Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica


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My Boss’ Wife

Yes, I wanted to have her just as much as I wanted to revenge the treatment I had received from my boss throughout my tenure at PMC. I had grown increasingly tired of his antics, his arrogance… of his incompetence. I was shocked to learn that she was his woman. I couldn’t fathom that this man had other qualities aside from the disposable ones I’d endured from him.

They were the mismatching couple. He wasn’t exactly eye candy, while she was chiseled out of seduction. Her walk exuded a sexual confidence that lured the stares of all the geeks in the IT department. It left them dreaming of orgasms between formulas and algorithms. I can only imagine the thoughts of geeks prematurely defeated upon a sight of her undergarment sliding down her bottom.

Evil BossEach time I saw her I couldn’t think but of hurting her painfully enough to prevent that alluring strut from disrupting weeks worth of work days. It wasn’t just the idea of having her with out a care for her well being, but that knowing I was somehow releasing my frustrations from years of ill interactions with my boss gratified me. His wife was going to be responsible for his behavior hard enough that when they copulated, she’d think back to how I handled her. That was my goal.

My advantage over the guys fantasizing about her was that queries regarding development of new software had to go through me. She, well, she was a project manager brought on solely to entice the male clientèle to stick around if just to gawk. If anything was to be engineered, it had to touch my hands. My chance came not a full year after she was employed.

One of our major clients would only speak with me, yet my boss wanted all communication to go through her… and rightly so. It was her job, and my “in”, to carry out my plans for her. To engage her more with the client, my boss scheduled an “Entertainment” meeting between all stakeholders. It was she, the client, his two assistants and I. The entertainment was in form of a fun diner, a local sports event, finalized by a drink at the Water Lounge. The Water Lounge was the latest craze in the city specifically meant for entertaining corporate clients. It had it all from drinks, to beds, to meeting rooms. It was locally known as the “finalizer”: not one contract that entered the venue left unsigned.

I purposely arrived late to diner. I had already informed the client that I would be doing so, as I wanted them to feel her out. I was delighted to learn that diner was a success. I greeted the client, greeted my boss’ wife, then sat down for dessert and a neat Presidential Rye. I didn’t converse much, I mostly smiled, nodding my head in agreement. I covered the bill, and off we set out to watch the sporting event. The sporting event was of my choice. I had not revealed to anyone what it was. We boarded the limo, and I instructed the driver to drop us off at the newly created arena down at the southern tip of the city.

Ballroom Competition FloorWhen we arrived, a big billboard atop the front entrance to the area welcomed competitors as well as spectators the Dance Sports’ 32nd Dance Competition. Everyone was taken aback, they didn’t expect the sporting event to be, well, a dance contest. I brought them down to our booth that was coincidentally placed in perfect viewing distance from the center of the dance floor. There was a buzz in the arena. Not the type created by loud cheers and drunken fanatics rather, one created by music coupled to entranced fans anticipating the duel between some of the best interpreters of dance of this century. I had a second drink, another Rye, Dad’s Hat. I situated my guests then informed them that I would return in a few minutes. They were so excited by the presence of dancers on the floor that they didn’t notice I was gone much longer than I had alluded.

When my name was presented to crowd, I could hear the ruckus coming from our booth. Everyone in the booth was screaming my name; Samantha, my boss’ wife, included. I didn’t win, though I expected to, I always do. My partner and I came in at sixth place, a solid showing for a nine-to-five fellow. I tried to shower and change quickly as not to leave my guests waiting longer than they had to. At the dressing room I needed to calm my nerves. This happens to me at every competition, the butterflies are more interrupting after the fact than they are before or during. Out of my bag I pulled out a Tirado Corn Whiskey, took a gulp to feel at home and headed back to the booth.

An enthusiastic and warm welcome received me back at the booth. Samantha jumped on me squeezing, kissing even shoving me. The client was walking around simulating a bad Paso Doble, and the other two people, both women, jumped up and down screaming my name. After some flattering chatter it was out to the Water Lounge. For the duration of the limo ride we joked around, even I had to expose my abdominal muscles for the ladies to touch. I had somehow become sexier than ever before. Samantha was audacious enough to tell me that if I weren’t a colleague she’d love for me to go Latin-macho on her and control her like I controlled my partner during the contest.

