======== Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: Sue's 19th: Good Grief 1/2 (mf) From: SueNH@aol.com Date: Thu, 31 Aug 1995 02:53:57 GMT NOTE: This story is, of course, for adults only -- so don't read it if you don't think you can be mature about it. Reading and writing these stories should be acts of fantasy, and I hope that you can keep your notions of real and fantasy life separate in your mind. I know I can. If you would like to let me know what you think, or if you have a follow-up fantasy (which is something that I REALLY like), you can reach me at SueNH@AOL.com ... but I can't promise to return your emails... I do have some other things to do in my real life! Incidentally, all of my stories are available through the Louvre archive... check it out. ********************************** GOOD GRIEF part 1 of 2 by Sue It was appropriately gloomy weather on the afternoon when my good friend Beth was buried. Her death at the hands of a drunk driver was a tragedy that all of her many friends felt very deeply. Of course, her husband and two young children were devastated by the loss. I had known Beth since our high school days when we wre both cheerleaders. We saw each other almost every day during the following years, often at the health club. After our work-outs, we would share long talks over coffee about the traumas and joys of our lives. I thought I knew everything about her, and every one of her friends. Was I ever wrong! The funeral service was held outdoors, next to the grave site. More than a hundred people attended, all bundled up against the insistent Autumn chill. I knew everyone there, most with tears filling their eyes. Half-way through the service, I noticed someone who I didn't recognize, on the far side of the circle of Beth's friends. He was leaning against the gnarled trunk of a huge sugar maple, ablaze with golden foliage, and he was dressed more casually than most of the mourners. Although he was physically part of the group, I knew instinctively that he was separate and mysterious. My curiosity was piqued; who was this one person I didn't know, who felt strongly enough to attend Beth's funeral? I needed to know. So when the final words were spoken, I avoided conversation with the friends standing near me. Instead I circled around the outside of the group toward the tree where he had been standing. He was already gone. Glancing around, I saw him sitting on a stone wall a couple hundred feet away, staring off into space. He was deep in thought, and perhaps I should have left him in peace. But I so wanted to know how he was connected to Beth, about whom I thought I knew everything. I screwed up my courage and walked over the leaf-strewn grass, silently sitting near him on the wall. Minutes passed without a word, as we watched everyone else walk away from the grave. Even when the last car had sped off down the dirt road, our quiet meditation continued, until finally he turned his head toward mine, and said "I probably shouldn't have come here today, but I just couldn't stay away. Beth had a powerful and exciting influence on my life, and in my way, I loved her very much." What on earth was he talking about? According to him, Beth and he had been close. But he was unknown to her community of friends. So I just had to ask bluntly "Who are you, anyway. I'm sure that I've never seen you with Beth, or around town." "I've never actually met Beth, at least not in person. But she and I knew everything about each other, since we talked to each other over computer networks. We were sort of like penpals, or e-pals, I guess you might say." He saw the bewildered look on my face, and continued "I would explain all this to you, but what she and I had was very special, and very intimate. And it was absolutely secret. So I'm not sure that I should go on. I would hate for her family to be hurt." I asked "How do you know that I'm not a family member?" To which he answered "Well I'm pretty sure that I know who you are. You're Sue, aren't you? Beth described you in great detail, and no one else at the service looked like you do. If it weren't for what she told me about you and the deep friendship that you shared, I wouldn't have even said this much. But she said that you were the most open-minded and open-hearted person she knew, so I'm taking the chance with you. I know that you are familiar with America Online and how it can be used to get into sexual fantasies. She told me that you are the 'SueNH' that writes all those stories for the Internet." How the hell did Beth know that? I haven't told anyone, not even my closest friends. It turns out that she had discovered the stories, and had recognized my physical description, the neighborhood, and my personality. I had dropped enough hints for Beth to figure it out. I was somewhat horrified to have been discovered, but also tantalized by the possibilities. While I sat there with my jaw hanging open, he continued "Beth really appreciated the companionship that you offered her, and both of us found your stories to be an incredible turn-on. We talked endlessly about the wild and erotic images you write about." Well, compliments like that will always get my attention -- as will the face and body and voice that this mystery man possessed. And the mystery itself may have been the part that was the most intriguing to me. So I promised to keep what he told me to myself, and to not be judgmental or shocked by anything that I learned. With that assurance, he decided to trust me, and then he told me their story, which went something like this: His name is Dale. He too was married. Beth and he met in a general chat room on America Online, where they discussed parenthood and marriage and eventually the boredom and stagnation of their lives. Given the anonymity of the Internet (I learned that Beth used the alias "OpeningUp" as her screen name, which said a lot about where she was coming from when she met people online), the two of them started sharing more and more intimate feelings. Early on, Dale suggested that they move to a "private room," where he thought that they wouldn't have the distraction of all the other people chatting in the public room. He knew that the private room system existed, but hadn't actually used one. Beth immediately asked him if he was trying to "cyber-seduce" her (I like that expression), and when he denied it, she told him that she was disappointed! Dale discovered that she had been a regular participant in these rooms for a couple of years, and that she looked forward to the safe, anonymous, and wild fantasies that could be played out with her online partners. I had promised Dale that I wouldn't be