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From: CobaltJade@aol.com
Subject: [NEW] The Off Season by Cobalt Jade (m/f, cns)

Okay, here's an experiment in writing shorter and sweeter...not my 
usual style, I'm a lot more vicious...but as one of the earmarks of a good 
writer, at whatever fiction he or she chooses to write, is versatility, I 
thought I'd give it a try. 

As always, this is a work of fantasy fiction, so don't get carried away 
and attempt this at home. You may break a few bones.

Keep in mind the following is a work of fiction intended for those over 
the age of 21. If you are a minor, you have no business reading this, 
and are breaking the law in some states.

This work is copyrighted 1997 by Cobalt Jade (Cobaltjade@aol.com). 
Archiving and reposting of this work is permitted provided that no fee 
is charged for the use of the archival or posting site.  Charging a fee 
for this story, or publishing without this preface or tagline violates 
my copyright.



The Off Season

by Cobalt Jade



"Are you sure you want to do this?" he said.

"Yes," she replied, her voice a husky whisper against his neck, his 
thick sideburns tickling her nose. He smelled of autumn leaves, faint, 
spicy soap, and grease from the motorcycles he loved to work on.

"We're breaking the law, you know."

"To hell with the law." She nibbled on his ear, the rough growth of his 
beard scratching gently against her face.

"I am ever at your command, my lady." He took up the thick wire 
cutters and cut through the fence in a series of snips, peeling back 
the chain metal to make a hole big enough for them to crawl through. 
He fetched a few other things from the back of his bike and tucked 
them under his arm. They crawled under the wire, she first, he 
following more carefully to avoid catching his fringed leather jacket 
on the sharp edges. No one would see their entry, concealed as it was 
by a row of bushes.

The marvels of Playland were spread out before them, the amusement 
rides like sleeping giants in the November twilight. The pavilions and 
eating stands were boarded up, the video game parlors securely locked. 
It looked less like an amusement park then a deserted movie set where 
things might happen once the scene was dressed...deserted, yet 
quivering with potential noise and activity. Her excitement and 
longing grew.

To her, the park was even more enchanting in this quiet evening 
than it had been during those innocent days of picnics and swimming 
when she was a child, or the wild nights of her teenage years. Her 
parents had started her on the kiddie rides when she could barely 
walk, and worked her way up from the miniature steam train to the 
ferris wheel, then the Scrambler and Himalaya, then the roller 
coasters, and the nausea-producing Skydiver and Zipper. They had 
moved away after graduation and sampled other rides, and other 
thrills, in more modern parks across the country. But this modest 
place of amusement still had a special place in their hearts, which was 
why they had returned here, on this day, in the off-season of the 
park.

The day had been warm, and the asphalt they walked on still held the 
heat even though the breeze was cool. A smell of burning leaves came 
from a distant field. A few crows gave complaint in the stillness. She 
imagined the scent of popcorn and hotdogs, the cacophony of screams, 
laughter, and distant rock music from the rides. 

The rides waited like frozen dinosaurs, mute, yet full of potential 
power. Their lurid metallic hues looked fluorescent in the fading 
light. The rotating disk of the Trabant was still now, its garish sign 
unlit. The swing ride was missing its swings, the flume its water. The 
abandonment might have looked scary to someone else, but to her it 
only added to the anticipation. 

"There it is."

The pavilion was a marvel. She had always thought it resembled a 
Moorish kiosk, decorated as it was with gold-leafed minarets, silk 
banners, and layer after layer of decorative woodwork carved into 
cherubs, clown's faces, snarling dragons and other fell beasts. The 
colors were those of a candy store: cherry red, royal purple, fuchsia, 
tangerine. She paused to admire it.

"Inside, baby," he said. "Remember why we came here." He gave her a 
knowing wink.

Technicians had been cleaning the pavilion so the canvas panels that 
covered the open sides were not drawn down. The thought of exposure 
both chagrined and excited her. They had already taken a big risk in 
breaking in here. Why not add one more?

A nearby portable generator told them the park's power hadn't been 
entirely cut off yet. Probably the crews would be back tomorrow, 
cleaning the carousel before securing and locking it shut for the 
winter season. Her husband went off to find the control panel. She 
didn't have any doubts he could get it running. He was a wizard with 
his bikes, and had worked for a while as a heavy equipment operator.

She sighed in anticipation. She had loved this carousel ever since she 
was a child. It was an original Dentzel, and the carved horses were 
original too, lovingly maintained over the years. The animals on the 
outside were the best. Snorting, stamping, rearing, they always 
seemed to be in a frenzy of agonized motion--randy stallions and 
mares imprisoned by the poles on their backs to gallop around the 
central axis, the up-and-down motion both relieving their lust and 
adding to it. Some gazed up at the sky, others pawed the earth. The most 
desirable ones thundered straight forward. They all had names painted 
on their saddles. Thunder. Flying Cloud. Scout.

