tagHumor & SatireHome Is Where the Hand Is

Home Is Where the Hand Is

byArgyB©

Where the hell am I? That was Ray's first thought when he opened his eyes Sunday morning. Such initial queries were not unusual for him, and so he wasn't much troubled by this one. Let's see. Comfy green flannel sheets, antique mirrored armoire by the bed . . . oh, but of course, Camille's house. * Mystery solved. Ray did a quick systems check: no new pains, no old pain become pernicious; no hangover?rather a surprise . . . oh, wait . . . still drunk; but Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what a hard-on. Ray reached down to welcome it to the new day and . . . remembered the dream from which he'd just awakened.

He'd been sitting on a sofa, watching intently as Abbie lowered herself into his lap. She'd moved in slow motion, and Ray had seen the head of his cock disappear into her anus with a preternatural and immensely satisfying clarity. Once his entire length had glided into her rectum, and her boyish little bottom was pressing against his thighs, she'd lay back against him and Ray had thrummed the thimble-ish, plum-colored nipples on her nearly flat chest while Charlotte, kneeling in front of them, had worked her fingers into Abbie's pussy. Abbie had let out a full-throated, O-mouthed moan as Charlotte pushed a slender hand inside her, and Ray had felt Char's hand move against his cock through the wall of Abbie's vagina as he'd begun to thrust.

All well and good, except that Ray had suddenly realized the sofa he was sitting on belonged to an ex-girlfriend, Ramona, and that Ramona was having a party. None of the people milling about had seemed to notice or care what Ray, Abbie and Charlotte were up to, and Ray had noted his odd lack of embarrassment at this latest extreme example of his generally poor form. However, he'd found himself distracted by the knowledge of a certain months-old stain on the underside of the cushion on which he was sitting; it worried him that Ramona wouldn't be able to reflip it if he stained this side as well. More disruptive, though, was that every time Ray was about to come, Ramona would appear, tap him on the shoulder, and ask him to go get some more ice, or tonic, or one of her cats out of a tree. He quickly divined that according to the internal logic of this particular dream, simply saying "Booger" to Ramona was sufficient to make her go away. But she kept returning, and each time she did, she grew larger; not fatter, but inhumanly larger and more misshapen, her body absorbing her glamorously slender limbs until finally she became a giant egg, waddling in on legless feet, armless hands flapping at her sides, pointed head scraping paint off the ceiling. "Ray," she said, in a manner oddly genteel under the circumstances, drooling albumen through her yolky lips, "I think it may be a little rude of you to be doing this in front of the guests. Did someone let Fritz out again?"

In spite of these increasingly bizarre intrusions, Ray had toiled on, and had been on the verge of getting off a mighty great dreamy splooge when a car door slammed across the street-Camille's neighbors leaving for church-and roused him right out of Abbie's ass. It was always something; he never got to come in his dreams. He also hadn't come when he and Camille had made love the night before. Too late, too much to drink. After her fifth orgasm, Camille had collapsed exhausted on top of him, and he'd considered it both futile and uncourtly to ask any more of her. So now his cock was impossibly stiff and his balls ached. He was debating what to do about this sorry state of affairs when he felt Camille stirring behind him.

Camille snuggled in close behind Ray, and kissed him just below his ear. "Good morning, baby," she whispered hoarsely. She ran her hand up and down his biceps, then, sensing something intriguing about his posture, followed his arm down to the hand that was idly fondling his balls.

"Mmm . . . you horny this morning, baby?" Camille asked.

"Umm . . . might be," Ray said sheepishly, and started to roll over.

Camille stopped him. "No, no. Stay just like that. Here, let me do that for you." She slipped her hand under his and gave his balls a gentle squeeze. "Oh, baby, how tight you are."

"Mmm hmm."

Camille ran her fingers lightly up and down the underside of Ray's cock. Ray took a deep breath. Camille grasped his penis and slowly stroked it a couple of times. "Oh, baby, how hard you are."

"Mmm hmm."

Camille snaked her other arm under Ray's head and wrapped it around him. She traced circles around one of his hard nipples with a lazy finger as she fondled his cock. Ray leaned back to mash Camille's pillowy breasts against his back. He felt cradled in her loving care, but even so, he couldn't help reaching behind him to feel for her snatch. Camille, however, grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. "No no no. This is my show, baby."

Camille let her hand circle Ray's cock like a purring cat circling a table leg, rubbing every inch of itself against the hard, smooth surface. She closed her eyes and tried to conjure its image in her mind from touch, as if she were blind. Camille loved cocks. That wondrously thin skin, how could it contain so much blood and desire? So much will to power so delicately dressed. What a conflation of potency and fragility, what a contradiction between dominance and neediness. What a prick. She traced several circles around the edge of the glans, and just as she was sinking her teeth into Ray's neck, scratched the underside ever so lightly with one well-manicured nail. She took Ray in hand again and began to stroke him steadily, purposefully. She put her mouth to his ear and traced its rim with her tongue. She whispered, "Oh, baby, do you like that? You like my hand around your hard cock?"