shocked, but it was hard to maintain my composure to hear that sweet little Beth, member of the PTA and the church ladies auxiliary, was actually a wanton vamp of the computer networks. Over the years, she and I had shared so many conversations. I thought she was telling me EVERYTHING, as I was baring my soul to her. Of course, I too had been holding back, not telling her one important thing -- about my alter-ego as a regular contributor to alt.sex.stories. So it shouldn't have come as such a surprise to find out about Beth's secret life. But it did! Now my curiosity was getting really revved up. And my interest in this magnetically handsome stranger with the syrupy voice was overwhelming any sense of social correctness that should have been guiding my behavior. Dale was reluctant to get too graphic in his description of what the two of them talked about in the private room. After all, we were talking about someone who had died only a few days ago, who had just been buried within sight of where we sat. Yet it was precisely for those reasons that we found ourselves able to talk so freely, stranger to stranger, connected by our mutual friend for whom we both were grieving. Anyway, it turned out that Dale and Beth had arranged to have a regular rendezvous every Tuesday morning at 10 o'clock. That explained why she had started coming to the health club only four mornings a week. For an hour each session, they would start with some flirting, then they would verbally undress each other, followed by some torrid sex that transcended the apparent limits of their keyboards. Both Beth and Dale had occasionally experienced orgasms without touching themselves, just from the extreme arousal of the typed conversation. Each time, they would imagine themselves outside of their regular lives, sometimes playing roles as if they were in another time or another city. They always reserved a few minutes at the end of their session to have a discussion that wasn't about the cyber-seduction. Sort of like the proverbial post-orgasmic smoke-a-cigarette talk. They laid bare the tender wounds of their lives, revealing their vulnerabilities and dreams. Dale lived in Arizona, so it was both impractical and unwise to meet in person. Despite their exciting fantasies and their unfulfilled "real lives," neither really wanted to take the risk of hurting their families, or endangering the reputations that they had staked out in their communities. Despite their exciting fantasies and unfulfilled "real lives", neither wanted to take the risk of damaging their families or reputations. But eventually, the exhilarating and elicit online affair was like a drug that needed a bigger fix. They made plans to meet, in the flesh (quite literally). Dale had arrived yesterday, checking into a motel in a neighboring town. He only found out this morning about Beth's accident. He knew it was inappropriate to show up at the funeral, but he couldn't stay away. He needed to see her put to rest, and he found it strangely reassuring to see Beth surrounded by her close friends and families. Of course, he was disappointed at this sudden reversal of fortune. but he was instantly resigned to the reality. His greatest regret was that Beth and he had not gotten to share the single night of physical passion that they had planned. One night was all that they had allowed themselves, and then they had promised to return to their real lives, never to meet again, online or in person! But they couldn't live the rest of their lives without tasting the forbidden fruit just this once. Now that phrase "the rest of our lives" had a tragic poignancy as it related to Beth. But for Dale, he had reached for the apple and it had been pulled from his grasping hands. His sadness about Beth's death was mixed with understandable frustration for his own tough luck. As Dale told me this history of the two of them, I found myself stirred by the romance, and titillated by the erotic overtones. I was drawn to Dale not only by sympathy, but also by a rising sexual charge. When he mentioned his frustration at the end of the story,it was clear to me that much of it was sexual frustration. I instantly made a decision which felt totally right at that moment (although it certainly seems reckless as I look back on it). I could be the stand-in for Beth for the one night. His long anticipated union with his cyber-lover could in some fashion be fulfilled, and I could see that this required no sacrifice on my part, for my attraction to Dale was instantaneous, going back to that first moment when I had spotted him during the funeral. By "becoming" Beth for a few hours, I could perhaps be giving her a final tribute. If her angel was watching over us, she could enjoy our sexual encounter in some mystical and vicarious way. While this plan crystallized in my head, I chose not to explain it to Dale. This wasn't a time for logic. I simply stood up in front of him between his knees, pulled his head to my breasts, and ran my fingers through his long curly hair. "Dale, I want you to do something for me, and for yourself. I want your to let go of reality for a few hours. Tonight I will be your Beth. Right this minute, I am Beth. I want you to forget about my death, to forget about Sue. I want you to celebrate our love, to make love to me with all the passion that you have kept imprisoned for so long. I want to see your body. I want to wrap my hands around your cock. I want you to kiss me all over. And I want you to fuck me like there is no tomorrow. Because there isn't!" Dale started sobbing softly, and the tenderness of the moment brought tears to my eyes as well. His arms were wrapped tightly around my waist. After dwelling in the grief for a few more minutes, I took the initiative, and reached behind me to take his hands. I pulled them down so that they rested on my ass cheeks. Dale was still hesitant, so I pressed his fingers into my flesh. Eventually, he let go of his self-restraint, and began massaging my ass, gently at first, then more insistently. I glanced around quickly to make sure that there was no one left in the cemetery. Then I gripped the waist of my simple black sheath and began to bunch up the material, pulling the hem up from my knees. I'm not sure that Dale even knew what I was doing, with his face buried between my breasts. With a final yank, I pulled the material out from under his hands. The cool autumn air was in sharp contrast to the fingertips burning into my skin. Dale was now fully into the illusion of me being Beth. His crying had stopped, and where the fabric of my dress was damp from his tears, I now felt his hot breath wafting against my nipples, making them