Abigail and Steve

Abigail and Steven:

Abigail's work has been shown at major museums. Also, she is a member of the faculty at the University. She is beautiful, intelligent and sensual. She is imaginative, emotional and creative. She loves sex, especially sex with Steve. As she has expressed herself to Steve, "Sex is wonderful. But when we fuck, it is thrilling, sublime, beautiful AND wonderful. I come, I come and I come and each come is better than the previous come." It is this sublime emotion that she attempts to express by color, line, and brushstroke onto her large canvases, her prize-winning, sought-after art.

One more thing must be mentioned.

She has, as our story gets underway, on the spur of the moment, without plan or preconception, become the female participant in a gang bang. (about which, more in a moment.)

Steven is a physicist. He is employed as a senior researcher at Graham Institute where he is working on applications for his own groundbreaking developments with lasers. He is logical, unemotional and clear-headed. Steve understands that the universe is at its root made up of captured energy, electrons and quarks and other small things that move and jump in unpredictable, spontaneous ways. Likewise, he understands that larger things, atoms conglomerate into human beings for instance, move in similar unpredictable ways. He would no more criticize Abigail for being spontaneous than he would criticize a quantum for its simultaneous existence as both particle and wave. They are facts of life. It is what makes electrons interesting. It is what makes Abigail much more interesting, believe it or not, than even quanta.

He is as in love with Abagail as she is in love with him, for each of them a love that passeth all understanding. And, of course, they each love the sex the other brings. Each loves sex and loves the sex they share. Put the words, 'straight,' 'dirty,' 'kinky,' 'free,' 'transcendent, 'amazing,' 'heavenly' and 'explorative' together in one sentence and you might come close to describing the sex between Steve and Abigail.

Our story begins with Abigail.

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She was preparing to end her little fuck fest, the hard screwing, this mini-orgy she was engaged in. She needed to end it. Right now!

It had been fun though surely NOT transcendent. The past hour and a half had been good though not wonderful, a bit kinky though not amazing. And, all things that were merely good have to end, even this fuck-bang. So far she had enjoyed a few tingling, clit driven orgasms, still, she had to end it. Really, she thought, she oughtn't to have begun it.

But first, just one more orgasm, that was all. She was soooo close.

She held tight to the guy fucking her.. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck; her long legs wound about his thighs, her heels pressed against the back of his knees. She savored the feel of it while he moved his hard cock deep into and all around her so moist cunt.

Finally, this last orgasm flitted its way through her body, warming her thighs, tickling her stomach and swelling her breasts.

Finally, she was ready to close out this wanton exercise in debauched sex.

She had to stop.

Time was passing.

She shouldn't have started this anyway, she realized now. Actually, she had realized that even before she had started, but Abigail, as usual, had followed her emotions. Logic, convention were nothing when they competed with feelings.

She took a deep breath, bent each of her arms at the elbow and opened her hands wide against his chest. It took a lot less work than she thought it would to push the guy who had been laying on top of her off of her body. He was in mid stroke pleasuring her clit and the inner folds of her cunt, but she pushed him off. The guy slid off and out of her so easily. The heavy sheen of sweat on each of their bodies facilitated the man's slippery slide off of her body. "That's it. I got to go," she said.

Sweat dripped from her forehead. Her chest above her tits was sodden. Drops of salty- sweat flowed into the cleavage between her tits. Her stomach was soaked. Her cunt was dripping gooey semen onto the sheet underneath her. . "Hey," the guy who had just been evicted from her cunt in the middle of a great fucking said, "You can't just quit like that."

"Sorry," she said as she sat up, getting ready to get off the damp (from sweat, from cunt juice, from cum) bed. She stood five foot eight. Her body was an athlete's body, honed and strong. She was beautiful in a non-blonde way. But right now, Abigail Logan thought, she must look to be the most fucked out cunt that ever was.

"Yeah, and what about us?" said one of the two other guys in the room. He was sitting on an easy chair across from the bed. He was naked, too, his cock limp but shiney.

"And me, what about me?" said the third man, also naked, also with a shrunken, matted with goo, used up cock.

