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Subject: The Off Season, by Cobalt Jade [M/F rom]
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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 an empty movie set where things might happen once the 
scene was dressed...deserted, yet quivering with potential. 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 graduallt she had worked her 
way up from the miniature steam train to the ferris wheel, the 
Scrambler and Himalaya, then the roller coasters and the nausea-
inducing Skydiver and Zipper. She 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 her heart, 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 smell 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 foreboding 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 and set to gallop around the central axis, forever--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 moghul-style saddle, even though he 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 standers. 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 an 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 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 with two long strips of cloth. He 
tied one around her waist to secure her to the horse's barrel, then 
crossed the other over her breasts to secure her to the pole. Then 
he took a 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. She 
felt the liquids tighten 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 other 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 the 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


This work is copyrighted 1997 by Cobalt Jade 
(Cobaltjade@aol.com). One copy of this story may be made for 
viewing. This story may not be archived or reposted without my 
permission. Charging a fee for access to this story, or publishing 
it without my approval, this preface, or my author credit, violates 
my copyright.

For more stories, including the novel "The Black Pearl of 
Pharazion," check out my home page: 
http://members.aol.com/cobaltjade


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