harder. One of them was trying to poke out his eye. My hands were now resting on his shoulders, and I kneaded the tightness from his neck muscles, slipping my fingers under the collar of his turtleneck. His hands had migrated around and under my ass cheeks, so that he was pushing his finger tips up into my cunt, pressing the thin fabric of my pantyhose into the moisture that had seeped out of my vagina. I normally don't wear this type of underwear when I am expecting any kind of sexual encounter. I had no idea that this would be in the cards today! But I had dispensed with panties, since the hose provided the warmth and modesty that I required for this solemn occasion. Now that stretchy nylon material was providing almost no barrier to the exploring fingers that slid along my puffy labia, flicking over the hooded nub of my clitoris. I hadn't realized how completely aroused I had become, but now I could feel the moisture soaking into the nylon, and the coolness from the air sent shivers up my spine. Or were the shudders caused by the stimulation of the prodding fingers? I gasped with the intensity of it all. But the seasonal chill was just too much. To say nothing of my fear of being spotted by a passerby. After all, my courage to be sexual on the Internet is quite different from what I feel is possible in my home town. So I pulled away from Dale and let my dress fall back to my knees. I drew his hands up my torso, bumping over my sensitive breasts, and up to my mouth. My lips wrapped themselves around a couple of his fingers, and I tasted my own pungent juices. Stepping backwards a step, I let the grasp of my lips pull him to a standing position. "Let's go to your motel. I'll follow your car" I said, and the sultry tone in my voice surprised me. We walked hand-in-hand out to the dirt road, and kissed passionately one time before getting into our cars. He was driving some clunky looking rental job. I was in my sporty little Miata, with the top up for the weather. When we got into town, we had to stop at the only traffic light. I used the brief pause to remove my shiny pumps and shimmy out of my pantyhose. I tried to be inconspicuous about my movements, since this was the busiest part of our little town. Now my simple black sheath was my only piece of clothing, and I know I wouldn't be wearing even that much longer. Turning up the car's heater, I let it blow up between my knees, which I separated as much as I could within the tight confines of the driver's seat. The hem rode up high on my thighs. I could immediately smell the unique fragrance that emanated from my oozing cunt. As I tailed Dale's car for the 15 minutes it took to get to his motel, I let my fingers tease myself ever-so-lightly, swirling around my gumdrop nipples, and occasionally dropping down to slide through the lubricated crevice of my naked cunt. I had to restrain myself from touching myself too aggressively, for the temptation was very strong. Continued in part 2... (which is where the really hot sex is, if you've been wondering if we'd ever get to that!) ======== Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: Sue's 19th: Good Grief 2/2 (mf) From: SueNH@aol.com Date: Thu, 31 Aug 1995 02:54:09 GMT NOTE: This story is, of course, for adults only -- so don't read it if you don't think you can be mature about it. Reading and writing these stories should be acts of fantasy, and I hope that you can keep your notions of real and fantasy life separate in your mind. I know I can. If you would like to let me know what you think, or if you have a follow-up fantasy (which is something that I REALLY like), you can reach me at SueNH@AOL.com ... but I can't promise to return your emails... I do have some other things to do in my real life! Incidentally, all of my stories are available through the Louvre archive... check it out. ********************************** GOOD GRIEF part 2 of 2 by Sue {If you didn't read part one, then little of this part will make sense. But since almost all of the hot sex in this story occurs in this part, then maybe that's all the sense it needs to have!} Finally, just as the sun was setting in the West, we arrived at the High Hills Motor Lodge. Even before I had pulled to a stop, Dale had hopped out of his car and was unlocking the door to his room. I stepped up to him and through into his tidy little room. When he reached for the light switch, I stopped his hand. Trying to reinforce the illusion, I said "Remember, I am Beth. You know who I am. You know what I look like from what I told you in the chat room. Let the light from the window be your guide. Let your hands lead you." I was using a monotone voice that I hoped would be hypnotic. "Remember all the wild scenes we have had together. Tonight I want you to make it the best time of all. I want you to tell me how you like it. I am yours for the night. I am Beth. I am yours. Make love to me." He was hooked completely. Even in the dim light I could see that his eyes were kind of glazed over, and he was breathing rapidly and deeply. I let my hands drop down to his crotch, where I gave his cock a gentle squeeze. He was rock-hard, and so very big. He leaned back against the door, and asked me to take it out. His voice was almost a whisper, desperate and urgent. I wasn't there to be a tease, so I leaned forwards to kiss him hard. While our lips mashed together and my tongue plunged deep between his teeth, I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly. Dropping to my knees on the thick carpet, I pulled off his loafers, and then quickly removed his trousers. His erection made a huge tent in his white boxers. I snaked a hand up into each of the loose pant legs and with my fingers straight, I enclosed the hard column of flesh in a prayerful grasp. My finger tips just reached the head of his cock, which was trapped under the elastic waistband. I let my fingernails graze lightly over the sensitive skin of his rotund glans. "Please take it all the way out" he implored. I bent his cock shaft away form his stomach, stretching the waistband outward. Biting down onto the corrugated material, I pulled his shorts down onto his thighs with my head. My forehead rubbed down his cock, leaving a smear of precome on my skin. I released his cock from my hands and used them to pull his boxers the rest of the way down his legs. He was already unbuttoning his overshirt and pulling his turtleneck up over his head. "What do you want me to do now?" I asked innocently. "You know." "Tell me. I'll do anything you ask. But you must tell me what you want." I wanted to make sure that I didn't break the illusion of my being Beth, which I could easily have done