I noticed she didn’t say married, so I accepted her words as an indication that I would be welcomed to fulfill my lust to “disable” that sultry strut of hers. It didn’t even take reaching the Water Lounge for the client to accept Samantha as the point of contact. She was charming, attractive (much more than I) and tonight a bit tipsy and exposing herself high up the legs to everyone. We dispersed quickly once at the venue. The client and his assistants went straight for the bar then the dance floor. Samantha remained behind with me still speaking of the competition.

Hair BunThe opportune chance to bring peace to years of abuse at work couldn’t be passed; I reciprocated her aggressive flirtations with quite the direct intent. I slid my right hand to the back of her head grabbing the slicked hair-bun, and pulled down on it exposing the length of her neck to me. I drew close as if to kiss her neck, but instead I drew close to her ear and told her I was going to hurt her. “You are not man enough to try” was her sarcastically-toned response. While still holding her hair-bun, I maneuvered my left hand to her backside and with a violent snap, I tore the string-panty from her body. “These aren’t a must where you are a going”, said I. I released her and asked her to follow me. She ran her index finger down my spine in a waved motion, then ran it back up in a straight line. “Calling for help?”, she mocked.

We walked downstairs to meet the client one last time. He was pretty intoxicated, so were his assistants. Through the loud music and despite his inebriated state I was able to inform him that Samantha and I had to leave, that the limo would remain behind for their convenience. He hugged me, offered me another drink that I politely declined. He then hugged and kissed Samantha on both cheeks as customary of him. “Until next time my. Have a drink on me.” were his last words to us that evening.

“Aren’t we leaving?”, Samantha asked.

“It’s simple enough an instruction, that of following”, responded I.

Night Sky Line“That’s out of character for somebody my husband puppets daily”, was her response. I didn’t say anything. We walked upstairs to the meeting room scheduled for us. I walked to the windows and opened the blinds giving view to the city skyline. She followed me to the window, rested her right shoulder upon it, looked down to the lower buildings and proceeded to expose her breasts by pulling the top of the dress to the sides. I looked down her neck to her shoulder and her arms. It was no wonder my boss had married this woman; she’s no effort to admire.

“As I said, that’s out of character for someone who my husband puppets on a daily basis.” I took the extension to the sentence this time around as an invitation to hurt her. Whether I misunderstood her intentions wasn’t a care of mine. It really wasn’t a care how she felt about my aggression, all that matter was imprinting my whim upon this women so that she may go home still throbbing, still dripping of me… to lay besides that foolish man she calls husband with residues of my actions still inside of her.

“It’s a wonderful night, the sky is clear, apartment lights sing to the night. There is no better night to learn how much you can handle as a woman”, I exclaimed. She didn’t say anything for a minute, only continued to look down to the buildings, smiled, sighed and began to rub her breasts. She turned fully towards the window; the sight of her figure against the city skyline made her the most desirable architectural wonder present in the city. I removed my bow-tie, unbuttoned my shirt, then pressed my body against hers… pressing her against the window. She pushed back, telling me “You haven’t the permission, miss.”

I was being deterred by the sight of her beauty sparkling against the city scenery. What was I to do? I completely removed my shirt, and pressed her hard against the glass window. She tried to speak but, I covered her mouth with my hand. “It’s my turn to taunt”, I said to her. I instructed her to reach back and pull me out of my pants. She struggled somewhat removing my belt, but finally managed to expose me. I lifted her dress. “You direct me, put where you want it.” She lead me to her vagina, already moistened. “Wet me with you, let him feel your secretion. Do not put him in.” She guided me throughout the area leaving me nice and moist.

