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Subject: Bombay Bang (M/F, Interr)
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Readers: This story contains explicit erotic content but is not smut. Your
comments are welcome and much appreciated. Please write to
monstar55@hotmail.com.
======================================An Orange Bird Flew by Twice
All that now seemed clear was that it always was. Before she had seen his
eyes fill up with tears; before she had known the softness of his mouth, the
earthy smell of his hair, the taste of his sweat; before that moment when his
impossibly immense and desire-drenched cock first had pushed tentatively into
the moist warmth between her thighs; even before the first subtle twitching of
her lip had silently announced her incorrigible need; before the discovery of
sameness even in their disparateness; before the vivid dreams of night had
turned to sleepless obsession; before the mere sound of his voice would treble
the rate of her pounding heart; before the friendship; before even the first
time their meeting eyes would not be pried apart, when she had felt the
trembling, quaking rumble of desire thundering up from her soul, terrifying in
its persistence and insistence to be acted on.
She must have loved him always, in other lives, other centuries, other
millennia. What other explanation could there be for the sort of love that
grows deeper and stronger, even in its aftermath?
Now, months later, the searing pain of parting has finally dulled to some
bearable level of almost non-existence. Relaxing on the verandah, gazing up
amazed at bats frenetically criss-crossing the dusky sky, she is reminded of a
day in early summer when the flight of an orange bird finally, though
tentatively, had propelled her into his arms. As the memories flood back into
consciousness, she shivers softly, squeezing her eyes shut, allowing the
rapture of that distant moment to enter the present. She nearly cries,
remembering. It has been a very long time since she'd last shed tears, but
now she can feel them welling up behind her eyelids. One drop swells over the
brim and trickles warmly down her cheek. She feels her whole body shudder in
remembered climax.
----------------------------------------
It is last June now, and after months upon months of almost unendurable desire,
they are suddenly and finally locked in embrace. After she had remarked twice
about an orange bird flying across the garden behind him, he'd gone to the
window, more to break the tension of the moment than to actually look for the
bird. She had felt herself being catapulted from her chair to slowly approach
him from behind, and touch his elbow ever so softly. In an instant, they are
locked together.
With her face clamped against his warm neck, her nostrils fill for the first
time with his masculine scent, and she memorizes it completely and forever in
that moment. Their bodies press together so tightly that she is able to feel
the pounding of both of their hearts. Though impossibly close, she strains
hard to draw him even closer to her, and he does likewise.
He combs his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of her neck, feeling
her body tensing against his. Dizzy with desire and mutual disbelief that this
is all happening, their sense of time and place has all but evaporated. They
are finally alone together and suddenly his mouth is covering hers, quieting
the twitching of her errant lip. In the midst of all that is happening, she
files away a mental note of surprise at the softness of his beard and mustache
against her face. She had expected something more bristly and harsh, but the
texture is pleasing and adds to the building crescendo of her desire. His
mouth is also soft and sweet and tender, and she wants to taste more and more
of it. She tries sliding a stiffened tongue past his lips, but he will not
admit it. But even in her frustration, the moment is unforgettable, and the
kiss seems to go on forever.
Suddenly she becomes aware that she has been standing on her toes, and her leg
muscles are quivering from strain. She slowly eases her weight back onto her
heels, causing their bodies to separate some. Neither has uttered a single
sound, but they are thinking and moving as one. A little awkwardly, he grasps
her hand and leads her up the stairs to his bedroom. She wobbles a bit,
finding walking difficult.
------------------------------------------------------
Night is falling rapidly and the bat activity is increasing. But soon it will
be too dark for the human eye to observe them in flight. Woe to the katydids.
Woe to remembrance.
-------------------------------------------------------
She was no longer a young woman. Though the years had been kinder to her than
to most, tiny crinkles were just beginning to form on her eyelids, and little
spider veins were surfacing behind her knees. And there were other hints to be
found, if one inspected carefully. And she did, every day. There had not
been many great loves in her life, but those that she had loved had returned
that love with fierce ardor, until at last, sensing their souls being sucked
from them, each had given her up; sacrificed the intensity of fiery passion for
something more like contentment. And yet, none of them had made a clean break
from her.
The Egyptian had moved back to Cairo after a near-fatal coronary had felled him
just before turning forty. It had taken thirteen shots of adrenaline directly
into his heart to revive him after he'd collapsed in the hospital emergency
room. A physician himself, he'd recognized the early signs and managed to
transport himself to the hospital with not a millisecond to spare.
