Fiction – Twalker

I watch you. You don’t realise, but I see everything. I lurk in the shadows, just one among the many. I devour your conversations. I save your pictures. I spend hours thinking, plotting, putting two and two together. And I’m getting closer.

You don’t realise the effect your throwaway remarks have on me. How could you? I’m just a faceless name amongst your thousands of followers.

I hate your easy exhibitionism. The way you preen, flirt, joke and tease.

I touch myself.

Fiction – Serenity, part 3

Find part 1 here

Find part 2 here

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As Dave ran his finger gently over the crease between her shoe and her foot, Serenity cried out in pain. It felt to her as though his finger was a scalpel, cutting further into the wound of her bleeding foot.

“Oh God, sorry.”

He blushed.

“Let me kiss it better”.

Bending over, he brushed his lips over the arch of her foot. Serenity held her breath. The pain was still there, but there was something soothing about the way his lips caressed her tender skin, and she started to relax ever so slightly.

“Better?” he mumbled, not taking his mouth away from her foot. “A bit”, she responded, slightly distracted by the sensation of his warm breath on her skin.

For the first time since coming home on Friday night, Serenity started to forget a little about the pain in her foot and feel more herself. She took the opportunity to survey the back of Dave’s head properly for the first time. He was good-looking, of that there was no doubt. Not her normal type though. He had the physique of a cyclist – tall, lean and  muscular, and a friendly, open, slightly weather-beaten face under sun-bleached hair that seemed contrary to the normal pallor of most other night-owl barmen she knew.

Serenity shifted slightly on the couch, running her eyes down his back, to where his t-shirt met his belted jeans. The movement caused her robe to open slightly, revealing more thigh, but she resisted the automatic reflex to close it again.

Sensing the movement, Dave looked up quizzically. “Do I need to kiss the rest of your legs better too?” he smirked. She giggled. “Well, it might take my mind off my feet…”

Dave grabbed a calf in each hand and kissed her knees playfully. “Here? And here….and here….and, oh, and here?” With that he moved slowly and surely up the inside of her left thigh, stopping only to glance up at Serenity’s face and make a mental note of the hardening outline of her nipples under her robe.

The goosebumps on her legs followed his progress further up her thighs as sticky juices seeped from her pussy in anticipation of where his mouth was heading. As he reached the edge of her robe, he snapped at it playfully and looked her directly in the eyes for the first time.

His eyes flashed at her, a deep, dark blue. Yes, they were friendly and open, but she also saw a hunger and an intensity in them that she realised she had not seen in anyone for a long time. The look was both provocative and searching, and she knew instantly what it meant.

Almost involuntarily she parted her legs slightly wider, causing the robe to fall open and expose her glistening cunt to his gaze.

“Good girl”, he whispered.

Her lips parted and her breathing grew heavier as she could no longer hide her arousal.

“But you’re not really a good girl, are you Serenity?” he continued in the same, soothing tone, “you’re a very bad girl, aren’t you? I watch you, you know. Watch the way you flirt outrageously with any man that takes your fancy. I watch the way you use your body to lure them into your little trap. Then you devour them and spit them out, don’t you?”

She nodded silently. His tone changed.

“Slut.”

A wave of emotion washed over Serenity at that moment. Her heart pounded faster, and her lips formed into a smile of relief. Finally somebody had dared say it to her face. She felt…recognised?…in a way she had never experienced before. It simultaneously calmed and emboldened her, as the balance of power seemed to have palpably shifted.

She nodded again.

She didn’t expect his next move, which was to take his middle finger and plunge it deep into her dripping pussy. She held her breath and awaited his approval, which he gave with a curt nod, and the addition of a second finger. As he proceeded to rub his thumb over her pulsating clit, she realised she was almost forgetting about the pain in her feet. Almost, but not quite.

“You’re holding back”, he stated calmly.

“It’s…my feet” she groaned, the strangest mix of pain and pleasure causing her to shiver.