"I'm sorry," she said. She was standing up now, picking up items of clothes from where they had been dropped around the room. "Maybe we can do this again some other time." That was stupid. Why did she say that? she thought.

"No fair."

"I said I was sorry."

"You're being a fucking cock tease," said the guy sitting on the easy chair.

She stopped to fasten the snap on her skirt. She looked at him, a curl of her mouth indicating her disdain for his comment. "You've fucked me. You had a blow job, and I saw you jacking off while I was blowing your buddy. You want a chance at more of that at any time in this life, shut up with that cock tease shit. And do you see my other shoe anywhere?"

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Her shoe recovered, she put it on and left the room. She walked quickly down one flight of stairs, and hurried out to the street towards her car. She looked at her phone. Good, it was still early. Steve would still be at the lab. She had been afraid that the guys would keep her there a bit longer, at least as long as it would take for her to finish them off with one more blow job. But they hadn't insisted. Thank the lord for small favors.

In her car, she rolled her window down. God, she was filling the car with the stink of sex, her sweat, pussy juice and the guy's jism. She hit the dial button on her phone. Stephen answered. "Can you get over to the house? It's important. As fast as you can." She didn't wait for his reply. She hung up.

When she got home, she ran up the stairs, threw her clothes off and into the hamper and jumped under the shower. She needed to wash the smell off of her, to get clean before Steve, her great love Steve, arrived.

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She was wrapping her wet hair in a towel when she heard the front door open and shut and Steve walking up the stairs. She put a terry cloth robe on and walked out to greet him.

"Hey, what's up? Why the sudden call?" he asked as he kissed her on the cheek.

"Oh Steve, oh Steve. Steve, Steve, Steve," she said, "Something happened."

"What? What happ....?" He stopped. "Sex?" he asked.

He had read the signs. Her face flushed, her body glowing. He knew that whatever it was that had happened, it had to have to do with sex.

"Yes, my love. Yes, darling. Oh my dearest Steve." She dropped to her knees. "Darling Steve. I am sorry. I am so sorry. But I let something happen. No, I made something happen."

"Fuck," he said. He looked at her. He looked at her some more.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" she asked.

"Fuck," he repeated. Here he was, getting ready to listen to what she had to say. She had had sex with someone. A man? A woman? Who? He would have to be the Vulcan in this situation; he would have to call forth his Mister Spock!

He was not happy with the fact that she was going to tell him something her demeanor indicated that he didn't want to hear. He was not happy that it was impossible to know with certainty the position and momentum of a subatomic particle.

But she did what she did. Particles did what they did.

So, he dealt with what things did, what she did. Besides which, Steve understood that in some fundamental way he was connected to Abigail forever, entangled as were quibits in Bell's theorem, tied together regardless of space or even time.

She had her back to him. She was pulling clothes out of her closet.

"Go downstairs, go to the kitchen," she said, "I need to get myself together first. Let me think. I'll get dressed and I'll join you and we'll talk."

He looked at her, the lovely curve of her back like Manet's Odalesque. He stared as if a clue to what was coming would be revealed by her clavicle. But there was no clue. "Hurry," he said. "I'll wait." He went downstairs...

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the always ready pot and sat down.

He was finishing his coffee when, finally, she joined him in the kitchen. "Stevie, Stevie," she said even before she sat down, "You have got to know that you are my man, my only man, the only man that I love. You know that you are the man in my life, the man I need in my life."

"And?" he asked.

She thought it best to just say it... "I got myself gangbanged," she said, her voice rueful..

"What happened?" He said, his voice somewhere between attentive, sad and a sigh.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know.......Oh, God, its just happened. I didn't mean it to happen. Oh I did mean it to happen. I knew. It was my fault. I knew it would happen. I knew something would happen if I stepped out of the car. I am sorry. I am so sorry."

"What happened," he repeated. He wanted to slow things down.

"I was driving home from class. I'm having my problems with my new canvas. I can't get it to resolve itself.

"It had been a rough day.