"Yes."

Camille ran her fingers through the hair on Ray's chest as she continued stroking. "Your balls are so full. You want to unload them for me?"

"Yes."

"You want me to jack you off? You want me to jerk your big swollen cock until you spurt hot cum all over yourself?"

"Oh, yes."

"Okay, baby, here ya go."

Camille picked up her pace.

"Uh." Ray's breath hastened as Camille jerked faster and faster; his heart began to pound. "Oh, yeah. Make me come. Please, baby, make me . . ."

But Camille had stopped. "Hold that thought," she said, and rolled out of bed.

"Fuck!" Ray groaned. He heard Camille in the bathroom. He heard her peeing and flushing, then rummaging through the medicine cabinet. He half turned, trying to discern what she was up to, but quickly resumed his position when he heard the medicine cabinet close. He had no idea what was going to happen, but he was enjoying not knowing.

Ray felt Camille lay back down behind him. She wrapped her hand around his cock again, but now Ray felt as if his dick had been dipped into a tub of butter.

"What the hell?"

Camille giggled. "It's udder cream."

"You're kidding, right?"

"It's very good for the skin. Why? Doesn't it feel good?"

"Yeah, it feels nice. But lawd, chile, you could moisturize every cow in the barn with what you've got there. I need a little bit of friction, ya know?"

"Jackass," Camille said, and bit Ray on the shoulder.

"Ow."

"Here, let's do this." Camille smeared some of her handful of cream on Ray's balls. She massaged some more into his thighs ("Oh, that feels good," Ray said) and wiped more of it on his belly. She took one final dollop and plopped

it on the tip of Ray's nose. "There ya go, Bossy. Think I can milk you now?"

"Moo."

"Okay, now where were we?"

"I seem to recall something about me coming."

"Right you are." Camille's hand circled Ray's cock and balls felinely again, and massaged his thighs some more ("You liked that, didn't you?"). She affected a Marilyn Monroe breathiness and accompanied the rhythm of her coy, halting speech with intermittent strokes. "You know . . . Ray . . . I'm . . . so . . . sorry I didn't go ahead and get . . . you . . . off . . . before. I know how badly . . . you . . . need . . . it. But I just thought it would feel so . . . much . . . better if I got you all nice . . . and . . . slippery."

"Let's just get on with it, shall we?"

"Aww . . . okay, baby. Here we go. Just relax and let me take care of you."

Once again Camille began stroking in earnest.

"Oh, yeah, oh, yeah, baby, that's it. Oh shit, I'm gonna . . .

"Uh oh. Darn! Sorry, babe, I have a cramp in my hand. Huh, that's never happened before.

"Oh, Jesus H. Fucking Christ!"

"Oh, honey." Camille scrambled to her knees, leaned over Ray, and covered his face with quick, passionate kisses. "I didn't say 'Simon says.' Haven't you figured it out by now? You don't get to come until I say you can."

"All right, that's it." Ray rolled over, pushed Camille onto her back, and started to climb on top of her. "I'm going to fuck the shit out of you."

Camille shoved him away. "I swear to God, Ray, if you lay a finger on me, I'm going to scream 'Rape' at the top of my lungs. Now as you were, soldier."

"Well I swear to Beelzebub, if you keep teasing me, I will risk going to prison." Ray rolled back over with a pointed exhalation.

Camille snuggled back up to Ray and continued her task. "Okay, baby, I'm gonna finish you off. No more teasing, I promise." She began to stroke slowly again. "So tell me, baby, what were you thinking about when you were playing with your balls."

"You," Ray lied.

"Aww," Camille said. "Isn't that sweet. And what were you thinking about me?"

"Oh sweetums, I was just thinking how dearly I cherish making sweet tender love to you."

Camille laughed. "I just bet you were. Oh, and if you ever call me 'sweetums' again, you'll have to come over here any time you want to visit your left nut." She licked Ray's neck as her finger traced a circle around Ray's left testicle. "I'm gonna keep it in a pretty little jar on the mantle piece. Now tell me what you were really thinking."

"Har! I'd probably rather not."

Camille stopped stroking Ray's cock and, grabbing his hip, pulled him back hard against her.

"Well, you know what I think? I think you were wishing I had a cock. Isn't that right, baby?" Camille whispered. "You were wishing I had a big fat cock to shove up your ass."

Ray sighed his familiar comically exaggerated sigh. Camille slid the thumb of her free hand up and down the crack of his ass. "Say it, baby. Tell mama you want her to fuck you with her big fat dick while she gives you a reach-around."

Ray chuckled. "That just sounds way too weird."