After he'd gone, his letters had still arrived faithfully, though
intermittently, for fifteen years--from Kabul, from Istanbul, from Zurich, from
Beirut. He'd write them aboard airplanes, posting the letters from wherever he
was next stopping. And then one day, after a longish spell without any
communication, she had learned of his passing. A combination of cigarettes
and alcohol and too fast a pace had led to an early demise. His family history
had foreshadowed it and his lifestyle had assured it. He was dead. Like that.
After twenty-one years.
The Czech had fallen heavily under her spell. Younger than she, he had
proclaimed his youthful rapture in stacks and stacks of passionate verse,
composed in her honor. But after a year, he too had sacrificed his soul to her
love, and out of desperation to repossess it, he'd also sacrificed her,
accepting the dull contentment of normality in trade. She still heard from
him once or twice a year. He'd married, adopted children, and eschewed the
world of Academia for a corporate humdrum existence. He seemed drabber to her
with each telephone call. Perhaps the calls would cease now, after nearly
twenty years.
After the Czech, she had married. It had been a marriage of love. Though many
many years her senior, he was charming, kind and passionate, and he shared her
love of nature and of music and of literature and poetry. Their lovemaking had
been frequent and tender and she had to admit, even to herself, that for the
most part, she too had found contentment.
But then there'd been a serious automobile accident, after which he'd become
nearly sexually impotent and had begun, around the same time, to drink heavily.
Though he still adored her, he had taken to laughing off all of her intimate
overtures, until at some point she had just given up trying. She was 40. And
if she was totally honest, she'd admit that she could never be content, merely
to be content.
After a while, she began to die. Slowly, but insidiously death was surrounding
her, enveloping her. She could almost smell the stench of her decaying spirit.
Two years passed, before the Englishman.
He had come into her life just when things had seemed bleakest, his cool
aloofness belying the seething passion that lived in him. She had enticed it
to the surface, from where it thundered forth, amazingly and to his own utter
surprise. The passion between them had consumed them, come close to devouring
them. From across the ocean they had exchanged hundreds of letters and poems
and nightly proclaimed their hopeless love to the stars that they both could
see. When they were able to come together, their love making had been
explosive yet poignant. And then he too, fearing the ultimate draining of his
essence, had finally opted for escape. Afterward they somehow had managed to
rebuild a friendship.. It had been four years since they'd begun.
Death was closing in again. She became aware of it, eating away at her,
eroding all that was left of her fragile spirit.
Then. the Indian had come.
-------------------------------------------------
------------
The night sky has completely blackened. Nowhere is there even the hint of the
moon or stars. And yet she still stares up into the vacant sky, seeing
nothing; remembering everything.
---
-------------------------------------------------------
They pause at the top of the stairs and embrace again. She loves his smell,
the taste of the inside of his mouth, and inhales deeply, both to revive
herself some and to take in as much of him as she can. They have only just
begun, but she has the sense that this may be their only time together. They
still have not spoken since before the orange bird's portentous flight, and
somehow she knows that they will not. From behind, he leads her down the
corridor to his room, where they stop to kiss again. She becomes aware of
dampness in her panties.
They embrace again, though this time with less urgency and more tenderness.
She takes hold of his right hand and presses it softly to her cheek. He seems
awkward at this, but she ignores his discomfort for the moment, sliding his
palm to her lips, kissing it deeply. She kisses his fingers too, wanting to
suck them into her mouth. But she senses he is not yet ready for this.
After a while, he removes his eye glasses and places them on a shelf. With
vision blurred, he relies on his fingers for whatever sight is still required.
Surprisingly deftly, he unfastens the buttons on her blouse. She, with more
awkwardness, unbuttons his shirt, and gently coaxes the shirttails from his
trousers. He slides the fabric down the slope of her shoulders allowing her
blouse to fall to the floor. And with even more dexterity than that with which
he'd undone her buttons, he reaches behind her back, and with the fingers of
one hand, opens the catches of her black lacy bra. And it, too falls to the
floor. She feels herself tremble as her heavy breasts are offered to his
hands and to his mouth.
She notes the marked contrast of his fingers, dark against the whiteness of
breasts never exposed to sunlight. The sight strikes her with its beauty, and
she feels her pulse quicken again, as he strokes and kisses her nipples,
feeling them stiffen and grow under his touch. His tee-shirt is now an almost
unbearable impediment and without a word, he lifts his arms to allow her to
raise it over his head and drop it to the floor to join the other garments, now
mingling together, mimicking the acts of the bodies they once covered.
