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From: "Michael K. Smith" <mksmith1@bellsouth.net>
Subject: NEW STORY: "The Bedpost"
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[Okay, I've been in a weird mood this week... but I have no idea what
part of my psyche this one bubbled up from.]




   THE BEDPOST


by Michael K. Smith



As the slender, naked girl flung her arms about his neck and ground
her pelvis against his, the big man leaned her back against the
lathe-turned wooden spindle rising from the front corner of the bed.
He nipped her lightly where her throat curved into her shoulder and
she gasped and squirmed, and freed one hand long enough to urge his
thick, stiffening cock between her youthful thighs. She was only
partly successful because of their difference in height, but she
managed to rub the shaft of his organ against the opening of her cunt.

He took a deep breath, squeezed the globes of her smooth, athletic ass
in his large hands, and raised her into the air. She squealed and then
moaned with mounting lust and lifted her legs around his waist. She
expected him to impale her on his engorged penis and she tensed,
waiting for him to enter her -- God, his cock was so huge! She'd never
done it like this before. But instead she continued to rise until her
widespread crotch was leaving damp marks on his breastbone.

He inhaled one of her small breasts and she felt the rigid nipple
react even more vigorously to the suction. She groaned again and
without being quite sure how she'd managed it, she found her knees
draped over his wide shoulders. She was bent double, kneecaps pressed
against her collarbone, and she felt incredibly sexy. She knew her
pussy was gaping wide open now, and she writhed a little, rubbing her
parted labia against his chest.

His hands slid up to lock behind the small of her back. He squeezed
and smiled as the pressure forced her to exhale. Her bent elbows were
trapped within the circle of his muscular arms and she liked the
helplessness she now felt -- which was how she was sure he wanted her
to feel. In fact, she loved this whole feeling of vulnerability, and
she shivered and prodded the front of his throat with her tongue.

He leaned her backward again, only an inch or two, and she felt the
tip of the wooden bedpost spindle tickle the very base of her
tailbone. She fantasized that it was his cock, grown two feet longer
and hard as the oak; she shivered again, the moist backs of her thighs
trembling against his chest.

He knew exactly where the spindle's narrow tip was and he held her
body tightly immobile as he lowered her onto it, inch by fraction of
an inch.  When she felt the polished surface slide against her clit as
it slowly invaded her vagina, she stopped squirming and froze. Please,
God, he didn't lose his grip on her body now!

The blunt wooden spike was less than two inches high; below it was a
flared section shaped like a small doughnut skewered on a stake. Then
a small gap, then another flared section -- a series of four in all.
Below that was a tall, fluted column that flared out at its base to
join the bed's footboard. The narrow upper section of the spindle
never exceeded two inches in diameter and she trembled uncontrollably
as the first two wooden bulges pushed into her cunt. She'd masturbated
with bananas and candles, but no object so long and thick had ever
before penetrated her.

The erotic mental images produced by her doubled-up position against
his hard, muscular body, combined with the rigid foreign presence in
her pussy, and the knowledge that she had no control over any of it,
were nearly overwhelming. She felt completely helpless and extremely
sexy and this man was responsible for it. She was nervous but she sure
didn't want him to stop!

The tip of the spindle pushed firmly against her cervix and the upper
three bulges completely filled her. She pressed her forehead against
her knee and whimpered a little. But he seemed to know exactly how
much of the bedpost would fit inside her. Without even breathing hard,
he lifted her slowly until the tip of the spindle was again hovering
just at the entrance to her cunt. Then he lowered her again, more
rapidly this time, and lifted her again. He did this several more
times and the friction of the dark, varnished wood against her heated
clit was remarkable. Now her whole body was trembling and she knew her
face was flushed with arousal. Her breath came rapidly and she felt
herself teetering on the brink of one of the strangest orgasms of her
young life.

That realization -- that she was about to be brought to climax by a
bedpost -- was enough to tip her over the edge. Her pelvis shuddered
with hot little spasms and she knew the man holding her so tightly was
aware of the sudden increased wetness from her splayed cunt oozing
down his abdomen.  He chuckled deep in his throat and arched forward
so the head of his quivering penis prodded her sweating buttocks, the
bedpost hovering just below.