“That’s enough. Put him where you don’t want me to pierce.” She’s a bright lady. She moved me up to the center of her bottom. I adjusted her butt cheeks creating a receiving space for the head to thrust into. She was now looking back at me from the corner of her eyes. The feeling of her dress upon my anatomy was as seducing as feeling the orifice of her buttocks firmly against me. I freed her mouth and simultaneously shoved in with a quick motion. Her mouth opened big, she tried to jump off but I didn’t allow it. I held her hair bun tightly while thrusting in again and again. The collision of my pelvis against the bottom resonated with a “Please, don’t hurt me” that gradually grew intensely pleasurable. Initially her voice alluded to fear and pain, but with each aggressive thrust into her butt the statement changed demeanor. It seemed to have become a mantra for her. “Please, don’t hurt; please don’t hurt me”, repeatedly escaped her lips. She was now enjoying the sensation of a welcomed pain.

“Don’t tell me not to hurt you!”, I finally said. I then proceeded to lift her dress, wrapped it tightly around her waist, and struck her on the right butt cheek. She labored to change her mantra… finally repeating: “Hurt me, please hurt me, please… hurt me.” I would have felt badly, had I been a caring partner at the moment but, I wasn’t. The sound of her voice intoxicated me, and the feeling of her skin clashing against my hand made me want to leave hand-prints on her butt for her man to see that she’d been had.

I withdrew, quickly taking a knee and sinking my teeth on her butt. “Spread them”, I said. I licked, bit and smacked her bottom with the conviction of a fulfilled man. She jumped each time my hand landed on her bottom. She tasted bitter sweet. While I was enjoying collecting payment for her husband’s actions, I didn’t like that he wasn’t there to witness what she had endured.

“Torso on the table, legs wide apart.”

I removed her dress and watched her walk over to the meeting table at the center of the room. She quietly rested her torso on it, and pulled the legs apart. “I’m ready”, said she. I walked over, ran my mouth up and down her bottom, including the thighs, then pierced her; swapping entrances every few strokes. I had run out of ideas as to what to do to build immunity to my boss in future interactions. All that was left was for me to climax.

I withdrew from her bottom, and situated myself at the orifice of her vulva. I spilled out, some inside of her, some not. “Squeeze”, I instructed her. “Squeeze”. I wanted to see me drip out from her vulva down to the floor. Once satisfied, I stood her from the table and placed her on her knees. “Gag yourself, let me watch me get lost in your mouth.” She tried time and again, as if trying to entice a second reaction from me. But, I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of… well, willingly satisfy me.

“Gag, and hold deep. Look up at me. That’s enough. On the table face up.” were my last commands. I made her climax more than I had intended. I left her there to collect herself. I walked away with her aroma entrenched in my mouth.

The next morning a handwritten note atop my keyboard read: “Is a drop of blood normal? I didn’t realize I would enjoy the pleasure of pain. How long will the pain last? There are slight bite marks on both my cheeks. Can I see you in my office?”


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In the Outback

Kangaroos Silhouette Against The Setting SunI’m as much of an outsider to the populated metros as am to their remote and sparsely-inhabited inland. Yet, fate had it to see me become some sort of “tour guide”, an atypical one for the outback… too. The profession fell upon me through my father who moved he and I here when I was a teenager. He sought a world of peace far and away from the hustle and the bustle of consumerism and plutocracy. A self-made mountain-man back at the states, he lusted after the unknown of mother-nature. What better place to experience life than that where God only allows a few to survive: the land of the Kangaroos!

We spent months-on-end in the outback looking up at the stars during the night; gaining knowledge of the area and its people during the day. He built us a small scientific tour company to bring science out to the outback. It was our way of living, yet it took my happiness with it, too. I couldn’t accompany him in that last expedition from which he never returned. The last I heard of him was when he spoke to me through the screen door: “I’ll be back, son… no worries”, he said. The papers had it that a few of the members didn’t make it through the dry season but, I refused and still do, to believe that my dad was amongst the thirsty ones left behind.

The local media got a hold of my story and published it. It led to a major flood of thrill seekers at my doorsteps looking to go deep into the outback where other tourist guides refused to travel. They accompany me with the knowledge that I am not there for them nor their safety. There is always the possibility for one, or all of us not to return. I’ve spent most of the past 20 years looking from my father in the outback. I haven’t stumbled upon anything to build my hopes, still they are as high now as they were when I set out to find him.