A strange nostalgia gripped her. The park was where she had learned 
to flirt, to kiss, to fuck. 

She had a few animals that were her favorites. She liked the snarling 
tiger with his Indian-style saddle, even though he was stander and did 
not move up and down like the horses did. Most of the exotic animals, 
like the ostrich and lion on the other side of the carousel, were. They 
always filled up fast, though. You had to quick if you wanted to ride on 
the tiger.

Of the horses, she liked Lady, the white Arab filly. Her saddle was 
decorated with carved roses and she posed prettily with one foreleg 
raised, her head tucked coquettishly down. Then there was Hiawatha, 
whose head was pointed straight up the sky ("stargazing," as carousel 
enthusiasts called it), all four of his legs raised in mid-gallop. He was a 
Indian buckskin and carried a carved wooden lasso next to his saddle. 
She liked to pretend she was Annie Oakley when she rode him.

But her very favorite was Tornado. He was one of the largest, a 
magnificent grey-dappled charger. His neck was arched and his head 
tilted to the side, so his carved wooden mane flared dramatically in a 
spiky, wavy crest. His forelegs were bent up as if he was going to 
charge or rear. She nodded to herself. Tornado, definitely.

She spread the soft quilts over the horse's back, with a few firm 
cushions in strategic areas. She tied them down with strips of fabric. 
"How's it going, honey?" she called.

"Nearly there." He stuck his head out of the control and grinned at 
her. He looked like a 14-year-old with his tousled hair and dimples, 
despite the fact that his high school years were nearly two decades 
years behind him. "Why aren't you on the horse? Remember you can't 
climb on so easily when this baby gets going."

"It's cold," she said. 

"You won't be cold for long." He went back inside the booth. It hadn't 
hurt that he'd worked in this park during his college summers. That 
long-ago knowledge was being put to good use now.

She took off her denim jacket, her jeans, her sweater and turtleneck. 
She couldn't help glancing around to see if anyone was staring at her. 
Silly, she reminded herself. They were in a deserted amusement park 
in the middle of nowhere, on a quiet weekend when people were more 
likely to be raking leaves or watching football games on TV. No one 
could get past the park's fences except those familiar--as they 
themselves were--with its weak points. They had made, certain, too, to 
note the absence of security guards. 

She folded her clothes in a little pile, then removed her panties and 
bra. The cold was a sudden shock on her skin, teasing her nipples into 
painful little gems. She felt a breeze play along her belly. The 
atmosphere suddenly shifted from peaceful to erotic. She touched her 
bush, the soft lips of her pussy, amazed at the sudden sensation and 
moisture she felt there.

She looked up. Tornado's pole connected to a framework of many 
others, all worked by pistons in the roof of the carousel. When in 
motion, all the horses were staggered to move in different rhythms, 
like an actual herd in full gallop. The rhythm would be implacable, 
unstoppable, once the machinery got going. She closed her eyes and 
smiled.

She put one foot into the cold stirrup of the saddle and hoisted herself 
onto the horse's back. The quilts helped to deter the cold. She wouldn't 
have wanted to be in contact with the slick, chilly wood. As a child, 
this horse had seemed huge to her . Now she knew it was not the size of 
an actual stallion, though it was large enough still to accommodate an 
adult...or two.

She sat in saddle but faced backwards, resting her back against the 
pole. Her husband came back to and, with two long strips of cloth, tied 
one around her waist to secure her to the horse's barrel, then crossed 
the other over her breasts to secure her back to the pole. Then he took 
a third piece of rope and looped it through the horse's jaw, making an 
actual set of reins for himself. "Sorry for the kink, darlin'," he said. 
"But we don't want you falling off now, do we?"

"Oh no, of course not." He kissed her, and his mouth was the promise of 
pleasure to come. He kissed her breasts. She felt her flesh suffuse with 
sensation like ripples on a pond. His gentle tongue teased her nipples, 
compacting them into twin peaks of delight.

"Don't be long," she whispered.

"I don't intend to." He dashed back into the control booth.

She closed her eyes, her back arching against the pole. She raised her 
arms behind her to grip it in her hands, and waited for the inevitable 
moment when the carousel would stir to life. The apprehension raced 
through her like her first time at the top of the park's roller coaster, 
like the first time she'd told a boyfriend YES. Was it? No. Yes...it was. A 
tiny movement shuddered through the metal pole, and she felt herself 
rising. Behind her closed eyelids she saw a blaze of color as thousands 
of tiny light bulbs switched on, swirling patterns of yellow and red, 
white and blue. The music began, a triumphant calliope waltz.