Her trembling escalates as he reaches for the buttons of her jeans. As he
works her zipper, she unbuckles his belt and fumbles with his trouser button.
He helps her. The sound of unzipping in unison and two pounding hearts is all
that can be heard, though the silent throbbing between her thighs has become
exquisitely painful and she thinks, perhaps audible.
In the next moment, they are naked -- dark and pale bodies straining together
to be one. Unable to postpone it any longer, she allows her hand to drift down
to caress the stiffened organ pressing on her thigh; it seems immensely heavy
against her soft skin. Unconsciously holding her breath, she touches
it--tentatively at first, but then more assertively. "Oh, God!" she almost
breathes the words. His cock is massive, heavy and thick. She grasps its
head and finds it soaked.. Fighting a wild impulse to drop to her knees and
lick off the drops of thick, viscous liquid, she laces her fingers around the
huge shaft and begins to memorize its contours, sliding the moisture, as she
might a condom, down its length. Would she even be capable of stretching
her lips around its impossible girth? Delirious with the notion, she makes
mental notes of its size and shape. Huge and throbbing, wet and slippery, she
feels the crescent-shaped curve of his engorged penis. She allows her eyes to
fall on it. It is gorgeous, smooth and dark, heavily pendulous. She had been
in love with him for an eternity, and now she has fallen madly in love with
his cock. Her breath comes in gasps, as she imagines slowly sucking him into
her own throbbing orifice. She moans softly, temples pounding in unison with
the pulsating between her legs.
With gentle movements, he leads her to the edge of the bed, and they sink
together onto the mattress, mouth to mouth, fingers traversing the surfaces of
each others' bodies. At last, unable to delay any longer himself, he rolls her
onto her back and positions himself above her. His cock hangs, poised above
her sex, massive and foreboding. She gulps in anticipation, as he grasps it to
guide it to her wet slit. She is breathless now, her body rigid with almost
fear-like anticipation. It is too large to enter her unassisted. She, now
desperate to be filled by him, must help to prepare the way. Reaching between
her thighs, she coaxes open the inner labia, and a second later, he enters
her, squeezing his eyes shut to experience the moment more profoundly. She
flexes her vaginal muscles several times, increasing his pleasure.
And then she cannot stifle a groan of thrill as he pushes into her, impossibly
slowly. He can feel every inflamed vaginal cell contracting to suck him
further into her. Slowly, slowly he is complying with her need. Their organs
are soaked in the moistures of desire, and so the friction produced by his
immense size and her still-tight pussy invokes the most intense pleasure,
bordering on the exquisite edge of pain. She moans softly again as he
penetrates her completely, and presses farther..
He remains perfectly silent. Has he trained himself to fuck silently? She
wonders at the questions her mind would consider at a time like this. With
his face pressing tightly against hers, arms cradling her head, she breathes
deeply to take in the scents of their mingling bodies, now soaked and
glistening with perspiration. She shudders as he pulls nearly all the way out,
her vaginal walls molding perfectly to the crescent curve of his cock.
His rhythmic dance is easy for her to follow, and her hips rise and fall in
perfect harmony with his slow, but deliberate movement. The sensations
produced by this are almost more powerful than she can bear. She is torn,
needing to pull him deeper inside her and at the same time, savoring every
cell-stretching motion, in waltz time. She entwines her legs around his,
waiting for the pace to change. He makes the next decision. Adjusting his
body slightly, he shifts his head to rest against her right cheek, tightens his
hold around her upper torso, and drives into her suddenly with almost
frightening force. Again and again he pounds into her, sweat now pouring from
his slippery body. He's hurting her now, but she is long past caring; wants
him deeper; wants it to hurt more, wants to know he's been there when tomorrow
comes.
Her fingers dig deeply into the tight, rock hard flesh of his buttocks, pulling
him deeper with every thrust. She feels a little frightened as his breathing
becomes wheezing. Unable to keep up with his relentless rhythm, she wraps her
legs tightly around the small of his back, and rides the waves of his passion
until he collapses, exhausted. They remain glued together for minutes,
hearts still pounding, drenched in sweat and other body fluids; no words have
yet passed between them. She glimpses, almost in disbelief, his soaked, but
still enormous organ as he extricates it from deep within her body.
-------------------------------------------------
On the front porch, the spaniel jumps into her arms, resting his nose against
her pounding chest. She cuddles him to her, eyes closed, nose buried in his
fur. The bat activity has now given way to a cacophony of insect song. She
places a collection of tiny kisses on the dog's face, and the memories continue
to stream into consciousness.