He continued to rub her clit, but looked thoughtful.  “There’s nothing I’d like better than to bury my face in your cunt and lick you until to scream my name. I don’t think that’s what you need though. You’re obviously still being punished, and I think we need to make sure that punishment is seen through to the end, don’t you?”

Still apparently lost for words, Serenity simply nodded for a third time.

“Turn over”

Fear and anticipation began to rise inside her. As Dave showed no sign of removing his fingers from between her legs, she rolled over awkwardly, as best she could. She was glad her face was pushed into the cushions of the settee, as it meant she could hide the rising redness in her cheeks.

Dave lifted up her legs and slid himself onto the sofa underneath them, pushing her robe further up her back and exposing her backside fully.

“Do your feet still hurt?”

She muffled an affirmative, as he withdrew his fingers from her cunt, and placed his hand gently on her bottom, running it speculatively over her cheeks and upper thighs.

The combination of the slight suffocating effect of the cushions, and the tightening of her chest with expectation meant her breathing grew shallower and more urgent.

Dave’s soothing tone came back. “Sssshhh…it’s ok”. His hands continued to run over her backside, tracking the swell and curves of her body with each finger in turn, then gently fanning her cheeks with his palm. Slowly, and gently he replenished his fingers with the natural lubrication of her pussy, before testing the skin of her anus with his index finger.

She tensed, waiting for the intrusion, but it didn’t come. Instead, he lifted his palm and slapped it down tentatively on her right buttock, causing her to pant with the same rhythm. When no protest came, he smacked his palm down harder, once, then twice in quick succession.

Serenity had never felt such helplessness. She knew she could tell him to stop at any point, but her body seemed unable to make her actually do so. It was as though her will had dislocated itself from her brain, and something primal had taken over. All she wanted was for the pain to stop, and yet, all she wanted was for him to carry on.

The slight stinging on her right buttock left behind a tingly heat as he turned his attention to the left one, again smacking his palm down hard three times in quick succession.

Once he had finished the spanking, he waited, gazing at the red marks on her dark skin with satisfaction.

Now, finally, with all her concentration on the pain on her behind, the pain in her feet drifted out of her mind, and she suddenly found she could no longer hold herself together. Her body convulsed, and tears started to stream down her face. Dave pulled her up and towards him, gathering her in his arms, and holding her tight as he waited for the roller-coaster of emotions to leave her body.

They sat there like that for what seemed like an eternity, neither of them speaking, until finally she kicked off her shoes and held him closer.

THE END.

Fiction – A Partridge In A Pear Tree

Inspired by the 12 days of Christmas, somehow this turned into another summer story. Seems I’m longing for long, hot, lazy summer days again!

Merry Christmas x

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She knew he would be waiting outside her window, it had become a ritual now. Every year, around the same time. He came home to help on his father’s farm at harvest, as he did every year, just as her parents went on their annual wedding anniversary weekend to Cornwall, giving her an excuse to come back and house sit.

She thought back to the first time, the summer after her sixteenth birthday. It had been a cloudy, overcast day, and she had come home from school to change into a sweatshirt. Standing in her bedroom in just her bra and panties she rummaged among the clothes cursing her personal untidiness. She didn’t know what had prompted her to look out of the window when she did. It was probably that a slight movement had caught her eye, but she liked to think it was some kind of sixth sense. The tree was full and leafy, heavy with ripe fruit, the ideal hiding place. It had been his jeans that had given him away- a flash of blue against the browns and greens.

Lucy smiled as she remembered the shock she had felt when she had realised that there was someone outside her bedroom window, watching her dressing. That first time she had hurriedly drawn the curtains, as she had the second time it happened the following year, even though she had been fully clothed that time.

The fourth year had been the deciding year, the year she had made her mind up that if he was going to make his annual pilgrimage, she would at least make it worth his while. She had stood in front of the window in her underwear that year, slightly unsure of herself and awkward. Year five saw her topless, and year six threw caution to the wind and saw her fucking her then boyfriend on the desk in front of her window.