by acting in some way that he didn't expect. I just had to hope that she hadn't convinced him that she was some kind of dominatrix! "Please, kiss my cock! Suck on it the way you talked about on the computer. I've been waiting so long for this moment. I've kept myself from masturbating or making love with my wife for two weeks. I'm tingling all over. I need you to suck on my cock now. Please Beth, do it now!" His use of Beth's name sounded so genuine. I was sure that he was completely absorbed by the trance. And I too was having trouble keeping track of my own identity. I felt like I really was Beth. I felt like I had known Dale for all these months, and that I had been anticipating this moment of forbidden physical pleasure. I had masturbated only that morning as I showered, but now I felt the delicious sense that I get when it has been a long time between orgasm, when I know that my time is coming. This was no time to flirt. Dale's erection was pointing almost straight up, and was twitching uncontrollably. I leaned forwards and kissed his balls, then slipped my tongue out from between my lips and lapped up the entire length of his solid column of hot flesh. Just as I reached the protruding rim of his glans, my tongue collided with a falling droplet of his oily precome. I drew it into my mouth, savoring the musky flavor and smell. My hands came up and wrapped around the base of his cock, and then milked upwards. The clear, sticky precome poured out of his pisshole. I don't think that I have ever encountered so much of the stuff,and I wondered for a moment if he was already ejaculating; but I could tell from his other movements that this was just the appetizer -- the main meal was still to cum. My fingers smeared the greasy liquid all over the throbbing length of his cock. I swallowed the head of his cock into my mouth -- I had to rise up off my haunches to reach it. Swirling my tongue around the helmet-shaped head, and sucking in with my cheeks, I began to pump the exposed shaft with one hand. My other hand cupped his balls and prodded gently into the sensitive sacks. His hands twisted in my long hair, but thankfully, he didn't try to force my head into his crotch, for the breadth and length of his column of veined flesh would surely have gagged me. I was fortunate that he was a naturally gentle soul. "Oh god, I'm going to come already. Please don't stop, Beth. This feels like heaven." I had only been sucking on his cock for a few seconds, but it only took that long to provoke his orgasm. I took more of his cock into my mouth, and the jets of semen started splattering into my throat. I swallowed as fast as I could, enjoying the indescribable taste. I squeezed his balls in time with his contraction. Abruptly, the strength in his knees gave way, and his back slid down the surface of the door. I had to wriggle backwards on my knees, and bend down more so that I could keep my lips clamped around his writhing cock. My ears were filled with the hoarse grunts of his incredible orgasm. Seconds seemed to pass like minutes as he came down from the heights. I continued to nibble lightly on his cock, vacuuming up the final oozing droplets of cream. Finally, Dale got his breath back and stood up, pulling me to my feet with him. "Your turn" was all he said, as he turned so that I faced away from him. He pulled my arms up over my head, and then nudged with his toe at my insoles, spreading my feet wide apart. Reaching around my sides, his hands started fluttering around on the front of my body, following a seemingly random pattern. It felt like a swarm of butterflies. He brushed his fingertips over my face, up my arms, over my heaving breasts, flicking over my distended nipples, over my ribs, onto my tight tummy, into my navel.... I'm very ticklish, and I had to bite my lip to keep from breaking out in girlish giggles. But I was also enjoying Dale's touch, light as it was. He was hardly making contact at all, and my black dress also buffered his caresses. Yet that was all it took to make me quiver with erotic thrills. When Dale reached down to take hold of the hem of my dress, his steamy breath penetrated the fabric on my back, reminding me of the intimate feeling of his breath on my breasts only an hour ago. He peeled the sheath up over my hips and upper body, and then over my arms,which were still reaching for the ceiling. That dress was the single piece of clothing that I was wearing, so now I was completely naked, illuminated by the orange glimmers of the sunset through the window. Dale remarked "what happened to your underwear?" To which I answered that I never wore a bra, and that I had removed my pantyhose while I was in my Miata. "Beth, you are as brazen in person as you ever were online. I love that about you. You know what you want, and with me, you are going to get just that." He scooped me up in his arms and carried me to the bed. His strength and masculinity enclosed my slender body. Before setting me down, he reached down with one hand and stripped the blanket off the bed. Then he lay me onto the taut white sheet, face-down, and he sat on my rear. His strong hands began massaging my neck and shoulders. All the light touches from before were transformed into vigorous kneading. He worked his way down my back, and then pushed himself backwards so that he could sit between my knees. As he massaged my spongy ass cheeks, I knew that he could see the shadowy wet folds of my cunt, and the star-like opening of my asshole. His thumbs crept closer and closer to these targets, but just when I thought he would work his way into my cunt, he shifted his attention to my thighs, and down all the way to one foot. He sucked my toes into his mouth one at a time, stopping only long enough to say ""This is what you've been begging to have done for months, isn't it, Beth? I love giving you this treatment." Then he rubbed my other leg, repeating his toe sucking on that foot. It did feel good, and he was very enthusiastic about it. Being Beth meant getting involved with her particular little fetishes. Maybe having my toes sucked is something I need to add to my regular repertoire. "That's wonderful, Dale," I said, "but now I want more." "Like what" he responded. Right away, I could see that he was going to play the same game on me that I had played with him. He wanted me to say what I wanted. "Bring your hands back up to my ass" I said. But when he only went back to massaging my cheeks, I implored him to touch my cunt. "Like this, Beth?" he asked. But all he was doing was grazing over my sparse cunt hair with the finger tips of one hand, while the other continued kneading my butt. "Dale, I'm too excited