Aboriginal OutpostBecause there isn’t a need for cash out here, I rarely ever charge more than food and spirits for my services. Tourists are dropped off for my pickup at random areas where I’m known to come collect water and materials throughout the year. It is also not guaranteed that I’ll make the drop-off times. If I’m not there in a three day window, I won’t be coming back for months; alternate spots must be sought by eager tourists. The few of us who live out here known where and when each of us loners is most likely to pop up.

I’ve become friends with many-a-criminals as I have kindhearts living and hiding out there. They have spared my life from nature more than once, too; which gives me hope that the same fate could have been experienced by my father. To the scattered englishmen in the outback I’m known as “the boy” because of the young age when I began my father’s search; the aborigines call me “unsettled spirit”. So called because of the pain I carry inside that keeps me pressing on and won’t let me die. They, the aborigines, are excellent companions in the dark of the night and the dry of the day. They taught me that while the outback is an unforgiving land, it has a way of selecting who will come out unharmed. No one enters here who can leave if nature selects them to stay behind… if fate cares not to spare their life. My dad could very well be one of selected ones but, that doesn’t mean his life could have been the price paid to stay.

Aboriginal WomanI have not picked up a tourist in my last three stops, a years worth of time I gather. My companion for the past few months, Kora, has rejected my taking on anyone, believing that the nocturnal spirit would have taken my life were I insolent enough to have brought them. The unlucky tourists have all been Americans. The greedy type, not the usual mellow fellows who find a breakage of an appendage time to smoke it up and drink. I’ve obeyed Kora each time. Being a foreigner to this land makes me listen to the people who’ve survived in it the longest. So, the soulless fellows have gone home after a few losing physical altercations with me. I suppose their money gives them the birthright to be disgraceful back at home, but here, in this land, I am the graceful one.

It’s the hottest period since anyone can remember. It’s been so hot that Kora believes we should create a new name for this type of heat. All I’ve heard in the week long journey to the only outpost within a reasonable trek is how the sun is not at all pleased. I am in an honest need for Kora to stop following me, or a few tourists to occupy Kora’s stories. She’s a kind one, but sometimes being alone in the outback for too long leaves one thirsty for verbiage. Oh, she’s at that point.

The night prior to reaching the outpost, Kora alerts me that this group of tourists, three in total, is welcomed in the outback. That I’ll be pleased of this group. I pay her little mind. I’m tired and would like a good night’s rest. She falls fast asleep quickly while I stay awake listening to the concoction of life during the night; more than any before I pay particular attention to it all around me. The fluttering of wings, footsteps drawing closer and walking away into the distance, the occasional thunder, and the whistles of the aborigines communicating in the dark. It was as if my ears were open for the very first time. Kora has been on a steady night-long-sleep. I haven’t slept… anxious for the imminent arrival of sunrise. To keep busy, I’ve been throwing twigs onto the bonfire to keep us warm. I enjoy the crackling sound of burning wood, coupled to the changing colours of both the twigs and the fire, it is as if alluding to the passages of a lifetime in just seconds.

I’ve prepared a meal for Kora and I, she’ll be up soon to get underway. She awakens ready to travel, ready to talk… If I’m not ready she’ll leave without me; not a bad thought at this point.

Leather Bowler HatI’m eager to feel the heat of the sun in the morning, to feel it strike my body until arriving at the outpost where we can ignore the sweat and suffocating weather for a few minutes. I’ve grown accustomed to the effects of the sun. I’m shirtless throughout the day most days… though covered in dust. I wear rubber-bottom cowboy boots and a old dusty leather bowler hat. At night my father’s leather overcoat prevents shivers from the unseasonably-cool breeze. I carry a day-pack with my belongings; not many, but essential for survival out here.

Kora spoke all morning long. She related about places I hadn’t yet visit, and the issues affecting her people. There wasn’t a topic she didn’t tackle. She even spoke of sexual encounters amongst the aborigines and the English.