Now he'll fuck me himself, she thought, but he surprised her by
straightening and raising her vertically once more. Not the damn
bedpost again, she hoped. It had been exciting and kind of bent, and
certainly very different -- as was her continued posture, with her
knees slung over the man's shoulders and her slender calves bouncing
against his upper back. Her arms were still pinned by his but she had
managed to work them around to the front far enough to brace the palms
of her hands against his upper ribs. The other receptionists were
never going to believe her next Monday morning when she related her
adventure to them in the ladies' room!

He lifted her higher than before and she wondered a bit nervously what
he had in mind this time. Maybe it would be something else just a bit
perverted, that she could relive in her memories when she masturbated
in bed. Maybe she'd really like it; there were so many sexual things
she'd heard about and hadn't yet tried. Her private questions were
answered when the blunt wooden spike, still shiny with her vaginal
juices, pushed its way through her unsuspecting sphincter.

She went rigid at the invasion -- she'd never even slid her finger up
her asshole, though she knew girls who said they had. There was no
pain yet; her ass was spread so wide by her posture, it would have
been a difficult target to miss. I've read about anal sex, she thought
wildly. He'll stop after an inch or two and lift me off again. He's
just teasing -- just playing. And he did lift her off again, but only
to lower her with more force.

With a liberal application of Crisco, the first doughnut-shaped
section of the spindle might have popped through the muscular brown
ring of her anus more easily. Or perhaps previous ass-fucking
experience would have taught her to relax. But she was young and
slender, with a tight, virgin ass, and the wooden bulge was just a
little larger than she could accommodate easily. When the rigid knot
tried to force its way in, she gasped in pain and began to whimper
again and to struggle.

The man paused and squeezed her doubled-up body so tightly she feared
her spine or her thigh might snap. He hadn't spoken since he stripped
them both naked, but now he murmured in a hoarse, low voice, "If you
don't hold still and keep quiet, I might turn you the other way around
and stick that thing down your throat instead of up your ass." She
began to feel real fear.

Up she went again and she squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth
as she came down. This time, the hard bulge stretched her anus as wide
as it could go without tearing and the post popped into her moist
rectum. The momentary blaze of fiery pain in the vicinity of her
asshole brought her to tears and made her bite her tongue. He kept up
the pressure, forcing her downward so that a second and then a third
wooden bulge entered her. She was in an agony of pain and humiliation
and was becoming increasingly fearful of the outcome of this
quasi-rape. Finally, he relaxed his hold on her -- though not his
confining grip -- and she felt the last thick bulge force its way into
her by her own weight.

She was impaled on eight inches of hard, rigid wood and she was afraid
to move for fear of puncturing something. The initial pain had
subsided to a throbbing ache and she suddenly realized there was
nothing remaining of the bedpost but two feet of vertical column. If
he released her *now*...!

He shifted his grip so she could move her arms. "Better wrap your arms
around your knees," he muttered. "Tightly. And keep your legs pointed
straight up."

Frantically, she did as she was told and tried to put out of her mind
the presence of the wooden shaft thrust into her. She was still bent
double, but the man's grip slowly shifted upward, from the small of
her back to her thighs -- his big hands encircled them -- to her upper
calves. She felt her body trying to unbend; only her convulsive
clutching of her own legs and the warning sideways pressure within her
rectum kept her torso stiffly vertical. Another moment and the only
force holding her off the bedpost was his hands raised above his own
head, locked rock-steady around her ankles.

She was weeping openly now and pleading with him not to drop her,
please, *please*, lift her up again, rescue her from her impalement,
she would never tell anyone, please! She couldn't make out his face
through her tears but she knew he was smiling in anticipation as she
felt the viselike grip of his fingers begin slowly to loosen.



    END


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1998 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may
be made and posted elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all
commercial rights are reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael K. Smith           Smith Editorial Services

	     mksmith1@bellsouth.net
http://members.tripod.com/~smith_editorial/ses.html
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It doesn't TAKE all kinds -- we just HAVE all kinds



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