See You In The Next World

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A man and woman, a Dom and sub over the weekend.
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Both of us were naked, me more so. Per my instruction, Maria was not to remove the diaphanous brassiere, a cherry red balconet purchased on a pink plastic card from Victoria's Secret, a gift sent her way by me.

Standing still at the foot of the bed, knees slightly bent, swollen member at the ready, the soles of my feet savored the cool springy texture of royal blue carpet in this sumptuously appointed hotel suite in Emerald City.

Centered in the bed, aloft on knees and elbows, Maria faced me. Juicy boobs apprehended in filmy, racy red silhouettes. Maria's tight behind, proudly jutting out. On her back, quite low, a tattooed butterfly scribed in ruby, indigo, and jade ink. Directly above her shaved pubis a leaping dolphin figured in a dull sea green shade. Both tattoos on occasion doused by my sperm. This seed was melted pearls in glutinous strands, my essence; a savory potion, a creamy concoction distilled of lust and sodomy and dominance and solid humping of this hard bodied vixen named Maria.

Our unions always involved ordering Maria to swallow my semen in one of her orifices, licking her lips and asking for more. I shot my viscous concentrate into her snappily grasping pussy, maybe her supple mouth, often the bung hole, pried open with my cock as I flayed her with the tangled cords of a leather whip. Such foreplay a means to an end, terminating in her spanking by my hand, smacks of a paddle or the sound breaking snap, crackle and pop of the cat o nine tails she so cherished.

When darkness fell over the city, we would walk to the Grill House for dinner. Then a side trip to Haven of Jazz. Back to the hotel where a wide black leather collar studded with silver buttons, fake rhinestones rested in my bag and a pair of five inch black patent leather pumps sat on the floor in the closet. She will crawl about the floor at my beck and call, a silent voluptuous, voracious beast under my heel. Commanded to gently suck my gonads, reverently lick my prick and take in her mouth, pussy, the ass. Ordered to lick my anus, pleading for abasement; under my influence her status that of a depraved whore. Experiencing untold happiness, intense orgasms seldom realized doing my bidding.

The suite Maria and I occupied high above downtown Emerald City looked down on the blue ribbon of the sound snaking its way to the Pacific Ocean. From our window we could see the leisurely passage of black and white ferries, waterfront warehouses, the stadiums, and the blue and gold monolith of the Emerald City Tower in all its majestic glory.

Watercolors on walls, wing back chairs upholstered in buttery black leather, tacked with brass buttons, oak armoire with silver curlicue handles, a polished Regency desk and drawn sapphire velvet drapes mutely witnessed our proclivities through that recent long weekend.

This pretty woman, gorgeous actually, blessed with a heavenly body, was and remains my lover. I met her on the Internet. People earn doctorates on the worldwide web, take college courses, order theater tickets, buy sex toys and play games. If I am lucky, I sometimes meet a woman, a potential sex partner and then an actual sexual collaborator. I am no shark cruising about searching for any prey to tangle with. I do have standards, but like a good many others I have availed myself of the Sexual Healing website run by the Tri-Time Corporation. For $19.95 a month as a registered gold member, I read spicy and steamy profiles, looked at photographs of all sorts of women and communicated with females sharing my fondness for certain sexual high jinks.

What did we do before this web draped the world, wired everyone into the all-embracing grid? I do remember a time bumping into women in such places as sticky hot laundry mats, Muzak swathed grocery stores and crossing a verdant park's oriental bridge. Once, a woman whom I fucked after our two cars bumped into each other as we both turned left headed to a Safe-Way parking lot. I say bump, no damage was done and no fender bending occurred.

Most fortuitously for me, not so for Charity, she had recently discovered her husband in an act of infidelity. The front of my ten year old Pontiac gently licked the bumper of her relatively new Nissan. Not one hour later I was licking Charity after cutting a slit in her panty hose with a serrated steak knife. I fucked her; she went down on me. This scorned, mad as hell, good looking woman, called her husband while squatting on my cock, told him what we were doing in their shared bed. I only fucked her one afternoon but oh what an afternoon with the shearing of her hatful panty hose, binding her to an antique dining room chair with a length of musty smelling rope from the two car garage, fucking her mouth. My semen shot into her blond hair, dried on a cheek. The crust of semen, the souring scent of spent sex hanging in the air, the rope Charity cheerfully asked me to loosen, a welcome home vista for hubby stepping into the house from the two car garage. All she needed to complete the tableau, a banner reading "Fuck You Roger." I did my duty and left.