By the time we reached the outpost, a few Englishmen were already loading two horses. They greeted me warmly, informing me that they were about to head east in my search to ask if I cared to indulge a few American tourists. As payment, these sneaky American mates brought three different bottles of whiskey from Colorado, loads of smoked beef, and dried fruits. How can I deny them with such delicacies brought to the wild! I shall take them, and drop them off in three weeks time at the abandoned post south east of here. They’ll be secure there until someone arrives to collect them.

They are an odd group. Kora continuously laughs at their mannerism… never having seen people like them; more so, men like the two in the group. Of the three people, two are males. The last is a woman in her early forties. The two men are, americanly-so, gay. Very flamboyant, friendly as can be, just as they are fearful of it all. I’m not sure why they chose me to trek the outback. There are far more accommodating guides than me. And, I’m not sure how Kora thinks these bloques will make it out in one piece. The woman stands a better chance than do the two fellows.

There are times when I pick tourists from, and return them to this very particular post. The proprietor, a young widower, allows usage of her horses for a small payment. The payment is of course, my services. Today she won’t be collecting any, I have not engaged in such services for well over a year. I haven’t a need for them at the moment. We are to set afoot for a week through some of the less traveled regions in the outback. The horses, and spending more energy here can only hinder us.

At the post Kora and I get acquainted with the tourists, eat then rest up until sun down. I indulged in too much of the fine spirits brought from the Americas than I anticipated. It was best to wait until I returned to my wits to resume the journey. Kora entertained everyone at the outpost, not hushing until it was time to leave. We are to walk for a few hours into the night. With the full moon it will be less difficult than otherwise. For the entire journey, the two men and the woman walk in a single line holding hands. They follow me and Kora ensures they don’t unsafely lag behind, she holds them tight at the end of the group.

I came to learn that they had selected to undertake this trip as a tribute to the woman’s father who had passed away here in the outback. She wasn’t American as her comrades, she was an Australian woman who’ve lived her entire life in America. Her father came home to rest in peace. He was an aborigine, and her mom was a white Australian. This journey was a homage to her departed father. The two fellows accompanying her were two of her closest friends. They didn’t know what situation they had agreed to undertake. But by the constant yelps and screams tonight… I’m fairly sure they grasp the situation.

Satisfied that we’d had enough of a head start, I set camp by a tree-lined thermal spring. That night I didn’t sleep either. The woman and I stayed awake trading stories about our fathers. She was in delightful physical condition. She appeared like one of them new-age women who spent too many hours sweating while holding strange poses at a yoga class. Her posture was incredibly flawless: standing or sitting. It was joy to watch her shape against the night with the help of a bonfire.

When light broke free of the night, her two companions awoke in an uproar. They had neglected to bring some items of utmost importance with them: digital cameras, music players, and chapstick. Kora agreed to take them back to the cabin, and catch up to us in a days time. I didn’t enjoy the idea of separating from Kora, but did welcome the thought of a quiet stroll through the outback without her. We agreed on a convening location: the mound of Birrahgnooloo, due south of our present whereabouts.

Scarlett was her name. As talkative as Kora was. I learned, at times ignored all about her. From life in college to becoming an author, she spoke of it all. I even learned that she’d only been intimate with one person: her high school sweetheart. When her father passed away, she became depressed… eventually abandoning him.

I walked ahead of her, often having to stop awaiting her slow gait to catch up. I’m not used to babysitting in the outback. It’s hard to wait on someone. It was midday, terribly hot, and it was time to eat. I set down my day-pack, instructed Scarlett to stay put until my return. I was gone close to two hours hunting a meal. I had to skin, gut and cook the three rabbits. I didn’t want to expose her to the outback faster than needed. When I returned she ate the meal not asking what it was. I assumed she preferred not knowing what it was.

I said little during the meal, but watched every move she made. My sight was fixated on her sweaty white shirt. Her breast attached the shirt speaking of full meals and pleasing sounds. She noticed me looking in her direction. She bashfully tugged at the shirt between her breasts and apologized for the sweat covered body. “Nonsense”, I exclaimed. “Sweat is part of the outback. You’ll get used to it.”