---------------------------------------------------
They lie side-by-side for a time, sweat evaporating from their bodies. She
touches the back of her head to find her hair soaked and matted, and for the
first time considers that she will be going home soon. Going home. Like this?
Casting away the thought, she raises herself up on an elbow to look at him. He
is not asleep, but his eyes are closed, and his chest is rising and falling in
normal-appearing respirations. She tries to memorize his face and body as it
is now. He is in his fifties, but there is not a line or wrinkle on him, but
for the tiny scar on his left cheek, resembling a dimple. She adores his face.
She traces the line of his lips with her finger. They are full and
beautifully shaped, and she ponders why he would want to cover them with a
mustache. Still, the beard suits him, somehow. She smiles to herself because
up to now, facial hair has been displeasing to her. But now, she would love
nothing more than to leave her face buried in his beard for hours.
His eyes flutter open for a second and then close again. He reaches around
her to gently stroke her back and buttocks with his open palm. The texture of
his warm hand and fingers against her skin is at once soothing and
titillating. He lifts his head to kiss her mouth softly, then lowers it back
to the pillow. Her eyes fall to his penis, and she is amazed to see that it is
still swollen and stiff. The sight re-excites her almost instantly.
Her lips graze his ear, his neck, his shoulders. Slowly, she traces little
circles around his nipples with her tongue, feeling them stiffen slightly.
There are a few hairs, not many, on the hollow of his chest and she kisses them
too, exciting herself even more at the thought of where she is heading with
this. He knows too, and his heart begins to race again. With her ear so
close to his chest, she can hear his heartbeat quicken. Her lips kiss their
way down his stomach, and to the area of tender, smooth skin just above his
cock. She licks him there softly, turning her head to catch a quick glimpse of
his face. It appears less relaxed now, but he is still composed.
She again raises up on her elbow, partly to introduce some delay, but mostly to
begin to memorize the rest of his body. Apart from the typical belly bulge
carried often by men his age, his body is well muscled and firm everywhere.
She had been struck during their lovemaking by the hardness of his ass and
thighs. Now her eyes take in their contours. But for the hairs, his legs
could compete with a woman's in terms of shape and firmness. She smiles to
herself, enjoying a momentary mental vision of this, so masculine person,
dressed in pumps and nylons. Then she begins to kiss the hairless skin on the
inside of his thighs.
Though mostly evaporated by now, the smell of their mingled perspiration and
her own arousal-laced vaginal juices is strong where her face is working now,
and adding to her already regenerating desire. The tip of his cock brushes her
cheek, and leaves a streak of thick moisture there, announcing his mounting
rearousal. With her excitement, she has again forgotten to breathe, and finds
herself gasping for air. She inhales deeply, then softly begins licking her
own essence from his balls and the sides of his cock. He strokes her hair
gently, coaxing her to continue. She does, oddly enjoying the salty, acrid
taste of herself on him. She works her way slowly to the head of his penis,
finding it moistened again with fresh drops of precum. She gulps them down
greedily, again aware that the throbbing has begun to accelerate between her
thighs.
Stretching her lips over her teeth to protect the tender skin on his cock's
head, she takes him into her mouth slowly, trying to relax her jaw to allow it
to open wider. She swirls her stiffened tongue around the circumference,
inhaling more of their mingled essences. His fingers involuntarily grasp a
clump of her thick hair, but in this state, she is past noticing if it hurts.
She slides her lips further down his cock, feeling the firm pressure of its
head against the back of her throat, and concentrates on suppressing the gag
impulse, sucking him back farther. As much as she is able, she moves her mouth
up and down the length of his cock, which now seems to have grown even thicker
and larger than before. Now torn between wanting to continue this to its
inevitable conclusion, and the need to feel him deep within her again, she
gives way to the more urgent need, allowing his cock to fall heavily against
his thigh. Up on her knees now, she straddles his hips. Grasping the giant
organ with her right hand, she again uses the fingers of her left hand to
slightly open her labia. Then guiding his cock to the entrance, she sinks
slowly down on it, feeling his hips rise to meet her. She feels her face
contort into a grimace as the warm, heavy organ provides intense friction
easing into her.
This position provides her another view of his lips and face and she
consciously scans them and commits them to memory. He appears so beautiful to
her, that she wonders if this is not yet another of her vivid dreams. He
reaches up and begins to massage her engorged clitoris with his two thumbs.
The sensation is too intense and actually causes her to buckle in pain, and
collapse onto his chest. Cradling his face in her hands, she kisses him
softly, stroking the silver-streaked hair above his temples. His lips are soft
and warm and the kiss deepens while her hips begin to involuntarily undulate.
