in the darkness before my consciousness -- grappling for a memory to pull into it, but finding no purchase -- also dissolves away. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End of 'Playmate' by Addesso. Story 01