The continuation of the trek was somewhat peculiar. It was the first time that a female tourist probed into my sexual behavior. She was curious about how I managed the urge to be satisfied out in the wild. Who, when, where, how… when was the last encounter and with whom? Do I and Kara share more than a friendship? I had no reason to answer. It’s not habitual of me to reveal personal facts to strangers. I purposely disregarded the conversation; not because I ignore that I desire as much as the next primate but, out here in the outback many things entertain a person, many other things that I find more important than lust.

She wasn’t as secretive about her desires. She revealed details about her sexual preferences. What she didn’t and did like; how her monotone experiences sparked the curiosity in other men. She’d been a good girl, never deviated from her husbands ways, though often wondered about any and all the possibilities being missed by the limits of a lifelong partner. In her 40s now, she was ready to delve deeper into her sexual persona. All of the hard work on her physique was specifically for naughty purposes. Her belief was that feeling good about her appearance would draw a dormant personality. She would then have no quarrels withstanding the unknown of a controlling brute during intercourse. She’d handle it all, yet be able to fight back enticing more pleasurable-aggression from him.

Much of the sun was already under the horizon, only about a fifth stood short preventing the night from taking over. It was either pushing through ignoring hunger to a more suitable spot not two hours ahead, or listen to Scarlett who insisted we stop to bathe in the temporary lake that’d been created during the big rains up ahead. I reluctantly agreed. I was about to set off to hunt for our next meal when the sight of Scarlett undressing out in the open prevented my departure. She walked passed me into the water as if I weren’t even present. I turned to watch her walk into the lake, knee deep. She hinged at the hips right before my eyes. I wanted to forget about the next meal and consume her to my whim. But I didn’t. Instead I tossed her my knife, my whistle and asked her to use the whistle if in need of help.

I was gone for close to an hour, returning empty handed. I was far too distracted by the thought of Scarlett leaning over with her back to me. The slight changes of skin tones her body projected as muscles weaved and shaped her physique, just as did her anatomy, intoxicated me. I spent the majority of the time pondering the feast to be had with her. She made me forget about nutrition as means to survival. I desired her body as supplemental to nutrition. I licked and bit my lower lip until it throbbed. I could imagine her taste as it turned into my vitamins and minerals.

Stranahan's - Colorado WhiskeyScarlett had opened a bag of the smoked meat I received as payment from them, along with packaged goods she had been carrying. She looked to have had quite the meal. I opened a bottle of the Stranahan’s Colorado Whiskey, sat on the floor and watched her gaze into the imminent dawn of the night. She wore a pair of ripped jean; the pocket mesh was coming out of one of the openings from where the colour maroon of her undergarment was visible. She had a fashionable safari shirt alluding to her inexperience in the wild. I drank, stared, and wondered if she thought to be in the Australian Exhibit at the San Francisco zoo.

While looking up at the sky, she asked if it could get any more beautiful. “Breathtaking they are, those very little suns suspended faraway in night of the sky. I’ll start a fire to lay beside where we can rest the dark away by counting stars.”

Magnesium starters are invaluable. They can start a fire in the thick of snow. Out here, a quick swipe and Scarlett rejoices about the little flames coming from the gathered twigs. She sways her hips without much need for music. I watched her lower body move, wondering if she would be as savvy when in my grasp.

By the onset of the night Scarlett and I sat adjacent to each other throwing sticks in the bonfire. We’d lay down to stargaze until it was time to refuel the fire. Only when a shooting star sped away in the distance would we comment. It was very quiet; enough to hear each other breathe. We took turns feeding the fire until she fell asleep. I got up to ensure there was enough supply of wood to keep it burning until the morning. I didn’t go to sleep right away. I walked about the edge of the lake listening to the nocturnal life satisfying their thirst.

Eventually I returned next to Scarlett. I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but it must have been fairly quick. The next thing I recall is Scarlett shaking me awake. A howling dingo nearby scared her sleep away. She did not want to stay awake by herself, nor did she want to return to sleep fearing the dingo. I stood up, grabbed the Stranahan’s, took a big gulp and said: “What do you suppose we do in the middle of the night if not sleep?” She approached me, took the bottle from my hands and placed it back my day-pack. I wasn’t to have any more of whiskey that night. She refused I drink any more.