"I didn't know why I was so horny. It had to do with the painting. I knew I needed to unwind. I decided the stop the car and to take a short walk. I was walking and I saw Murray Rathbone, he was an adjunct in the department a couple of years ago sitting on the little porch in front of his house. He recognized me, and we began to speak. We were talking about school and about some of the students he remembered from when he taught. I started to talk about the painting, the troubles I was having with it. It's all about sex, our sex. You know that, Steve, but it's abstract and somehow, although I had no trouble getting the vivid energy to express itself, its sensuality won't come out. Steve, I got horny talking about what I was trying for in the painting... It isn't even horny. It's more. It's everything. Steve, I got crazy and started to think in colors.. It's as if everything but my cunt and my tits shut off. He was listening... I was standing there half looking at him and half looking at the cars parked on the street. I looked down and noticed that he was getting hard down there. I must have been shooting phrenomes at him. And, oh my god, my cunt started juicing up; my nipples get hard. I could feel my clit poking past its sheath. Oh Jesus, oh God, oh jesus. Jesus jesus. I am such a slut. Steve, I was going to walk away from there and call you to come over quick and take care of me. But he touched me. It was just on the elbow, the tip of my elbow. And it was with only one finger. It was nothing. It was an accidental touch, but I suddenly couldn't breathe. All I could think was Murray's cock. I could see that he had an erection and that he had a man-sized cock. I couldn't think of anything else but cock in my cunt and fucking me. I wanted to see it. I wanted to touch it, his cock. I wanted to suck it. My mouth was watering. My pussy was wet, my clit hard. Steve, please forgive me."

He listened to her carefully. He maintained eye contact. He was being Mr. Spock. It was clear to Steve that Abigail needed to tell her story, the she needed him to hear it.

"Steve! Thank you."

He looked at her, a quizzical expression on his face.

"You know why!" she said, "Because you listen to me.

"I need to tell you. I need to get it off my chest. I need that you know everything."

"Why?"

"So you can forgive me?" She started to cry.

Tears gathered in her eyes and several tear drops began to run down her cheeks. "Because then, you might understand? And weird as this may sound, when I tell you what happened, I feel as if it will help me stop being such a slut."

Steve was a physicist. He studied data and worked at understanding what it meant. He nodded to her, indicating that she should go on.

"I know that if I told you, it would somehow be the best way to attempt at stopping myself from acting out my urges," she said. "But it's like I just shut off everything. Nothing is working, only my cunt and my clit. They are on fire. My brain is shouting 'cock! hard cock! Big cock! Long cock! Taste it. Feel it.'"

Abigail didn't know why she needed to tell Steve every detail, only that she did.

She remembered one time when she was still an undergraduate and one of her instructors, a psychology instructor, told the class something about recreating an experience in words, making it real by describing every nuance. The instructor said that if this were done well enough to describe it completely, it would become 'actualized' and the experience would no longer exist but in the story. It would have been 'actualized' out of existence. She recalled that the instructor had said that some investigators believed that this 'actualization' was a big part of why psychoanalysis worked. So, she began the story.

"Steve, I took his hand and asked him to show me his apartment. I started to unbutton my blouse as we walked up the stairs. I was half undressed before he closed his front door. My heart was beating, my pussy was soaking. Oh, there were two other guys there, sitting on his couch, his roommates? His friends? I didn't ever find out. They were smoking a joint. He hadn't mentioned that they would be there. Maybe he had, but I hadn't heard, I didn't care. I didn't want to care. I was too hot. I wanted that cock!"

She looked at Steve to see if she could tell how he was reacting. He didn't look to be angry. He looked maybe a little sad.

"Steve. We ended up on the couch. Steve, this is crazy. It was he and I fooling around, getting. Naked. I was out of my mind. My cunt was on fire. His friends, roommates, whoever, they were there and they were looking uncomfortable. I was down to my panties. He sort of suggested to them that they leave. But they didn't, they just sat there. They were quiet. They looked confused. I felt sorry for them that they were confused. I wasn't. I knew exactly what I wanted.. I wanted, I needed cock. I had never been surrounded by cocks and been in a gangbang, And I wanted those hard, excited cocks against my skin, touching me. In me.