In less then 90 days, the first trimester of pregnancy, time to convert a civilian into what in the military is called a shaved tailed officer, one quarter of a year, Maria and I were now seasoned fuck buddies.

I saw her profile on the Sexual Healing site. Attached to her explicit profile was a crystal-clear close-up of her bust, a lovely big bust for one and all members to see. She wore a low-cut eye catching garment, part of a cocktail dress or something equally feminine and ferociously erotic. Our first gambit, coy, introductory emails opening dialogue between us sent from afar. Electronic mail dispatched with the flash of light. Each of us contended with hectic schedules so the write to read speed of these missives was significantly diminished regardless of how fast they came in. She transmitted pictures, hard by shots of her tits in black red and yellow bras, no facial images sent my way, her comfort factor not quite there yet. In text, me using 12 point Courier blue fonts, her emails, Times Roman in bubblegum pink ten point fonts.

Committed to the same fonts in Whiz Bang Messenger we chatted there, sent longer messages as emails. Both of us were adept painting vivid pictures in words. Maria told of her predilection for eye fetching garments showing off her alluring body, her adulation wearing come fuck me pumps, a marked fondness for spanking and struggling against knots, straps or similar instruments used in bondage. Asking her if she enjoyed sucking cock, her answer triggered a most impressive release of my semen as I sat in front of the Dell computer.

Call me Nameless. I am an anonymous federal bureaucrat sucking the government's tit. I am but one worker bee amidst hundreds of thousands of other worker bees droning in government hives. We are taxpayers salaried by tax dollars. I work out of a cubicle in an office; wear a tie, a suit. My brown or black oxford shoes always gleam, my blond hair is shorn short, and my life is well ordered and tranquil. I enjoyed the small sweet things in life: listening to my tropical fish tank gurgle, drinking Starbuck's espresso roast from my favorite mug, reading the latest book written by Bill Bryson or Robert Caro or Dan Brown, listening to Wagner, Tchaikovsky or Hank Williams. I do not worry about what comes next. My lust to dominate Maria and several other like minded women remains a closely guarded secret as do several other passions.

I wrote Maria, communicated my attraction to her, my enjoyment dominating submissive females, my affection for spanking and tying up acquiescent women.

To perceive Maria was quintessentially my kind of woman through and through took little to no time. This busty, voluptuous woman, glowing auburn hair dangling on her smooth shoulders, favoring come fuck me pumps and low-cut garments, I saw passion, an earthy erotic attitude, a promise of untold bliss and most captivating of all, a compliant enticing sexpot. A most important detail since I was the dominant member of this parley. Maria favored colorful low-cut brassieres and sexy figure hugging dresses showing lots of cleavage and slit to show off a burnished thigh. She is leggy, Betty Grable and Mary Hart leggy. She never wears panty hose or panties for that matter, favors sheer hose clipped to garter belts and owns a wide assortment of come fuck me pumps of every description.

Talking on the telephone followed emails and Whiz Bang messenger chatting. The telephone, a landline or sometimes we spoke on cell phones, our disembodied voices digitally processed and crystal clear. We conversed, we chattered; eventually we experienced the pleasures of aural sex.

Maria told me of growing up in Chicago; I was raised in the state to its right, a small town on the Indiana/Ohio border closer as the crow flies to Dayton, Ohio then Indianapolis. Her laughter, its warm, sexy and happy tones reached my ears as merry melodies. I told her of not quite fucking the daughter of an empty headed Nazi goon living in the Windy City. The daughter, a blond, whose old man no doubt imagined as the ultimate example of Aryan femininity, wore a tight red sweater emblazoned with a large black swastika and a short pleated white skirt when I first saw her at an American Nazi Party rally held in a Chicago park near Lake Michigan. The revolting symbol on her bodice might as well have been a chastity belt, a force field keeping me out. I could not make myself plug Inga anymore then I could fuck Fraulein Hitler nee Braun or Fra Goebbels.

A horned dog at an early age; I still had some principals thank God.

"I spit in your direction Adolph, and all you pint-sized Adolph's, including you Mr. Mueller, or is it Herr Mueller." I said to Inga's father. Words I related years later to Maria on the telephone about 15 minutes before she made me come describing her talent giving head.

I heard her laugh, liked it. Not belly laughter or timid squeaks, but full-bodied joviality comes through the telephone sweet as honey, summoning instant bonhomie.