Over the years she had started to look forward to this time of year, and the visits from Tom Partridge. When they met in the village they hardly spoke, barely acknowledging each other past the usual neighbourly pleasantries. Their bond remained unspoken, yet she could see that intensity and desire burned in his eyes every time he looked at her.

The pear tree was ageing, the fruit slightly gnarled and pitted, but its trunk was as strong as ever. It would still hold his weight without any trouble. This time, the tenth anniversary of that first visit, she had a surprise ready for him. She only hoped the shock wouldn’t make him fall out of the tree. Lucy put the kettle on to busy herself in the kitchen, and waited.

She didn’t have long before she heard the familiar creak of the garden gate and saw Tom sneaking in and creep towards the old tree. The way he swung himself up into the branches with such ease amazed her. While the leaves of the tree obscured her view of him slightly, she was sure his eyes were searching for her at her bedroom window. “Not this time”, she grinned to herself, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Gulping down the remnants of cold tea, she grabbed the blanket she had earlier placed on the back of the kitchen chair, and headed outside.

She had to try her hardest not to look up into the tree as she walked towards it. The key, she knew, was to make it look as unplanned and as innocent as possible, although she felt sure he would know it was anything but. Spreading the picnic blanket out under the shade of the fruit tree, she was sure she could sense his puzzlement as the script they played out every year deviated from the usual.

Once the blanket was in place, she stepped onto it and let the loose robe she was wearing slide from her shoulders, although she found herself wondering how it managed to slip off so easily when surely every single goose-bump would hold it up? She stood, head bowed for a split second, feeling her reserves flood away and desire begin to rise. Her gaze grazed her erect nipples, and she wallowed in the tingle of the blood rushing to her cunt, before slowly sinking, first to her knees, then onto her haunches, where she paused again for a split second, before lying down on her back, closing her eyes and spreading her arms out in the shape of a crucifix.

She knew he must be looking at her, admiring her pale skin and the pinkness of her nipples. She hoped he could feel her arousal as she imagined his eyes sweeping the curves of her breasts, the slight dip of her belly and the outline of her hips. Lucy wondered idly whether he could see how swollen her cunt was, how the sticky juices were pressing the tops of her thighs together.

Her thoughts were interrupted in the most frightening and unexpected way, as a ripe pear disengaged from the tree and fell down beside her, missing her by only an inch or two. She jumped and squealed slightly, before bursting into raucous, throaty laughter, which was stopped in its tracks when the second pear fell hard onto her right thigh. “OUCH”, she cried, somehow sure that this particular pear had not made its own way off the tree, but had received a helping hand.

She was rubbing the sticky spot where it had fallen, sure it would result in bruising the next day, when the next one rained down onto her stomach, oozing slightly as the overripe flesh of the fruit met her own, quickly followed by another one just under her left breast.

It was not until this point that she looked up into the tree for the first time. He was holding another pear in his hand with a thoughtful and calculating look in his eye. Her eyes blazed a challenge at him and the next fruit landed on the blanket next to her right breast, causing her to throw back her head and close her eyes once more, arching her back and spreading her legs in invitation, and causing the finely balanced pears to slide off, leaving their gloopy trail on her body. She inwardly thanked God that there  didn’t appear to be any wasps in any of the pears that had fallen down – while she had nothing against a little bruising, she did think that wasp stings might kill the mood somewhat.

As she lay there in expectation of the next blow, she was surprised to hear his voice hurriedly utter four words. “Rub them on you”. Doing as she was told, she grasped the pear that she instinctively knew was softest, and started to smooth it on her breasts. She felt the slightly mealy flesh disintegrate and coat her in a film of sticky juice, mirroring the effect it was having in her pussy. Lost in the pleasure of her own sensations, it took her a while to tune in to hear the moaning that was coming from seven feet above her, but she smiled as the audible cue told her what she had suspected.

There was not much left of the pear once she had smeared it over her belly and haunches, and it was the little stalk that made contact with her clit before her fingers did, mingling the sap on her digits with the juices of her cunt. The familiar trembles in the soles of her feet told her that she would not take long to orgasm if she let herself continue, but she didn’t know if she would be able to hold back for very long, as she quickened the pace, discarding the stalk and now furiously rubbing her clit.

