Message-ID: <54662asstr$1160280602@assm.asstr.org>
From: "Amnesia" <auto453416@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Moonlight {Amnesia} [FM? dream]
Lines: 215
Date: Sun, 08 Oct 2006 00:10:02 -0400
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                 Moonlight
                [FM? dream]

This is an erotic fantasy.  The characters and the situation
are purely imaginary, and this story is *NOT* intended to be a
guide for actual behavior.  Any similarities between this story
and actual people, or between this story and actual events, are
purely coincidental.  If it is illegal for you to access and read
erotic fiction, or if you don't like sex stories, then stop now.

This story is copyright 2006 by Amnesia.  You may post freely to
non-commercial (free) sites, or in the "free" area of commercial
sites.  Please do not remove the author information or make any
changes to this story.  That does *not* mean that it is in the
public domain, nor does it mean that I give permission for you to
use it in advertising.

Thank you for your consideration.


                  Moonlight


The park around the mansion is only illuminated by an impossibly
bright full moon, casting the gravel lane surrounded by cypress
trees on which I am walking in a ghostly silver light. The moon's
rays are so strong that only a few stars, far away from the silver
orb, twinkle in the dark. Even if I knew the constellations, I
couldn't make them out. There is no sound, save for the grsssh,
grrsssh that my sandaled feet make on the coarse gravel.

I look down and see that I am wearing a chiffon dress. Strangely,
down my front the gauzy material fits rather snugly while behind me
long streamers of gauzy fabric billow in the wind, even though the
air is still and silent. I notice I am naked underneath the dress,
my nipples are sharp points where the chiffon strains around my
bosom. It is not cold. The air is rather warm and humid; it smells
of olives, thyme and rosemary. It reminds me of a holiday I spent
on a Greek island a long, long time ago.

I look up and see that the cypress-lined lane ends in a large
circular clearing. At the perimeter of the clearing are low white
marble benches, each bench separated from the next by a white
marble statue. There's a statue of a man, a warrior, on an armored
horse. There's a statue of a satyr, that looks mischievous on his
goat legs and that sports a clearly visible erection. There is 
statue
of a frail woman standing in a big seashell. Inside the perimeter
of benches are a number of broken Ionian columns, except in the
very center, where a single gazebo stands gleaming in the silver
moonlight. The gazebo has a perfectly round, hemisphere cupola
and is supported by a six thin Ionian columns on it's rim. A tiny
hemisphere is attached on top of the cupola; it's made of some kind
of metal, because it reflects the moon's rays with that typical
metallic luster.

I become aware of a faint throbbing in the air, pulsing like a
heartbeat. The air is still here and the streaming fronds of 
chiffon
of my dress descend and cling around my body. As I walk slowly
towards the clearing, my sandaled feet still making that soft 
grrssh,
grssh sound in the gravel, I get the feeling of attentiveness, of
expectation of things to come. A whiff of ozone reaches my 
nostrils,
briefly registering above the Greek island smells. On passing the
statue of the satyr, the throbbing increases, both in intensity and
tempo. As I walk away from the statue to the gazebo in the middle,
the throbbing wanes, but I feel that I am being watched and that my
thin garments are but a command away from being removed from my 
body.

In the middle of the gazebo stands a man, taller and more muscular
than a mere mortal. His skin shines white and pale in the moonlight
and I see that he is naked. I part my lips to say something but no
words come out. That is most perplexing, because, as I entered the
gazebo and left the gravel, the low heels of my sandals click-clack
on the rough stone floor and I can clearly hear that, as well
as the faint throbbing rhythm. He must have heard my footsteps,
because he turns around to face me. I inhale deeply; he has every
appearance of a Greek god come to life.

His proportions are perfect. Not an ounce of fat is visible,
unlike my 300-and then-some pounds husband, who is doing his best
to improve the impression of a beached walrus every day. To be
honest, my husband wasn't always like that; he was much sharper
and more sophisticated when we got married, no twelve years
ago. Nowadays making love with my husband is an ordeal and we do
it only rarely. Not much is lost in that department; I married him
for his money and he married me to show off a pretty young wife to
his business associates.

The man in the gazebo holds out his hand to me, palm upwards. I
place my hand in his, softly resting on his skin. He is cool to the
touch, hard and unyielding, yet also soft, silky and luxurious. I
look at him again and notice that his chest and head are slightly
oversized, but it is not unbecoming. He has strong and well-defined
muscles without being excessive or exaggerated like one sees on
bodybuilders. He is naked in his entirety; his penis is still
flaccid and rather small with a small sack, as it would be when
he is cold. He is not circumcised. If he has scars I can't see
them. In fact, there's not a blemish to be soon, he appears smooth
and perfect all over.