"Oh God", she whispers, her voice too weak to resonate. They move together
slowly, in perfect mirrored unison. Her face twists into a grimace of too much
pleasure, as she places her palms on the mattress beside his face and lifts her
hips to slide nearly off of his penis, squeezing her vaginal muscles to keep
from losing him.
The pace quickens. He bends his knees and braces his heels against the
mattress to provide leverage for the onslaught he is about to launch. Grasping
her thighs, he raises his hips and pounds deep into her, harder and harder,
deeper and deeper. All of her energy is now concentrated on keeping from being
bucked off of him, and on trying not to cry out in pain. She fears she is
being torn inside, but there is nothing to do now but ride the torrent until he
explodes inside her. She had been close to climaxing, but the searing pain
from his stampeding cock has stopped it. She hangs on in spite of the
discomfort, hearing the rapid-fire slapping of her sweat-soaked belly beating
against his. He rams into her with unimaginable force until finally, spent,
he relaxes and allows her to collapse against his chest.
They are soaked again in sweat, and perhaps blood or urine? She is afraid to
look down at her thighs as she slowly extricates herself from him. But she
forces her eyes downward. No blood. And no semen. Whatever other liquid is
there is indiscernible. His collapse was again from exhaustion, not from
climax. His cock drops back against his thigh, still huge, swollen, and
throbbing. She sighs silently.
They lie side-by-side now, trying to recover, It is very very hot and they
are both drained of energy. She cannot explain it but even in the painful
throbbing aftermath of his attack on her womb, she feels she could not love him
more. He has not uttered even a slight audible sound through all of this. She
cannot believe it.
Minutes elapse. More relaxed now, he turns on his side to face her, offering
his lips for her kiss. He swings his right leg over her hip, and his arm over
her waist. Her skin had begun to feel cold from evaporating sweat, and the
heat provided by his still-warm body is re-establishing a glow--and almost
unwillingly, she feels desire begin to burn again. Arms and legs around each
other, they kiss tenderly, caressing each other almost lazily. She reaches
down to find his cock still hard.
Rolling her over, he places himself between her thighs again, and penetrates
her . Ever so gently this time, he cradles her in his arms and moves slowly in
and out of her cunt. She is way more relaxed now, and the pleasurable
sensations are now washing over her entire being in waves, as she contracts her
vaginal walls rhythmically, sucking him into her depths. Eyes closed, and
transported from the wet and crumpled sheets, her mind branches off to retrieve
one of the fantasies she often uses to induce orgasm during her frequent
masturbation sessions. She imagines the Indian, fucking her mouth, fucking her
pussy, fucking her in the ass.
Her breath comes in shortened gasps now, as the fantasy crescendos in unison
with their lovemaking. He reaches down to where her left hand has been
grasping his buttocks, takes hold of it, and places it onto his back. She
holds him tightly to her, as he shifts his weight again and covers her mouth
with his, never changing the rhythm of his fucking. She feels the beginnings
of involuntary vaginal contractions warning her of the coming orgasm and again
she reaches down to grasp his ass with both hands. Overcome with the building
tidal wave, she wants to quickly bring him to her speed. Her finger slips
into the crack between his ass cheeks, and she presses in slightly.. He gasps
and guickens his thrusting. They are together now, and she senses intuitively
that it is safe to let go completely. She hears the groan being to develop
from somewhere in her depths and she is unable to stifle the moans as she is
shaken by powerful orgasm.
Her body quivers heavily, eyes rolling backward, as wave after wave of the
climax sends her reeling to almost oblivion. He has not quite reached the same
place, but her contorting face and almost feral utterances are now pushing him
to the brink. His buttocks clamp tightly around her finger. With quickening
thrusts, she feels him shudder heavily as his powerful orgasm rocks her into
another of her own-- cunt muscles still throbbing against his spending cock.
When at last he finds the strength to slowly pull his well-worn cock from her,
it leaves a trail of thick white cum on her inner thigh. After a while she
breaks the total silence to say softly, "I love you."
His silence is unbroken.
After a time, they dress and kiss one another softly. She gets into her car
and begins the journey home, wondering in her own silence if this is the way
it feels to lose one's soul in love.
---------------------------------------------------------------
She sighs heavily, gently pushes the spaniel off of her lap, gazes a final time
up into the heavens. Softly she whispers 'goodbye' to the Indian, lifts
herself out of the chair, opens the screen door, and returns to the present.
--
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