The moaning in the tree above her grew louder and more guttural, while her own breathing grew shallower and heavier. She dipped her fingers into the sticky juices between her legs, before shoving them in her mouth and greedily sucking on them. The taste of ripe pear mingled with her pussy juices tasted delicious, and she briefly regretted that Tom couldn’t taste them too.

As she lustily sucked on her fingers, she looked up at the tree to see Tom’s erect cock springing from his jeans. The view of him stroking his thick cock spurred her on to place her fingers back between her legs and glide her fingers over her sodden clit.

The next thing that hit her was not a pear, but a short stream of milky white juices over her midriff and breasts, as Tom ejaculated over her, tipping her over the edge into her own shuddering orgasm. When it subsided, she lay back on the blanket, exhausted, and burst into unstoppable laughter. She could see she would have to start planning what was going to happen the following year…

Fiction – Underground

The second of my stories originally published on Wordejaculation.

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She was grumpy. It had been one of those days at work where nothing seemed to go right. Customers weren’t happy, her boss was frustrated and the stupid cow she shared an office with had decided to leave early and dumped all the urgent tasks on her.

His day, on the other hand, had left him buzzing – one of those rare days when everything seemed to have gone his way, and the testosterone was flowing. Plus that new girl in HR was definitely flirting with him. He grinned as he walked the short distance to the underground station and got on the train.

The métro on the way home was packed, as usual. She sighed, squeezed her way in and tried her hardest not to breathe in the smell of stale commuters. As she stood holding onto the rail, she closed her eyes and imagined herself far away. People were still squeezing on, until it seemed every possible drop of air was being taken up. As the train set off, she let her body yield to the rocking movement of the carriage. Inwardly cursing the bags and briefcases that were digging into her, she concentrated on her mental image of palm trees and sunny beaches.

He looked around the carriage and momentarily hesitated as he brushed up against the woman in front of him. Was that the new girl from HR? The one with the amazing arse and the penchant for killer heels? He had spent many an enjoyable moment wanking over the thought of dragging her into the nearest fire escape and fucking her senseless. He was momentarily disappointed as he realised that this was in fact a different woman – still, the resemblance was striking. Damn, she was also pretty hot. He felt his cock start to throb as he admired the way this woman’s curves were visible through the pencil skirt she was wearing. He cursed the fact he was directly behind her and tried to imagine the front of her blouse – slightly too many buttons undone, perhaps…a peek of a lacy bra?

As she desperately tried to get to her happy place, she became aware of something pressing against her hip that did not align with the usual pressure of a packed commute. She had not paid the man behind her much attention until then – he was the usual middle-aged manager in a suit that seemed to frequent that line, no doubt heading back to the suburbs to his miserable frigid wife and 2.4 children. She inwardly shook her head as she tried to get the bizarre thought out of her mind that the man was pressing his penis into her – it had obviously just been too long since she had last got laid, and her mind was starting to play tricks.

He mulled over what might happen if he should press his crotch against her. Would she cry out? Turn around and insult him?  Stamp her stiletto on his foot? Parisian women could be pretty forthright. The thought turned him on even more. There was now no hiding the fact that his cock was fully erect and pressing against her arse. He panicked, held his breath and waited for her inevitable reaction.

She tried to concentrate on what she would have to eat that evening. And yet…that was definitely a body part pressing into her, now with barely perceptible movement. She swore she could now clearly feel the outline; the long, firm shaft and the exposed head. Her first reaction was shock. She looked around the carriage surreptitiously,  but all the other commuters were wrapped up in themselves and nobody was paying her the slightest bit of attention. Why would they? The man was so close to her, with his briefcase strategically placed at groin height. Nobody would be able to see a thing. While these thoughts were shooting through her mind, the man’s initially tentative movements grew stronger and more confident. She knew she should cry out and draw attention to what was happening, and yet her mouth was dry and she felt paralysed. All she could think of was the way his cock was rubbing against her buttock with an increasing urgency. She was convinced she could hear his breathing quickening.