to talk. You know what I like from when you've touched me with your silent voice over the phone wires. I've begged you to do those things that no one else has. So now I want you to make love to my body the way we have talked about so much. You know what I want. Do it now. Don't tease me. Please." With that, I hiked my rear way up into the air, and spread my knees further, so that I was totally open and accessible to him. Instantly, his fingers pressed more insistently into my cunt flesh. His long middle finger slipped easily between my slick labia, and the fingers to either side scissored in around the engorged lips. His hand prodded back and forth plowing my furrows, thumping against the hard peg of my clitoris. then I felt the thumb of his other hand slip into my gaping vagina. He pressed that thumb down toward the palm of the hand that stroked my clitoris, so that the hard knob of his first knuckle brushed over my G spot. Slowly at first, then gradually accelerating, he danced over and inside of my totally receptive cunt. Instinctively, he knew exactly where to probe, how hard and fast I needed it. Incredibly, at the moment that I started to reach my climax, he stopped his motion, maintaining a firm but passive pressure, until I too backed off from the peak. Then he began the gradual climb back up the mountain of pleasure. Four times he brought me almost to the crest, and four times he denied me that summit. I never feared that he would be so cruel as to leave me frustrated. I understood that he was playing me like a guitar, strumming chords on my G spot as he plucked at my rubbery clitoris. I was captivated by the music. As I ascended the mountain for the fifth time, Dale allowed me to surge over the final barrier, and I reached my climax with hurricane force. I could feel the pulsing waves smashing up from my crotch and spreading through my body and into my head. My breathing was harsh and rapid, like the winds of the storm. Time stood still as my body shuddered and writhed on the snaky fingers provoking my convulsing cunt. I had no time to recuperate before Dale moved up behind me and placed the fat head of his cock at the dripping entrance of my vagina. Gripping my hips with his hands, he drove his cock all the way into me with one sudden thrust. I was totally open, and was able to accommodate his huge prong of meat with only a shrill hiss that came not from any discomfort, but only from the visceral pleasure of being stuffed full of my lover's cock. His wiry pubic hair pressed into my ass cheeks, and he remained motionless. "Beth, your cunt fits my cock so perfectly. I can feel your inner muscles churning and clutching. I've dreamed of this moment for so long. It feels so incredible." For emphasis, I did my best to clamp down on his cock, and then I started to rock back and forth. At first I only moved an inch or so, and his hips remained glued to mine. But eventually, he allowed his cock to withdraw and then disappear, again and again. He let go of my hips and reached around with both hands to envelop my breasts. His fingers softly pinched and rolled my plump nipples. I clutched at the sheet and tried to dig my toes in, so that I could gain the leverage needed to drive my cunt into his groin. I needed him to fuck me hard, and it just wasn't enough. "Lie back, Dale, and let me do the work. That's what I want now." And I pushed back extra hard with my ass, encouraging him to flop backwards onto the bed. His cock was pulled out of my cunt with a slurping sound, and then flopped hard onto his stomach. With my back still facing him, I settled back onto my haunches, with my ass hovering over his hips. I reached between my sweaty thighs and took hold of his slippery cock, aiming it straight upwards. Lifting myself up, I reinserted the glans between my drooping lips. Then I dropped my butt down onto his groin, impaling myself completely. Immediately, I began pistoning up and down at a furious pace. The bed started creaking loudly, and I worried momentarily that the frame might break! My head swung around, flailing my long blond hair into a golden cloud. My breasts swam around crazily, colliding with each other with damp slapping sounds. One of my hands found its way behind me to a spot along side of Dale's chest, and I leaned backwards and to the side. He could again reach my breasts, and he tried to tame their wild dance. My other hand fell down to his balls, bouncing around under my pounding cunt, and I took up the gentle squeezing that had been so stimulating for him earlier. My wrist rubbed against the splayed lips of my cunt, sweeping over my slippery and tender clitoris. He could remain passive no longer, and he started meeting my downward thrusts with vigorous upwards hip-tilts. I felt like I was riding a bucking bronco (or was it a fucking bronco). Both of us were sweating profusely, and the fingers clutching his balls were bathed in the commingled juices from his cock and my cunt. Earthy smells and animal grunts filled the air. We had both achieved an earlier orgasm, so we had the time to enjoy our uncurbed lust. At one point, I thought I might have to stop from exhaustion, but I got my second wind and was able to continue and even quicken my pace. It wasn't long after that I could feel my second climax begin to spread it's tendrils of elation though my veins. "I'm going to come now, Dale. Come with me. Pour your seed deep into my body. Don't wait. Aaahhhhhh." And he didn't wait. His hips exploded off the mattress several times in rapid-fire succession, and then he pumped upwards one last time, becoming frozen with his ass a foot from the bed. I sat up straight, abandoning my pistoning. Instead, I bore down hard, grinding my cunt into his bushy pubic hair. I was milking his spasming cock with my cunt muscles and rubbing my finger tips into the sensitive spot between his balls and his asshole. My wrist pressed hard into my clitoris. Within my seething vagina, I could feel the blasts of semen erupting volcanically like hot lava, splashing up against my cervix. My own orgasm was short and electrifying. It was a dizzying rapture that was so intense that it almost became painful, and I forced myself to push off of Dale's stiff body, falling onto the bed at his side. In the faint light, I saw his shiny cock still pointing toward the ceiling, shooting one last fountain of silvery come into the air and landing on his sweaty chest as he allowed his hips to sink back down to the bed. The intensity of my exertion and my lust left me drained and spent. I could only close my eyes and fall immediately into a deep sleep. Fluids percolated from my ravished cunt, and the sticky