Scarlett again probed into my personal life; asking if Kora and I engaged in adult acts. I ignored her once, twice, thrice and again I ignored her. It wasn’t until she asked me to sit on the floor that I understood the severity of her constant inquiries. I sat on the ground facing the bonfire. Legs stretched out towards it. She stood between my legs and pushed them to the sides. Button by button she opened the Safari shirt, which she left unbuttoned exposing her bare chest to the howling dingoes.

Gab of woman between inner thighsShe wasn’t as deliberate removing her jeans; those she pushed down easily without having to unbutton. They fell to the ground with the same rapidly-fluid motion that my mouth opened. I wished for endless lightning to cover the starry-sky providing the necessary light to admire every detail of her form. I wanted to see the maroon undergarments pressed against silhouetting her intimate persona. I desired to see the opening created between her crotch and upper inner thighs when legs are held together. I wanted to see the outback through the opening.

I was told to unbuckle my belt, to unbuttoned my jeans, and to pull out. I did not anticipate her candidness, nor was I about to let her command me, I grabbed her right arm pulling her down atop of me. She straddle around my lap, telling me that she that the hard welcome was a joy. She tried to stroke me, but I refused. I wanted to engulf my lips with her breasts, run my tongue throughout the sides of her neck, even reach towards her earlobes to feel the soft of her skin against my tongue.

Her opened shirt gave way to the most supple, yet pleasantly-firm-to-the-touch chest this side of the Glosses Buff. I became instantly infatuated by them. I crafted my mouth upon her upper torso as a skilled artist would upon his canvas. The desire was to ravage her yet, the soothing touch of skin on her bare chest against my lips prevented it. It enticed me to comfort my desire with gentle maneuvering of her breasts.

The outback surrounding us hushed down to perfect silence. It all except the crackling of wood burning away in the bonfire intently listened to her and I. Dingoes, footsteps, chirps, whistles nor the wind interrupted our dialog. The still of the night gave voice to the sound of her desire, the sound of my lips against her skin. It hurt to stop the feeling of her nipples gracing my tongue, but I sought to kiss Scarlett… just Scarlett. And that we did, we kissed; at times aggressively, others gently. She’d exhale into me, I’d exhale into her. It was no more than the exchange of desire through breaths. I would have inhaled every last breath of her passion that night, had it been perpetual.

During one of the moments of aggressive kissing, she reached down, grasped me with her left hand, lifted her body and slowly lowered herself until I was fully covered by her innermost sensations. She released a slow and steady “ah” that prevented us from kissing until her wits returned. Her hips remained immobile… simply holding me steady, embracing me as if sheltering a storm. I felt the contouring of her insides pressing against me, just as I felt the saturation gradually sipping down until my scrota was covered. Her chest pressed against mine yielded glimpses of her heartbeat as it accelerated and decelerated calibrating the rush of blood throughout the organs in her body.

More eventful it didn’t come to be. There was no movement of her hips colliding against mine sending the splash of wet skin against wet skin through the desert. The most vibrant sound in the outback that moment was that of our lips kissing, of two people losing reality in one another. We remained in the same position consuming our lips until she climaxed. She struggled to kiss me at that point… she did managed opened-mouth contact against my lips coupled to moans sprinkled with sighs. I didn’t respond. I stood still waiting for her to complete the experience. She climaxed longer than I have been used to. Her expression revealed through hints of the remaining fire was enough for me to end our adventure at that point. Yet, when she finished, she looked me in the eyes and ask that I too finish inside of her; to moisten her need to be with that rugged man that didn’t respond to anything or anyone.

The sound of her voice drove chills reached every digit in my body. I opened my mouth and struggled to express what I felt. I tried looking at her, tried looking up, tried to restrain the pleasure from saturating the night. It proved impossible. She looked down at me smiling…

The fire had gone out; remaining was our bodies next to one another, totally free of clothing. The early frenzy of outback life welcoming us. It was time to press on to meet Kora, but not before tracing my hands throughout her physique.