He could not believe that she had not reacted by now. All he could focus on was her arse and the way his cock was rubbing rhythmically against it. He wanted so badly to lift her skirt up, pull aside her panties and thrust his hard prick into her pussy in full view of all the commuters. Rip open her blouse and expose her tits to the carriage… The fantasy spurred him on, until he felt more brazen and more confident.

Quickly, and barely perceptibly, his hand brushed her other buttock, reached towards his crotch and, with a single smooth motion, undid his zip and grabbed his cock out of his trousers. It felt amazing. The feel of the extra friction from the rough cloth of her skirt against his throbbing head almost made him come instantly.

She could now more clearly feel every stroke of his cock through her skirt. She gagged slightly, yet something still compelled her not to move. Her thoughts were a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

The man placed a hand on her left buttock to steady himself as with a last, barely imperceptible, thrust of his hips he shot his load all over her skirt. As the train slowed towards the next station, he rapidly zipped himself up, bent forward, whispered “Merci, madame” and left the train.

With that she knew it was over, as quickly as it had begun. All that she was left with was a sick feeling in her stomach, a sticky wet patch on her skirt and a tingling in her cunt.

Fiction – Chemistry Studies

This is a story I wrote some time ago now that was originally published on the “Wordejaculation” site, which is now sadly defunct. Time to republish it (and another piece that I’ll post another time) here, I think.

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It was the summer of 2003. The summer when people finally started believing in global warming. The hottest summer in 500 years.

I was in my final year at university, sharing a flat with two others – Nickie, a med student who we never saw as she was always off doing whatever it is medical students do, and Rob,  who, like me, was in the final stages of finishing his Chemistry degree. He and I had been pretty much inseparable since Fresher’s Week, when we first bonded over Tequila slammers and a love of dancing “ironically” to Beyonce’s chart topper Crazy In Love.

Rob was a walking, talking cliché – tall, dark, handsome, athletic. He had the gift of the gab and was utterly charming. I don’t think there was a girl in our year that didn’t throw herself at him at one point or another. Ironically, this made me both incredibly popular with those who thought getting in with me meant getting close to Rob, and unpopular with those who couldn’t understand our platonic relationship and were jealous of how much time we spent together.

It was around the end of May that Rob started seeing Charlotte. He had of course been out with girls before, but I knew from the beginning that this was new. Charlotte was very different to the clean-cut  girls with blonde swishy hair that seemed his normal type. She was half French; petite, olive skinned with long dark hair and the most amazing pert round breasts and peachy arse I had ever seen.

One hot and sticky Monday, I let myself in to the flat to hear laughter coming from Rob’s bedroom. I put away my shopping, and headed for my room. As I passed Rob’s room, I noticed the door was slightly ajar and caught a good view of the bed, where the two of them were lying dressed only in their underwear, with Charlotte’s back towards me. I caught a glimpse of her round cheeks in the tiniest of frilly knickers and something made me stop and admire the two of them. The next thing I knew, Rob was pulling her towards him, kissing her neck and running his hands up her thighs.

My head told me to disappear and leave them to it, but I remained rooted to the spot. He slowly slipped her bra strap off her shoulder and started kissing her collarbone. She giggled as his mouth moved lower towards her right breast and one hand moved from the outside of her thigh to the inside, while the other moved to undo the clasp of her bra.

I was frozen; barely daring to breathe as I glimpsed the silhouette of her right breast, before Rob hungrily started sucking the nipple. Charlotte moaned slightly as Rob also cupped his hand around her left breast. I willed them to move around so I could see everything that was happening, but of course they were completely oblivious to both me and the increasing dampness between my legs.