secretions dried in my pubic hair. That night, I had the most real-feeling dreams.... of being surrounded by radiant white angels, and of Beth looking down on me with an impish smile. She said to me "OK, Sue, so of course I'm jealous... but I still want to thank you for taking my place tonight. You've given a great gift to Dale. You're a sweetheart. I'll put in a good word for you up here." To which I could only reply "No need to thank me. By having the chance to "be" you for a few hours, I've already gotten to visit heaven. So thank you, Beth. You've been a dear friend. I'll hold you and your secrets in my heart forever." ======== Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: Sue's 14th: Craftsmanship (mf) From: SueNH@aol.com Date: Thu, 31 Aug 1995 02:56:00 GMT NOTE: This story is, of course, for adults only -- so don't read it if you don't think you can be mature about it. Reading and writing these stories should be acts of fantasy, and I hope that you can keep your notions of real and fantasy life separate in your mind. I know I can. If you would like to let me know what you think, or if you have a follow-up fantasy (which is something that I REALLY like), you can reach me at SueNH@AOL.com ... but I can't promise to return your emails... I do have some other things to do in my real life! Incidentally, all of my stories are available through the Louvre archive... check it out. ********************************** CRAFTSMANSHIP by Sue I met him at a local craft fair. He is a glass blower, and his work is stunningly beautiful. The designs are organic: elegant, flowing, natural shapes that are both crisp and soft. As soon as I saw his work in his booth, the word that came to my mind was "sensuous." Not that any item looked like a specific part of human anatomy. In fact, everything was abstract. But universal images of penises and skin and breasts and thighs and backs and lips and fingers all floated through my mind's eye as I looked at the body of his work. Then I turned around and looked at him, and those same images were reinforced in my imagination. He was a hunk. Big and strong and intense. He must stand 6'4" or more. But he wasn't standing; he was sitting on a stool, head tipped back, arms crossed on his huge chest, staring into space. I hesitated to break his serenity by speaking to him, but I was genuinely interested in his work. In fact, with a wedding coming up soon, I needed a present to give to the lucky couple. One of these glass sculptures would be perfect to help "keep the fires burning" in their long life together. So I asked the craftsman about how the pieces were made. My question sort of startled him out of his trance, but he looked over to me and stared deeply into my eyes in a way that seemed to penetrate my very soul. Most men will look into my face, and then their gaze starts to travel over my body, sneaking peeks at my hair, my breasts, my legs, ... but this guy (his name was Malcolm) kept his eyes zeroed in on mine in a way that felt inviting and warm. Warm enough to melt my heart, and to make my body tingle. Not incidentally, I could feel a little gush of moisture form within my cunt. But he certainly wasn't much of a conversationalist. He answered my questions, but offered no elaborations. Eventually, we both became aware that it was frustrating for him to try to put into words what was an inexplicable creative process, and we spoke about that for a few minutes. As a solution, he suggested that I could come by his studio some day to watch him work. Perhaps that would help answer my questions. He had a showroom there, too, so I could pick out something for my wedding gift at the same time. That sounded fine, and it would give me time to think about my purchase. At least that what I told him. To myself, I was being more honest. I found this guy attractive. A visceral hunger began to gnaw at me, and over the next week, I thought about Malcolm and his beautiful craftwork frequently. On Friday, I called him and made an appointment to visit his workshop the next day. It is way out in the sticks, perhaps a half-mile down a single lane dirt road that made me concerned about the suspension on my little Miata. Anyway, I made it OK, but my knock on the front door elicited no response. But there was an old beat-up van in the driveway, so I walked around the house through some absolutely stunning gardens of perennials and wildflowers. It made me feel that I had worn just the right outfit for this setting: a lightweight cotton peasant dress with a floral print. A scooped neckline and knee-length hemline. Underneath, a loose-fitting golden silk chemise with a snap crotch. Nothing else. It all seemed so free and flowing and natural, just like this afternoon in nature with a craftsman. All was well with the world at that moment, and I was so happy that I raised my arms into the air and kind of danced and pirouetted around the gardens, proceeding in the general direction of the building behind the house, which was obviously Malcolm's studio. I danced all the way to the doorway, discovering that it was open. Inside, I could see Malcolm working. Undetected, I watched him for a few minutes as he moved from a furnace over to his work area, where he spun and shaped an orange glob of soft glass into a elongated shape. When he got up again to go back to the furnace, he saw me at the doorway. He waved for me to come on over, which I did. Immediately, I was struck by how warm it was inside, in contrast to the slight chill in the air. The building housed several furnaces, all going at once. Some held pots of molten glass of various kinds, and one was the furnace that he used to heat and reheat the piece that he was working on at the moment. Around the rest of the shop were shelves of items -- works in progress and experiments of all sorts. The same sorts of sensuous, organic shapes that I had seen in his booth at the craft fair. In fact, some of the work was more blatantly erotic, and I could see why he might not choose to show it in a public setting. Hardly ever saying a word, Malcolm allowed me to watch him complete the item he had started before my arrival. His movements were smooth and muscular. He and his work were so alike in that way. When he finished this item, he knocked it off the puttee (the iron blow pipe) with a decisive rap that seemed to endanger the result of his hard efforts...., but the glass fell safely into a tray of sand, where it cooled off. Then he asked me if I'd like to work on one with him. Of course, what an opportunity to learn -- and to get closer to his magnetic physique! He gathered up a new glob of molten glass on the puttee, and then had me