One of them, the one closest to me was wearing sweat pants. Murray took my hand and moved it to the guy's crotch. His prick was hard and it felt so big. And I just got the cock out and I kissed it, I opened my mouth and swallowed the head of his cock and then the whole cock and I blew him. Steve, the truth is, I wanted to blow him. I wanted to taste his cock, feel his cock against my tongue, against the roof of my mouth. While he was sliding his big red cock into and out of my mouth, the guy, the other one, got off the couch, came behind me and started to screw me doggie. I didn't like it, but that was only because I couldn't fully concentrate on the prick I was sucking. I'm not sure, but I think Murray told him to fuck me. He didn't even take my panties off, just moved the gusset so he could get his prick in. Then somebody suggested we move to the bedroom. Steve, I am so bad. I took my panties off. We were all naked. I fucked each of them in turn. I sucked each of them. I did them two at a time. I swallowed. I kissed their cocks and played with their cocks to get them hard after they came so we could fuck some more. I never stopped to think about anything but their cocks and my cunt.

"Steve, you don't know. You don't know what it is like to be in the middle. I was the middle of everything. Cocks and hands and bodies all around me and all wanting me, my feel, my touch, my body. They were all so hard because of me. They were hard for me, for me. Everything was electric. Every nerve on my body was alive. It was as if I was just one big thing and every part of me was turned on, was just building, building, building for an orgasm, building for me to cum. And when I started to cum, it was as if it wasn't going to stop. Cum after rolling cum. Any one of them touched me anywhere with his prick or with his hand, or with any part of him and I came."

She was crying now, looking at Steve. She wasn't sure if she was crying because of what had happened or because it wasn't happening at that very moment..

"Every time I took the head of a cock past my lips and into my mouth, I came. A cock entered my cunt, I came. My clit was touched I came. A hard cock ran across my back side, I came. A guy called me a slut, I came.

"I didn't like any of the guys. I didn't want to know who they were, what they thought. I didn't care that they were getting off except that getting them off made me powerful by making them weak... I just wanted the feel of their cocks and cum from them. Nothing like when I'm with you, Steve. Steve, we make love. I come slow and it's beautiful, I am in a world that is perfect! I love it when you come because your come is strong. I love it. I feel loved. I know who I am with, and I know that you know who you are with."

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AN UNEXPECTED QUESTION

Steve, who had been sitting quietly, cleared his throat to get her attention. His voice was low but distinct. "Did they use rubbers?"

Her mouth opened. Her eyes widened. "Oh my god. I never thought of it. It never entered my mind."

He continued, "Did you promise the guys a return engagement?"

She thought for a while. "I don't recall exactly. I may have said something about a next time. It was only so I could get out of there."

"Abigail, do you understand that you may have them come looking for you? You understand about s.t.d.'s? Your contract at the university has a morals clause in it. Can you see yourself at a meeting with the department chairman? With the dean?"

"What if I just always had condoms with me?" she said.

It took Steve a count of five heartbeats to realize that she had made a joke.

"Sorry," she said. "I know that what you are saying is not a joke,"

Steve knew that he loved her. He knew for sure that they were the two halves that made Plato's one. She was the yang to his yin. He was the sober, logical physicist. She was the emotional, extemporaneous artist. He was tall. Well, she was tall also. When they were together, they were happy. Even right at this moment, while she was crying and he was trying as hard as he could to figure a way to help her out of whatever it was she needed to be out of. He was exhilarated that they were together, joyous in a way that he never was when he was not in her presence. At his most basic level of understanding, Steve knew that at its essence this world was a Chaotic jumble of atoms and forces that were held together in ways physicists could describe with mathematical formulas but that were still magical. He understood in the same way that the force that held him to Abigail and she to him was just as mysterious but was also just as powerful and real as gravity or dark matter which no one had ever seen but which his compatriots in science swore held the whole universe together. Steve looked at her for it must have been more than a minute. "Why did you call me?"

"When? What are you asking?"

"Why did you call me today after you fucked those guys? What was the purpose of the call?"

"I told you. I needed you to help me to understand myself. And I need you to forgive me."

"That's it?"

This time she was silent, thinking. She was pacing the room now. Finally, she stopped and looked at Steve. "I didn't want it to be me sneaking around. I didn't want that what I was doing was something I was doing behind your back."