As Rob continued to focus on her breasts, Charlotte ran her hand along his arm, across his chest and down towards the soft fluff of his navel. She let her fingers linger, teasing the short hair, and playfully sticking her fingers in his belly button before slowly running her index finger along the inside of the waistband of his boxer shorts. As she shifted slightly onto her left buttock, I saw the outline of Rob’s hard, erect cock straining at the fabric, with a delicious, barely imperceptible wet patch where his cock had dribbled. Charlotte’s hand wandered further inside his boxer shorts and I could just make out the way her finger ran up and down his shaft.  As she grasped it with both hands and pulled it out of his shorts, I had to stifle a moan. My pussy was dripping at this point, and I pressed my hand between my legs in the vain hope of – what? – certainly not stopping myself, I was well past that point by now!

Still kissing, sucking, stroking and teasing, they pulled off their last remaining items of clothing. They were now completely naked. They were such an amazing looking couple, and I could not get enough of the sight of both of them. I held my breath, silently willing them on to the next level. As Charlotte went up on her knees, I saw Rob’s cock, rigid and glistening through her thighs. As she gently rubbed her pussy against its tip, I felt my own hand lift up the flimsy dress I was wearing, push aside my soaking knickers, and push my fingers deep into my own juices. I stifled a moan as my fingers found my clit and furiously began to rub.

In front of me, Rob had grabbed Charlotte’s waist and pushed her down hard onto his cock. As she slid up and down, her movements hinting at the pleasure she was experiencing, I felt myself attempting to mimic the sensation by thrusting my fingers deep inside myself. The way her breasts moved, the way she thrust her head back and closed her eyes – these were things I felt for myself. I felt every movement of his hands exploring her body, felt his fingertips tracing her nipples, and felt every thrust of his hot prick as it carved through me. I bit my lower lip to stop myself from crying out as their lovemaking grew more frenzied. I staggered backwards, leant against the wall and gave in to the delicious sensations – my fingers on my clit, thrusting into my pussy and rubbing my nipples. As I felt the first shudder of orgasm tingling in my legs and my cunt, I opened my eyes for a final glimpse of the couple in front of me and drank in the view of her tits, and his cock. Charlotte let out a long, deep moan that instantly told me her climax too was close. Rob thrust into her one last time, and all three of us came with a delicious sigh.

I hid in my bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, too embarrassed to face the pair of them. It was only when I heard Charlotte leave that I dared venture into the kitchen, where I found Rob sipping a bottle of beer and flicking through the local paper.

He looked up as I came in, and grinned.

“Good afternoon?”
“Yeah, not bad” I mumbled, my face flushing at the thought of what I had seen and what I had done.
He looked at me thoughtfully and then said; “Well, maybe next time you would like to join us…”

That, however, is another story.

Fiction – Morning glory

Whilst this piece is entirely fictional, the starting point was an incredibly vivid dream that I had a while ago about suddenly waking up as a man. I’m not sure whether I’ve done the sensations justice, but it seemed like a good exercise in trying to truly imagine myself in the skin of someone else, as it were. I’m sure any male readers out there can let me know how I did! 😉

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I can distinctly remember the date – 14th April. It was the first Saturday morning in about 3 months that I had not had to get up for work. As is of course typical in these cases, my body clock was now so hard wired to a 6.30 start that no amount of squeezing my eyes tightly shut against the filtering early morning light could send me back to sleep.

I sighed and shifted in my bed, hugging the duvet around me, willing it to lull me back into slumber. While I knew it was probably in vain, I wasn’t going to let the opportunity to spend a lazy morning pass me by. Absentmindedly, I scratched my balls.

Wait.

What?

Balls?

My hand froze. Very, very slowly I lowered it back down between my legs. Balls. Plums. Nuts. Testicles.

Bollocks.

It was at this point that I remember screaming very loudly, although to be honest with hindsight I think may have blanked out quite how hysterical I was. All I know is that the sound of my scream freaked me out even more, for instead of my girly squeal, the scream was the low, gruff cry of a man.

When I finally managed to stop my vocal cords from making any more noise, I listened to my heart palpitations instead. As I tried to slow my breathing down, I tentatively put my hands between my legs again. Still there. Two ripe, dangly man balls, beautifully firm underneath the soft layer of skin and downy hair. I rolled one of them in my hand like a Chinese stress ball. The sensation was strange, almost like I was two people. I could feel myself caressing the testicle, and deep inside what I could only think of as my “loins” I could feel the hand doing so. I could feel each digit teasing the skin, squeezing and caressing. It felt new and exciting.