Camille laughed and pressed her thumb against Ray's asshole. "Come on, baby, don't you want to be mama's little bitch boy?"

"Oh, all right, mama." Ray tried his best to sound bored. "Whatever. Yes, mama, please fuck me in the ass with your big fat dick. Ho fucking hum."

Camille let go of Ray's cock and smacked him on the ass. "Once more, with feeling."

"Oh please, oh please, oh please, do please sodomize me," Ray said Britishly, with mock enthusiasm. "I want to be buggered ever so badly. Please ream my bung hole with your gargantuan honkin' schlong.

Camille giggled. "That's what I like to hear." Camille greased up her little thumbcock and pressed it against Ray's anus again. "Take it, bitch boy, take it." Her thumb slipped easily into his experienced ass.

"Is it in yet?" Ray asked innocently.

Another smack on the ass. "Well, fuck me for not being Sissy freakin' Hankshaw*, you bastard."

"Oh, sweetie, it's okay. You know, it's not the size of the um, the um, ocean, it's the, um, motion of the lotion . . . er sump'n.

Camille backed her thumb out and thrust it hard up Ray's ass. Ray grunted.

"How'd you like that motion, bitch boy?"

"Uh. . . . "

Camille hooked her thumb downward, and found Ray's prostate. "How's that motion. Huh?"

"Mmm. . . ."

"Oh, you like that, huh?"

"Yes, I do believe I do."

Camille gently massaged Ray's P-spot and tugged on his nipple.

"Okay, then. I'm so glad you like it." Camille ran her hand down Ray's belly and grasped his penis again. "I'll totally stop teasing you now. Really, you poor thing, you've suffered enough."

Camille thumb fucked Ray's ass, pausing every few strokes to massage his prostate, as she corkscrewed his shaft. "Come on, bitch, work that ass for me." Ray began moving his hips to meet her thrusts. "Oh, yeah, baby, that's it. Take my cock. Take it up your ass. You know you want it."

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck." Stillness.

Ray was too apoplectic to speak. His cock was twitching; a small rivulet of cum oozed from its tip. Camille whispered in his ear, "Sucker."

Ray shook his head. "Have you ever seen a grown man cry? Damn, Cam, look what you're doing to me."

Camille propped herself up her elbow and peered over Ray's shoulder at his throbbing cock. "Oh, hon. You weren't supposed to come yet." She scooped up the spunk with a finger and mashed it between Ray's lips. "Come on now, be a good boy," she said, and started giggling. "Bitch boy, bitch boy." Ray opened his mouth and sucked on her finger.

"That's a good boy. That's a good little bitch boy."

"Stop calling me that."

Camille stroked Ray's cock once and let go. "Where are you taking me for brunch?"

"Denny's."

She stroked his cock twice and let go. "Where are you taking me for brunch?"

"IHOP."

She stroked his cock three times and let go. "Where are you taking me for brunch?"

"The Farmington Inn."

"Damn right you are."

The first spurt of Ray's spunk went flying over the edge of the bed. "Ha!" he shouted, and without thinking put his hand in front of his squirting dick to catch the rest. "Oh, baby, that was awesome."

Camille covered his neck with kisses. "Yes, I know."

Ray rolled over-this time Camille let him-and parted her lips with his tongue. He used his cum-filled hand to massage her breast. Camille pulled away from his kiss. "What the fuck, Ray?"

"Oh, listen to the squeamish chick who just had her thumb up my ass. Now go make me some coffee, bee-atch."

Camille stuck her ass-reaming thumb up Ray's nostril. "I don't think so, bitch boy!"

"God dammit! All right, I'll go make the coffee."

Ray got out of bed and started pulling on his jeans. Camille lay on her back, eyes closed, a mysterious half smile on her face. Quickly and quietly, Ray opened the bedside table and fetched the handcuffs Camille kept there. In an instant, he was straddling her chest, pinning down her arms, and cuffing her to her brass headboard.

"Motherfucker!"

Ray laughed. "Yes, I'll go make the coffee. You just lay there and meditate on your sins." He started out of the bedroom.

"Dammit, Ray, I have to pee," Camille whined.

Ray turned and smiled at her. "Oh, you just pee'd a few minutes ago."

"But I have to again! Fuck you, Ray! Fuck you!"

Ray returned to the bed and leaned over Camille. He brought his arm back as if to slap her. "Why I oughta. . . ." Camille flinched and squealed, then giggled. Ray sat down on the bed and stroked her cheek gently. "Oh, baby," he said, "you've already had a go at fucking me. We're going to be taking a different tack for the rest of the day."

Then Ray gave Camille's nipple a playful tweak, and headed out the door.

"Fuck you, Ray. Fuck you!"



*Sissy Hankshaw, the protagonist of Tom Robbins's 1976 novel, Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, was notable for her impossibly large thumbs, which she put to interesting use.

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