Maria sounded lyrical, a troubadour singing tales of her teenage children: a 15 year old boy and a 13 year old girl.

I laughed hearing her describe the first time she ham handedly dipped a rubber on a man's cock. I told her of my days as a medic working in Fort Hood, Texas. One doc preferred to use condoms attached to rubber tubes—Texas catheters he called them-- instead of the standard Foley ones we always used, how he sent me to the Exchange to buy four boxes of Trojans, the raised eyebrows of the blue rinsed, white headed lady, the way she shook her head ringing the sale up.

Maria is allergic to sulfates; her favorite television show isHouse, she favors the number five.

Salted in our banter were blue verbal nuggets, barnyard words, bed mate phrases and intimate thoughts, intensely graphic and blisteringly erotic to both of us.

I told Maria of fucking a raven haired, big busted Sephardic Jewish woman in Spanish Landing, Florida. The woman waxed above her lips, spoke English and Yiddish with the greatest fluidity. Whenever she sat down on my cock or I got between her legs to slide my member in she always said, "Auf Widersehn in yenner velt"-"See you in the next world." That was so hot.

Maria reported on her solo hiking trip in Maui, getting lost, stumbling to a cabin, spending an entire weekend fucking two locals, one beefy, bald headed man, the other lanky with a permanent quizzical look on his face, who at first thought Maria was creeping around their homestead in her capacity as an agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration.

Maria had assembled clocks, toted around yellow sandwich boards advertising Ciano's Pizza. She worked for a landscape gardening place, was an expert on roses, she danced for a time in a garishly lit neon spot called Crystal's Den in Santa Monica where the dancers had to swab the stage at closing. Along with these jobs she married a good for nothing lout, divorced him and now made a great living as a legal secretary.Santa Monica Lawstarring Maria.

Maria owned a cat, a brown mackerel tabby domestic longhair, named Rocky. I still refused to tell her how I played Lazarus one morning, brought my ex-wife's "apple-headed" Siamese back from the dead.

I told her of my experience stapling hunting and fishing licenses eight hours a day, being replaced by a man whose IQ was lower then the nation's maximum highway speed. How I could not cut the mustard selling cleaning agents by the barrel for Crow Laboratories in Oklahoma City. I had chauffeured the president of Bon Tel Foods in Oklahoma City with élan, wore a chauffeur's full regalia driving the old, well dressed fart around town. I had delivered video games to disreputable places, served in the Army, traveled in Europe, worked on a variety of boats, married, divorced, had two grown children, a girl and boy and now I lived near the water in Emerald City.

Our first meeting took place in Santa Monica, a diner covered in shiny corrugated tin and a band of glass windows, serving tasty coffee and delicious apple pie as its specialties. Maria wore a green silk dress showing cleavage, not a significant amount, but enough I knew I wanted to see more. Three inch darker green heels, a string of pearls around her slim neck and golden brown hair, curls tipped toward the corners of her mouth. She looked delicious, sexy; I could have fucked her on the table, flinging apple pies and cups of coffee aside to make room for our coupling.

At this first get together, I noticed her stalking cat movement, the rolling gait of a woman proud of her body. How fluid her hips moved, the dignity she displayed. Her poise was extraordinary. She crossed the diner's parquet floor akin to Audrey Hepburn, playing the princess in the black and white classicRoman Holiday.

At a down in the mouth motel, we first fucked after quickly choking down vast wedges of apple pie and gulping coffee from heavy mugs. Hard by the beach in a fusty smelling room, we fucked again and again. I clasped Maria's head as she gave me head. Her hair felt soft as a tiny pet animal's fur pelt. My semen strewn on her cheeks and dribbling down her neck. Her cool flesh arrayed against my hot skin. Claret colored nipples, resilient and rigid crowns, felt like fingers filling my mouth. A slim ankle pitched in shadow, firm calves, hard thighs squeezing me, head chucked back, neck upturned, anxious to be bitten, to be sucked. Her flesh tasted of salt as we fucked front to front, humped doggy fashion; the bed not used this time. I did bend Maria over the squeaky king sized bed, smeared a large dollop of K-Y jelly over my cock, squirted a liberal amount on the furrowed port hole in her ass. I fucked her there; a convicted outlaw humping his bitch. As my cock pounded into Maria, my hands shifted between spanking her butt and squeezing her nipples. I talked about double penetrations, gratifying her with cylindrical shaped produce, plugging her bung hole with plastic artifacts and rubber implements.