As my hand grazed my upper thigh, I started to explore the rest of my new body. Slowly I lowered my hand onto my legs and felt the unfamiliar weave of hair. “So much for waxing appointments”, I muttered to myself. The muscular thighs tensed slightly under my touch. My left hand tentatively jumped to my chest. Gone were the swelling breasts. Gone was the need for a bra. Where my boobs had been, I now found two flat nipples and a mass of short, curly hairs. I laughed as I silently thanked the fact that I slept naked and tried not to imagine a male torso in a nightdress.

For a while, I simply enjoyed the unfamiliar sensation of running my short nails through the hair on my chest, before heading further South towards my belly. I swirled my fingers around the fluffy bellybutton, and traced the “V” between my hips. I grinned like a lunatic to discover I had abs. Whoever this body belonged to worked out. I was HOT…or at least the body I was inhabiting was! I giggled as I flexed my biceps and felt the breadth of my shoulders. I sniffed the musky scent of my armpit and practiced repeatedly swallowing with my hand on my Adam’s apple.

Of course, I can’t deny that all this time I had been delaying the inevitable. In some ways I was surprised at my reaction – in drunken conversations with friends about what we would do if we were the opposite sex for the day the fascination had always been what it would feel like to have a cock. Now that it had happened, I found I was just as intrigued by all the other elements of the body that felt so unfamiliar from within, from the stubble on my chin, to the wiggle of my pecs.

Yet the act of merely thinking about the penis appeared to have woken it up. At first, I may have confused the tingling sensation in my lower abdomen with hunger. Before long, however, I was sure it was a rush of blood I was feeling. As a woman, the familiar throbbing that accompanies the rush of blood to the genitals is firmly between the legs; this was similar in sensation, yet located slightly above what I was used to – and quite obviously on the outside of the body. There was no familiar wetness – no pussy, therefore no juices – but instead a delicious steady throbbing and tightening of my groin.

I could put it off no longer. My hand shook as I reached down and grabbed my growing cock. Still only semi-erect, I grasped the shaft and just held both it and my breath, while I felt it grow in my hand. The skin on the outside was soft and loose, while underneath the shaft hardened and pulsed.

I had of course held cocks many times before. This, however, was different. Each movement from my hand sent tingles through my groin and up and down my spine. With increasing confidence, I started the familiar up and down pumping wrist action. The skin moving underneath my hand seemed to simultaneously stroke the shaft, providing double the pleasure. As the foreskin moved up and over the frenulum and the glans, I shuddered and let out a deep moan. God, it felt good.

Somewhere in my still apparently female brain I felt the urge to insert a finger into the memory of my cunt, yet shoving my free hand between my legs only gave me the warmth of my scrotum. As my heart raced faster, the thumb of the hand around the shaft of my cock teased the glans, where I could feel a dribble of pre-cum. I luxuriated in rolling my thumb to lubricate the head, teasing the slit and marvelling at the soft-yet-hardness of it all.

My cock – yes, my cock! – was proud and hard between my legs. I had taken full ownership and was no longer hesitant in my movements. All my energy and power seemed to be focused on my groin as I revelled in my new-found manhood. Faster and faster I stroked, giving in to the delicious sensation of my gathering orgasm.

I came round slowly, my hand still reaching its crescendo, as my partner ejaculated over my hand and onto the sheets of our bed.  I just lay spooned up behind him, and smiled.

Fiction – Cream and Honey

I came round slowly , feeling slightly nauseous and disorientated. It took a minute or so for me to take stock of my situation; I appeared to be lying in a darkened room, strapped naked to some kind of bed or couch. The room felt warm and inviting – candles flickered around the edges, and soft music was playing in the background. Moving slightly against my restraints, I smiled and waited.