sit at his bench while he and I together held and rolled the piece across the rails on the bench. At first, I was unable to get a bubble of air blown into the center of the glass, but he got it started, and then I was able to open it up more. Malcolm showed me how to use the pincer things to change the outside shape, and together we worked on the piece. He allowed me to choose the form, but I relied mostly on him to make the thing happen. While we were working on it, he kneeled on the hard floor, so close that his shoulders bumped into my arms. His hands intertwined with mine to guide and strengthen my motions. His thin sheen of perspiration mingled with mine. I had to spread my legs to straddle the end of the bench, and to gain leverage for the manipulation of the glass. I could feel the warm air pressing into my skin all over. When we got up to reheat the glass in the furnace, Malcolm stood right behind me and reached around me on both sides to help hold the puttee in position, and to keep it turning. The heat radiating out of the open door of the furnace burned into my skin, and yet I could still feel the heat radiating from his body into my back, and the light touch of the front of his jeans grazed over my ass cheeks. The brilliant cherry color of the molten glass put a blush on my skin. Or was it the fiery lust that was building higher and higher as we worked? The glass had started as an amorphous ball, but I kept squeezing it out longer and longer, When I blew into the puttee, the whole sausage shape got both wider and more elongated. The surface remained somewhat ridged and bumpy, with thick walls. Then I pinched in more a few inches behind the head of it, which caused the end to swell out more. Perhaps he had suspected what I was up to before that moment, but now there could be no mistaking it. He burst out with a deep-throated laugh that was so sincere and jovial that I too joined in with my own giggles. Of course, the piece was pretty much done, although Malcolm added more glass to the base of it, making a wide flange. When we knocked it off the puttee into the sand, we both spent a few moments staring at the transparent, shiny phallus that I had just made. He said that he had never actually made one before, but from what I could see of his work, I knew that everything he made came from his erotic sensibilities. I was just not talented enough to be so indirect and abstract. He put the puttee down and then grasped my shoulders and turned me around, so that I was facing out through the open doorway, looking out into the incredibly lush gardens. His fingers traced down the outside of my arms, over my wrists, past the end of my fingers, onto the front of my thighs, and then touched my knees. I was quivering with anticipation as he took hold of the hem of my dress and pulled slowly upwards. I raised my arms toward the lintel of the door, and he pulled my dress upward and over my hands, tossing it aside. I left my arms up, and his fingers traced back down along my arms to my neck, and forward onto my chin. He fluttered and swirled all over my face, pulling my long blond hair out of the way and over to one side. His hands moved down onto my throat, and continued onto my breasts, cupping and milking them through the sheer satin. He tweaked and massaged my nipples, which stood out like pink pencil erasers, tenting the silk fabric. When I brought my own hands down so that they rested on the top of my head, it made room for Malcolm's face to come in and nestle alongside of mine, his stubbly chin resting lightly on my shoulder. His hands were so strong, yet his fingers were so gentle. Every move was smooth and controlled, just the way that he worked on his glass. I felt like he was memorizing my curves and concavities. Under his touch, I felt so voluptuous and pliant. He pushed my flesh around as if it was molten glass. His hot breath acted like the invasive fires of the furnace, melting away my resistance (actually, I was totally receptive to his advances). Sun light poured through the doorway, fanning the flames more. I stared in mesmerized euphoria into the tapestry of enchanting flowers. His hands began to slide further down the front of my chemise, lightly kneading and probing into my skin along the way. When he got to my cunt, he wasted no time. Immediately, he reached between my thighs and expertly unsnapped the crotch of my chemise, and then pulled it up over my head in one quick movement, throwing it into the pile with my dress. As the filmy material wafted to the floor, I kicked off my sandals, and then stood absolutely naked with his coarse textured shirt and pants pressing into my back. The fingers of both hands zeroed in instantly onto my cunt. He pulled my lips apart and ran the length of one finger through my soggy slit several times, letting his knuckles and rough calluses bump over my erect clitoris in rapid succession. Talk about being "hand-made!" But he didn't linger like that for long. He pulled back away from me, and I could hear him undress behind me. When he was naked, Malcolm gripped me by the waist and pulled me backwards, so that my feet shuffled backwards a few inches or so. Then he gently but insistently pushed forwards on my back, right between my shoulder blades, so that I was forced to lean forward at the waist. My only choice was to reach out and grab onto the frame of the door on each side of the opening. I was bent over at the waist, with my back parallel to the floor and my swollen breasts hanging pendulously, gumdrop nipples pointing at the door sill. My hamstrings were stretched tight. The small of my back arched downward, which pushed my ass up high into the air. I spread my legs wide for balance, and to open myself for whatever he had in mind. He reached in under my ass and again plucked at my clitoris and massaged my drooping outer lips. When he pulled his hand back a little, he let it linger in the moisture that was now oozing from my percolating vagina. I could feel cool droplets of my juices dripping down the feverish flesh of my inner thighs. He knew that I was open and wet and ready. Malcolm pulled his fingers away, and my whole ass followed his hand, unwilling to let him escape. But immediately, his fingers were replaced by the hard heat of his cock, slipping between my ass cheeks, insinuating itself between the thickened flaps of my labia, and then directly into the entrance to my vagina. The swiftness of this move caught me by surprise, as I had expected him to play around some more. As I sucked in my breath in a long inhalation, he plunged his cock into me in a single thrust. My vaginal canal expanded and stretched just barely