Our first meeting in a shabby motel room with an hourly rate, rust around the bathtub drain and the bed fitted with sheets and a spread I wondered about so we fucked on the floor instead. Our second meeting more upscale in a quaint San Francisco hotel with not more then ten tastefully decorated rooms, a big gleaming tub, wine tasting every night and fresh warm croissants and preserves every morning. Our third meeting was at a rustic cabin with all the amenities. Located in a piney valley near a trout filled stream, the clear water bubbled over craggy rocks, sparkled in the sun as though sprinkled with precious stones. Now, two months later, we frolicked in a high rise hotel in downtown Emerald City.

Maria and I checked in as Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Pubelick, the front desk clerk not batting an eye. We rode the silently mounting elevator to the 21st floor, entered the suite with a key card. Before we got down to business, I gave Maria a white rose and kissed her on the lips. If Maria said "rose" I stopped whatever I was doing. Another gift: a white teddy bear no bigger then a pug puppy.

I ordered her to strip, to leave on the bra though. I undressed completely.

I knew Maria's torrid body cold, a cowboy at home on her range. From the crown of golden-brown hair to the farthest reach of toes, she was mine during these singular erotic moments. I owned her huge breasts; I was master, the control freak with rights to fuck her as I saw fit, do what I may. She gave permission, I took control. Both of us in consultation defined our limits.

In this high rise hotel room, Maria's plaintive doe-like eyes beseeched me. She licked her already moist lips. Her mouth was less then an inch from my cock. A smile broke out on her face, not a tentative bashful look but a brazen grin. The moist possibilities of her mouth tempted me. I drew back; teased her and unfortunately myself. Tawny to golden brown hair lay across her shoulders. Under illumination cast by several gold shaded lamps, her wavy honey mane reflected the light in undulating shimmering bands.

Braced on knees and elbows, Maria's tits outcropped from her bra, the plain of abs were painted in tendrils of shadow. Her shaved slash, its silhouette, a smudged line between her legs, I had fucked multitudinous times in fantasy and fact.

Padding about the bed on bare feet, I soaked up Maria's creamy, ripe body from various angles. She loves sprawling on the beach near her home in a tiny bright yellow bikini; slick, shiny with suntan oil, delighted by the ocean's commotion kissing her near naked, voluptuous body. She gets such a charge from males leering at her frolicking under a hot California sun amidst the noisy rumble of incoming surf. She had me leering at her too. Yearning so to dip my dick into her, I swear solemnly to one and all, my body at that moment crackled and popped like plastic bubble wrap or ancient paper Mache.

I pretended to be fully in control, she exulted from sharing in the pretense.

"Don't move."

I fiddled with her twat, not seeing my target directly. Piercing into her warm, wet recess, a modicum of sensations attributed to squirts of electrical juice, bare hands holding red hot coals and drowning simultaneously. One fifth of my fingers moved in and out of Maria rhythmically, the other four fifths of my hand rested against her cool to the touch left flank. She lowered her bottom, captured more of me, rolled and shook her hips gulping me in.

"I love that," Maria said.

"I know you do."

Removing my finger, licking it; I tasted her musky wetness, female essence in purest distillate. Back at the bed's foot, bending at my waist, reaching over her, one of my left hand's fingers drew spirals and swirls about her downy skinned butt crescents. Then I availed myself of something special. I buried my left index finger up to its second joint in the cleavage bisecting her derriere. At a glacially slow pace, my finger followed the track of crack. A surplus of pressure caused too much pain and too little pleasure. Hence, the lightest touch traveling through the trough.

All the time my finger slid along, Maria remained still as stone inlaid in mortar, vision glazed like glass eyeballs in a ventriloquist's dummy. All the time she muttered successively louder moans.

Finger fucking commenced. The other hand, I formed into a shallow pocket, smacked her ass soundly, a popping resonance sounds off connecting with her flesh.

My cock now anchored in Maria's mouth. She sucked, I continued spanking, and I finger fucked. The two of us quite busy, me noisier spanking her ass, her suctioning was remarkably silent.

Maria's mouth descended on my shaft, drawing back, I wonder how many penises, petite sized ones, and terrifically endowed cocks she has sucked gaining such proficiency. The thought thrilled me. Submissive to my dominance, she is also as much an exhibitionist as I am a voyeur.

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