The horse slowly rose as high as it could, then dipped down again in a 
complete revolution. It started on another. Eyes still closed, she felt the 
warmth of a human body next to her. Her husband. She opened one 
eye. He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at their corners, as she and the 
horse descended. She saw his neck, his broad, nicely muscled chest 
with its coating of hair, his slightly rounded but still sexy 
abdomen...and his very erect cock, which pointed at her invitingly. 
The warm colors of the lights danced across his skin.

"Enjoy the ride," she whispered, closing her eyes again and arching 
her neck. Her long hair rippled down her back. He adjusted the 
stirrups.

She felt the horse shudder as he put one foot in the stirrup and raised 
himself up. He swung his right leg over her and placed his foot in the 
stirrup on the other side. She felt the improvised reins become taut as 
he took them up in his hands. This was how he would ride, standing in 
the stirrups over the saddle, as he rode her...and as she rode the 
painted wooden horse beneath her.

She opened her eyes as his face descended to hers, and she opened her 
mouth to admit his kiss. The loving invasion sent new sensation 
through her. She sucked on his tongue like it was all the cotton candy 
and soft ice cream she'd ever eaten in the park, her head moving with 
the demanding pressure of his  mouth. The warm nearness of his body 
drove her into a fever. The music was very loud, the closeness of the 
calliope, and the absence of other sounds in the park, sending 
delicious vibrations washing through her. The hard fleece of his 
beard rubbed against her neck. Her nerve endings kindled, shooting 
off little synapses that flowered greedy hunger in her breasts and 
well-moistened sex.

He took up the reins in a single hand and twisted a nipple, causing her 
to moan. With his mouth he sucked the other, the rhythm rising, 
falling, like the carousel horse she was now inextricably fastened to. 
His beard scratched the underside of her breast, a sweet, tormenting 
itch that started her hips into motion...rising and falling, a faster 
countermotion to the mechanical plunging of the carousel pole. 

She dug her fingers in his hair, guiding his head and hand lower. 

Sensitized as she was, she bucked and twitched when he touched her 
mound. A pity she was too well secured to touch it herself, but her 
safety had been paramount. He moved his fingers in a soothing 
circular motion. She was so wet they worked smoothly, smearing her 
fluids over her thighs and belly. She felt the warm juice cool in the 
breeze as they whipped around the carousel, tightening on her skin. 
He touched her clit, and her hips jerked. Twisting, almost sobbing, she 
pressed herself into his hand, her own fingers rubbing her nipples. 
He knew she could come from a finger-fuck alone. But the passion 
must not come to climax too early.

She heard him breathing over the music, a hoarse, excited rasp. She 
saw he was fully erect, his cock a stiff rod. It was easily the rival of 
any of the horses'. She gripped it with her fingers, massaging his 
balls as her hand slid up and down. As always, she marveled at its 
length, the sheer hardness of it. As a child, how could she have ever 
believed that such a limp, pink silly thing could be such an object of 
terror and delight?

She felt it jerk out of her fingers as he lowered himself onto her, his 
cock sliding home like a missing piece of a puzzle. Entered her ,and 
clicked firmly into place.

He gripped the reins with both hands and rode her with a wild 
abandon, thrusting forward as the horse rose on its slender pole, then 
fell. His rhythm fell into the overall rhythm, the graceful dance of 
the painted herd, the languid pumping of the carousel engines. Her 
hands circled her breasts, kneading them in time with his thrusts. 
Every inch of her skin felt exposed and laved in icy fire. Her mouth 
opened in glorious cries. She rubbed her soft skin of her calves over 
his firmer, hairier legs, then crossed her ankles behind his powerful 
thighs. Her breath turned into hisses. The calliope music filled her, 
engorged her. The horse flew beneath her. She traveled into a bright 
and unknown country, gilded hooves thundering ecstasy over every 
inch of her skin. 

Jolts of unbridled pleasure exploded through her body. The music 
vanished, as did the cold and the awkward position she held on the 
horse. The pleasure wracked her, went on and on, then faded like 
sparks of dying light. 

Limp, filled with sweet devastation, she felt him climb off of her. The 
carousel slowed. The music stopped.

She felt a glass of champagne touch her lips. She opened her mouth to 
swallow. She had not forgotten the date. It had happened fifteen years 
ago, when, overcome with lust, she had let a gawky college junior 
bang away on her in the carousel's hard, wooden sledge seat. They had 
been too shy to try this back then, but age and experience had made 
them more daring.

"Happy anniversary hon," her husband said.

END


Comments to Cobaltjade@aol.com

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