His hand, where I touch it, quickly warms up with my body heat. I
feel warm and the faint throbbing increases again. I look into his
eyes and he looks into mine. I lick my lips, albeit briefly, and
he nods. I take the last step towards him and press my body against
his, standing on tippy-toes to kiss him. My lips brush against his;
they are also cold, but the touch of my lips seems to invigorate
them with new life and they soon warm up.

I place my hand on his pectorals, palm flush to his skin. His arm
wraps around my waist. Briefly, I rest my head against his chest; 
he
is much taller than I am. Again, I stand on tippy-toes to kiss him;
he helps me up with his strong arm. His lips are more responsive
and less cold now, it looks like I am putting life's spark back
into him. When I rest on my feet again and look down, I notice with
a smile that his penis has some more life in it as well, it is now
slightly bigger and more colorful, although it is hard to tell in
this gazebo in the silver, almost monochrome moonlight.

The hand I had placed on his pectorals now slowly travels
down, warming him visibly. He has a nice six-pack and a cute
innie bellybutton. My fingertip teases a circle around it, yet
he doesn't flinch. All he does is squeeze my waist gently and
encouragingly. Lower my hand goes, underneath his abdominals until
they reach the patch of fur above his penis. I look up and he nods,
I have his permission to touch it. I do, wrapping my long fingers
around it. This has the anticipated effect of causing him to have
an erection and gently I stroke it, rolling the foreskin over the
pale purple gleaming head.

I stop standing on tippy-toes and my lips now kiss his chest and
nipples. Somehow, somewhere I seem to have lost my dress and my
only garment is a thin strip of chiffon underneath my breasts. My
breasts are flush against his skin; where he was once cool, he is 
now
definitely warm. He leans downward and kisses the top of my head;
the tip of my tongue circles his hard nipple. He tastes clean,
almost devoid of taste with just a whiff of flint.

My transfer of body heat to his body hasn't cooled me down, far 
from
it. I feel hot, with the nexus focused in my groin. I feel that I
am becoming wet, wetter than I have been in a long, long time. I
look up towards his face and he nods for the third time, leaning
down to kiss my lips. His penis is now fully erect and it's 
probably
for the best that I have become as wet as I am, because his shaft 
is
quite thick. I know I want to feel him inside me, to fill me up. 
The
void between my legs yearns to be filled by his manhood. There is
no need for him to prepare me for entry; I am quite ready as it is.

I pull myself up on his strong shoulders, my legs sling over his
hips. He helps me up, by holding my cheeks with his soft, smooth
strong hands. I kiss his face and his lips, nibble at his exquisite
earlobe. His hard shaft is upright between our bodies. I can feel 
it
pressing against my soft tummy, every inch of it. It feels 
definitely
hot now. I lift up a little more, helped by him, until his crown
brushes my clitoris and I gasp. With a little push, he positions
himself before my vagina. Slowly, I allow myself to descend on him.

This is heaven. His cock is hard, yet soft and slick, like no cock
I ever had before. Once he is completely inside me, I groan in wild
lust. My arms wrap around his thick neck, thick with strong muscles
that can easily support my weight. I pull myself up so that his
cock nearly escapes the hot warmth of my vagina and then I slowly
lower myself again on his manhood. The slight upward curve of his
penis causes his crown to rub over my G-spot most satisfactorily.

He is the perfect lover and allows me to go soft and slow when
I want to and hard and fast and deep when I feel the urge to be
totally his. My pleasure comes in slow waves, in perfect sync with
the waxing and waning of the throbbing sound in the air. When the
throbbing is shallow and barely audible, we go slowly and his hand
caresses my back while one of my hands brushes over his pectorals
or his shoulder. When the throbbing is deep and insistent, filling
the air with it's hypnotic pulse, we go hard and fast. I impale
myself on him and he thrusts in me like a battering ram pounding
on the gates of Heaven, demanding entry to eternal bliss.

Each time when the throbbing reaches a crescendo I experience an
orgasm; he never falters or wanes and remains as hard as ever,
until I can take no more and my universe is reduced to my cunt
and his cock. Then, and only then, he rams it in me with all his
enormous strength. I feel stretched to the limit, his cock for some
reason seeming to be larger and thicker than it was before. When
his shaft begins to twitch and he shoots his sperm into my uterus,
I experience my most powerful orgasm. After this, we both spend a
few long minutes recovering, just holding each other and touching;
he is still hard and deep inside me but we both know that the time
has come to part ways. Me, I have to go back to my flabby husband
and he, he has to go back to wherever he came from.

My fingertips brush over the soft marble face of my silent lover
and I whisper, "I love you, David. I will be back."

           THE END

Copyright 2006, Amnesia




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