I did not have to wait long until a door in the far corner out of my immediate line of sight opened and I could hear footsteps and rustling. It was impossible to determine how many people had entered the room – three, maybe four? I shivered slightly despite the warmth, and could feel every hair on my body stand erect, as did my nipples.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the low light levels, I made out four masked figures approaching me, wearing what looked like hooded hotel dressing gowns. They stood in formation, two either side of the bed, and let their gowns fall to the floor. To my right stood two brunettes, one petite, small-breasted and olive-skinned, the other taller, more curvaceous with the most beautiful pale ivory skin. I smiled in recognition, but they both managed to keep their eyes firmly ahead and did not make eye contact.

To my left, a blonde woman with a nipple piercing, unknown to me,  stood next to a curly-haired redhead. They too stared straight ahead, neither acknowledging me or the other women in the room, seeminly awaiting further instruction. Just then the door opened again and another hooded figure entered. My breath quickened and my heart started beating faster as I recognised the familiar build and gait.

He approached the bed and I noticed he too was wearing a mask. He produced a plastic carrier bag and handed out what appeared to be a pastry brush to each of the four women. He then proceeded to produce  four pots of what looked like honey, which he put down on the bed in front of each of the women, gesturing to them to begin.

As each of the women in turn opened the pots, I held my breath, anticipating what was going to happen next. I felt the familiar swelling of the blood rushing to my pussy and almost let out an involuntary sigh. Each of the women dipped their brushes into the pots and started to paint me – starting at the end of each limb. The brushing sensation tickled my toes, and I wriggled, but the restraints that held me to the bed did not allow much escape. One by one the little pastry brushes lathered on the thick, sticky substance – on my toes and fingers, my hands and feet, then along my arms and legs.

All this time I was so preoccupied with trying to see and feel what was happening to me that I had not paid any attention to the man at the end of the bed. I became conscious of the fact that the way my legs were tied to the bed must be giving him a fabulous view of my swollen labia. I blushed at the thought of how he must be able to sense my arousal, for I could already smell the familiar musky scent of my juices myself.

His cock was already firm in his hand as he watched the scene in front of him, growing stiffer and harder as his eyes swept over my naked body, and those of the other women in the room. He stroked the shaft in the same rhythm as the women stroked my body with the hairs of their brushes.

The brushes were reaching the clefts of my limbs now – getting closer to both my naked breasts and the meeting at the tops of my legs. Cupping his balls in his hands, and pulling more firmly on his cock, I could see the tell-tale signs of arousal in the man. I knew the sight of me lying helpless, displaying my arousal to him and to four other women would turn him on so much that he was unable to delay his orgasm.

I could feel my own heart pounding as the teasing, swirling sensation of the brushes around my nipples increased my own arousal. The women had obviously been instructed to stay away from my clit though, for hard as I tried to twist and turn and maneuver myself into place to have them brush me there, they only laughed and pulled away from me.

Yanking frantically on his shaft, the man let out a series of tell-tale moans that announced his coming orgasm. Hot jets of milky cum spurted all over me, and splashed the redhead who was closest to him. The blonde woman grinned, and continued painting my nipples, mixing the milky cum in with the sticky honey. When I thought I could no longer stand the teasing, I felt two brushes finally brush the lips of my pussy. Mixing honey with my juices and the sticky semen, the women laughed and started painting faster.

Suddenly I realised it was not just brush strokes touching my body, as I felt fingers start to trace the outline of my waist and hips. I realised hands, brushes, and tongues were mixing together just like the different substances I was now covered in.They hungrily licked the honey and the cum from my body, spreading it into cracks and orifices, and delighting in removing it again.

I closed my eyes and gave in to the sensation of one mouth on each of my nipples, and different fingers probing and teasing between my legs. The feeling of both my nipples and my clit being sucked at the same time was too much for me, and my body shuddered to climax.

As the women turned their attention to each other, the man -who had stepped back to watch from the shadows – approached me again. Lifting his mask up, he kissed me long and deep on the mouth.

“Happy birthday, darling”

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