enough to accept his wide-bodied pillar of flesh. The knob on the end was incredibly large, but once that had gone past the tight ring at the entrance of my cunt, things became at least a little easier. Fortunately, I was prepared by my gushing torrent of juices, which lubricated his impulsive penetration. As I gasped with the fullness of my cunt, I also noticed how wonderfully slippery and silky his cock felt inside me. And even more, the heat that radiated from his cock. It was unbelievable how hot his cock was, not quite scalding my inner tissues, but burning in an exquisite way. It seemed hotter than should be possible, but it wasn't until his cock was fully embedded into my tautly stretched vagina that I realized that it wasn't his cock at all. For I should have felt his groin and his wiry pubic hair pressed into my ass cheeks; instead, I could feel his fist as it gripped the flared end of the glass phallus that we had created. It had cooled down just enough to be handled and touched. And it had been thrust deep into the furnace of my body, where it was stoking the fires of my unbridled lust. I grunted with the passion that had been kindled by this glass spike, and that sound communicated to Malcolm that I understood and accepted his gift. He slowly withdrew the glass dildo, and then sipped it back into me with little thrusts that penetrated only a couple of inches. With his other hand, he reach around me and started rhythmically squeezing one of my breasts, holding the entire mound of pulpy flesh in his palm. After being so totally filled, I felt the wanton need to be filled again. But Malcolm was exploring for my G spot, and he found it right away. The heated knob brushed across it again and again, and in my state of extreme passion, this stimulation was enough to put me over the top quite quickly. I shrieked my pleasure out into the garden, and flailed my hair around my head. He again impaled the glass pole all the way into me, stuffing my vagina. Oh, my god, what an incredible orgasm was rising within me. I was awash in the elation of total nirvana, and my cunt tried to clamp down onto the shiny hot cock as if to shatter the glass. My hips pistoned up and down rapidly over the unbending implement. Displaced by the incredible fullness, clear juices were squeezed out from my cunt and they drooled down onto Malcolm's hands. He took his thumb away from the flange he was holding and let it slide across my asshole as I snapped down onto the cock. My climax seemed to last forever, and eventually, I was too weak to remain in my bent-over position, and I sagged to the floor, and rolled out onto the lawn outside the door. It took a while for me to regain my wits, but eventually, I opened my eyes and focused on Malcolm, who was leaning against the doorframe. He had a smug, wry look on his face, and a fat long erection in his hand. I smiled back at him and beckoned to him wordlessly with my index finger. He placed the glass cock on the grass, and kneeled down next to me. I got up on my haunches and pushed my shoulders into his chest, trying to push him over. He was a solid as a oak tree, but eventually, he allowed me to topple him. He lay flat on his back in the green carpet of grass, and I straddled his hips, weight on my knees. Again I impaled myself on his cock. And this time, it was the real thing. Perhaps it wasn't as massive or as hot as the one that had filled me moments before, but it was deeply pleasurable for me, and judging by the expression on his face, it was what he wanted too. He hadn't been coy with me, so I determined to be just as abrupt. So I started riding Malcolm's big cock like a bucking bronco, rapidly rising and falling, lifting my cunt up to the bloated mushroom-shaped head, then sinking down with all my weight. I rhythmically constricted my cunt muscles as hard as I could, milking his cock in my steamy pneumatic vessel. At the same time, I was running my fingers through the thick black hair on his broad chest, scratching him lightly with my fingernails. I pinched onto his hard little nipples, which drew an appreciative snort from his throat. When Malcolm's hands came up and attempted to grip my waist, I slapped them away. Now it was my turn to be in control, and I pulled my self up so that I was squatting now, his hands immobilized between my feet and his hips. I increased the speed of my pistoning, bouncing my weight around. My breasts were flopping around wildly, and I leaned forwards so that my hair whipped over his face and neck. Of course, it didn't take much of this animalistic rutting to push Malcolm to his own orgasm. When I felt him tense up, and saw his face begin to contort, I pushed myself all the way up and off of his cock, settling instantly onto my haunches at his sides. I grabbed hold of his pulsating cock and began to jerk up and down on the sheathing skin. I could feel the incredible heat of the blood coursing through his veins, and I could smell the intermingled liquids of his salty precome and my spicy cunt juices. His pubic hair was plastered to his groin with our slimy secretions; his hips were twitching with the impending climax. His eyes were screwed shut, and then he drew in a deep breath that expanded his muscular chest to incredible size (glass-blowers lungs!). Only then, at the moment of his orgasm, did I bring my mouth down to kiss and then swallow the purple head of Malcolm's cock. Only then did I remove one hand from the plump shaft of his cock and start of juggle his heavy balls in my fingers. And that is when he began to blast his succulent semen onto my lapping tongue. Pumping his cock with the other hand, I synchronized my strokes to his ejaculations. This added to the forcefulness of the blasts, and the thick globs of cream shot deep into my throat. His magnificent cock had become a flame-thrower, and the heat and thickness of his come reminded me of the amorphous dollops of glass that we had shaped an hour ago. I tried to swallow as much as I could, collecting his nectar hungrily. But there was just too much, and it dribbled out around the edges of my pursing lips, and down through my fingers. Finally, he released the tension from all of his muscles, and I released my tight grasp on his softening cock. I lay down next to him in the grass. With his arm around me and my head resting on his slowly heaving chest, we fell asleep with the sun and our blazing memories keeping us warm in our naked, blissful splendor. It wasn't until two days latter that I finally left Malcolm's place. I carried with me my glass phallus, my gift for my friends' wedding, and the intention to return soon to learn more from this true craftsman!