On the Veranda

Diana frequently strolled along the veranda, although it was a very strange place. The air was always soft, the breeze always pleasant. People ostensibly went there for an outing and to watch the gulls, or to peer out toward the sea that rolled and crashed beyond the wide sandy beach. But Diana knew the real reason that everyone visited the veranda: to be consumed.

In the daytime she would go and smile at the ladies in their long dresses and wide summer hats. The gentlemen would nod and tip their own hats, and Diana would nod back. And since she had peculiar insight into such matters, Diana always knew which of these people she would meet later on the veranda, when the moon was full and the high stone columns awash in ghostly light.

One midnight she rendezvoused with the tall man who sported a Mephistophelean goatee, wore a silk top hat and carried a cane. While she braced herself against a column, he lifted her dress from behind and stroked the backs of her thighs.

Pressing fully clothed against her arse from behind, he slipped the cane over her head and pulled back against her throat.

Gagging, Diana grabbed both his gnarled hands and tugged to relieve the pressure. He continued humping her as they grappled against the column. When Diana pried one of his hands from the cane, he clutched at her throat, discovering the fine mesh chain she wore, the small golden cross from her girlhood.

The man ceased to hump and choke her. They both stood panting. Diana was angry and afraid but wanted completion. She saw her cross in the moonlight, so small and delicate in the palm of the man's ghostly – some would say ghastly – hand. She felt his cold stare over her shoulder at her talisman.

"It's a childhood gift," she said. "To remind me that I am responsible for my actions but not in control. Not in control at all."

Groaning as if in anguish, the man knelt and penetrated her rectum repeatedly with his tongue, pausing occasionally to nip at the flesh of her buttocks with sharp teeth, all the while slowly working the tip of his polished cane into her wet vagina. When the cane had invaded her as far as she could take it, the man arose and pumped her madly, almost brutally with the mahogany phallus, while she fingered herself in a gasping frenzy.

When Diana began to moan as she neared orgasm, the man quit pumping, whimpering strangely as he withdrew the cane and walked abruptly away. Diana's building orgasm evaporated and vanished without claiming her.

The next day the man saluted her with the selfsame cane he had used to penetrate her, but a fearful hatred smoldered in his eyes, and he never looked at her again.

On another evening Diana met a married couple who had smiled and wetted their lips at her that afternoon. They arranged Diana on one of the red chairs of the veranda, the skirt of her dress around her hips, the bodice dropped around her waist.

The wife knelt and kissed and licked Diana's private parts while the husband stood behind the chair and played with Diana's breasts. This continued briefly until the husband walked to Diana's side, his penis thrusting erect from his trousers.

He made Diana suck him until he was almost ready to burst, then he rushed behind his wife, lifted her dress and plunged into her with a shout of release, his wife sobbing all the while against Diana's nether lips.

Without a word the husband motioned for Diana to slide out from the chair and join him behind his wife. He withdrew his long penis from his wife's sex and stepping to one side spread her swollen lips wide with two fingers. He held his other hand out, palm up, as if holding a door for a lady.

Graciously, Diana knelt behind the wife and licked between the husband's fingers. The wife sighed and rested her breasts against the seat of the chair where Diana had been sitting. Diana licked the husband's ejaculate from his wife's dilated hole, tasting the salty vinegary mix of man and woman. Then, at the husband's insistence, she sucked his member clean too.

After they had all stood up and straightened their clothes, the husband and wife both kissed Diana tenderly on the cheek. Despite all the pleasure they had shared, Diana had still not attained her own release.

"I do hope we can meet here again tomorrow," she called as their silent forms glided away arm in arm.

But late the next morning, as they passed Diana on the veranda, the couple nodded as if to a stranger. Their smiles were polite but firmly distant. When Diana returned to the veranda that night at the same time as their previous meeting, there was no waiting to meet her.

Another time, in broad daylight, Diana joined a man with a spyglass on a tall stepladder. They shared the glass, watching a woman in a white dress fellate a man in a brown suit and bowler hat.

Soon three more women arrived, one wearing peach, one wearing charcoal, one in brown. They all took turns fellating the man. Diana, who was at the top of the ladder, felt dizzy and flushed. The man below her reached up beneath her dress and thrust his finger into her vagina, his thumb into her anus.

While Diana observed the fellatrices below, the man on the ladder stroked her membranes with a slow, mesmerizing insistence until the man in the bowler hat emptied his semen into the mouth of the woman in white. But once again, even though she was incredibly excited, Diana failed to achieve her own release.

By nightfall the man with the ladder was gone from the veranda; the man in the bowler hat and the four fellatrices avoided each other carefully, none of them acknowledging Diana's presence, except for an occasional furtive glance.

Then, early one bright morning, Diana noticed a man she hadn't seen before. He stood just outside the veranda, his back against one of the columns, his gaze directed calmly toward the sea.

Diana stood near the man, also staring at the water. Gulls screeched aloft. The air felt exceptionally fresh. For once there was no one else around.

They stood practically side by side, watching the surf sparkle and roll. Suddenly Diana realized the man had turned and was looking at her.

She turned and stared at him.

Something tugged at her, throbbed deep in her womanhood. The man looked old but young, young but old. He looked strong yet gentle. Humor crinkled at the edges of the saddest eyes she had ever seen.

He nodded as if in recognition.

She felt her cunt juices flow.

The man's eyes asked a question.

Wordlessly, Diana removed her dress, her shoes, her underthings, everything except the small golden cross at her throat. At a glance from the man she leaned back against one of the columns. The column felt warm in the sunlight, but the breeze that stiffened her nipples was cool as the hint of death.

Diana felt both frightened and filled with a deep, deep yearning.

Fully clothed, the man knelt before her and kissed her. He kissed and licked her gently, tenderly, insistently. His hands stroked her thighs while his lips ministered to her center.

When she had become so swollen she thought she would burst, the man arose in front of her and unbuttoned his trousers. The rod he pulled out was thick and purple. She started to reach for it but he shook his head.

Guiding her by the shoulder, the man had her step forward from the column so he could slip behind her and lean back against the warm stone. Then he pulled her back against him so his stiff member rested between the cheeks of her arse.

Diana moaned as the man reached around and turned her face so their lips could meet over her shoulder. His hand slid down to massage her nipples. His other hand slid around her waist and insinuated itself between her legs.

He rubbed her. He rubbed her wet blossoming pussy. Her clitoris grew and throbbed as surely as the swollen cock rubbing itself along the cheeks of her bottom.

Suddenly everything rushed through and out of her mind at once: the beach, the sea, the crying gulls, the columns, the very veranda itself. She cried a high lilting song as her pussy spasmed and gushed around the man's fingers. Simultaneously she felt him spurting up along the rim of her arse, his warmth gobbing along the small of her back and across her cheeks. She pushed back to enhance his pleasure while her orgasm seemed to keep lifting and carrying her farther out to sea.

And then she was back with her lover, standing in the sunlight along the edge of the veranda. He had turned her around and held her naked against him. She felt his tumescence against her belly. He had partially softened and now was hardening again.

She moaned with joy as he kissed her mouth, his hands behind rubbing his cum into her flesh.

He kissed her tenderly on the forehead and pulled her closer against his clothes and his unsheathed prick.

"I've seen you here often," he murmured into her ear. "I've been watching you. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

Diana arched back, the better to see his face, and widened her pleasure-slitted eyes. Her nipples fretted against his shirt. She gazed at him in wonder.

It was the first time anyone had spoken to her.