Charlolita

The following encounter is an intensely felt, extravagantly pondered and profoundly thought over recollection of a union which never in actual fact took place. I don't mean to step out of place as the narrator in this recollection to you however, reader; as more than my audience, in reading these words you have become my dearest friend and closest associate for this journey.

I therefore need you, the reader, to imagine us and these events taking place, for we don't really exist, and the encounter will never occur, if you don't.

The poor descriptions I attempt to arrange centuries old words to form, struggle feebly to depict two souls who actually do exist, but in a setting that is off limits to all realms but imaginative ones. While I have endeavoured to be true to their personality quirks and desires insofar as I can, for the bulk of situations toward which this scene refers, the creative artist within me has been given the upper hand over the honest gentleman.

This story is the result of the first spark of the strongest emotional force in existence; infatuation! Infatuation that infected thousands before me, and drove them mad, wanting, craving; needing more! I was a strong lad and survived; but the poison was in the wound, and the wound remained ever open. And ever since, when I find my mind reflecting on the subject of my fantasies and try to fulfill my own cravings, motives, actions and so forth, I surrender to a sort of retrospective imagination which feeds the analytic faculty with boundless alternatives and which causes each visualized route to fork and re-fork without end in the maddeningly complex prospect of my past. I therefore confidently expect this almost entirely fictional recollection memoir to have several parts rewritten, revised and altered to suit the protagonist (of course), so many times that by reaching this tale's end, I will have quite lost the plot with all I was doing; other than spending A-grade time of top merit, with my dearest and deepest infatuation.

For me a work of erotic fiction exists only insofar as it affords readers, and the author, what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected and involved with the experiences the lead characters are engaged in (carefree, lust, sluttiness, desirable partners).

The good reader is one who has imagination, memory, a dictionary, and some pornographic obsession- not to mention a like-mind for desire fueled would-be romance.

The porn industry is multi-layered, with all facets directed toward the film based varieties, that earn the most revenue.

Thus, in pornographic novels, action has to be limited to the copulation of clichés, which are visually stimulating (not to mention possible) for two (or more!) actors onscreen. This novel deviates here, in fully exploiting the actuality of its impossibility, which opens the gateway to several other non-realistic occurrences.

There are two kinds of imagined scenarios: one when you skillfully place yourself within an image in a dirty magazine or on a phone or computer screen with your eyes open, and then you masturbate seeing Charlotte in real life before you: light-colored skin, blue eyes, blonde hair, yoga pants, torn hole showing off her pussy.. oh!-; and the other when you instantly evoke, with shut eyes, on the dark innerside of your eyelids, Charlotte, absolutely optical replica of her beloved face, tits, pussy and/or ass; a little Pornstar in your visual cortex to masturbate over in the shower. Such imaginings take infinite forms throughout life, and are ever changing and influenced by the slightest provocation in the most disregarded avenues of life. Memory of a single standing urination will echo in your mind every time you leak throughout your days. And in this, we create the greatest spectacle of all. The combination of all of our ongoing recreation, in vast accumulation to the ultimate culmination of the coda to the biggest living artwork that is life. Our meagre lives therefore, are but a series of footnotes to a vast obscure unfinished erotic masterpiece.

I am trying to describe these things not only to live them to please my present boundless sexual appetite, but to sort out the portion of selfish fantasy, and the portion of shared desire in that strange, awful, maddening world- Pornstar infatuation.

Our story commences with the conclusion- to the life of a very close friend of Charlotte's (specifics are unimportant for, as you may be catching on, this while this person is clearly in a state of not existing now; neither did they exist previously, they are but a imagined figment entirely exclusive to this novel.)

At the time, I just happened to be in the passerby vicinity, bearing witness to beautiful weeping people, and the most inconveniently timed happenstance misthrown wedding bouquet, from before the church that fronted the graveyard.

No pickup line or scenario can bring about the perfect sexual encounter; chance, however, can do it.

The horribly flung bundle of overpriced flora was careering on a trajectory that I immediately knew from my years long ago as a High School Wide-Reciever, would collide with the sunlit blonde halo of hair shining brightly out from beneath one of a group of several black fascinators set out upon heads of funeral attendees clustered on the churchyard lawn.

I am lanky, big-boned, brawny-chested 40-something year old Rohan Ravenous, with thick black eyebrows and an Australian accent, and a shining wall of white teeth behind his warm half-laughing and all-caring smile.

And so it was that my myriad of season receiving yards records amounted to more than highly polished wood and metal hanging loosely from my pool room wall. On identifying the abominable results that would ensue the unobstructed flight-path of the blossoming-ball, my game-bred instinct commandeered my bodily functions, my legs springing to a brisk hustle and hurdle over the small picket fence, to intercept the parcel micro-metres before it had made its rendezvous.

It was only as I rose, and handed the now scuffled flowers to their would-be victim, that I was captured and not to be released; by unprecedented infatuous longing. It was lust at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight. Her black fascinator perched just so atop her perfectly straightened hair. Her dear red eyes, showing signs she had been crying just minutes previously. Her light dress hanging softly down from her bare shoulder-tops. Her breasts! Now fully exposed to me following her autonomous flinch at the flowers' sudden appearance.

She smiled at me and thanked me profusely, as I miserably failed to maintain my eyeline on her face rather than her lovely perked nipples.

"... thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, this has just been the worst day! I- Oh my...!"

My companion had most unfortunately noticed her partial nudity by this point, and rearranged her light gown to disclose her body from me once more. I was upset for just a moment, as a heartbeat later, one of my companions' companions had dis-companied her dress-straps from her shoulders, and I was accompanied by her divine nude body, a trimmed bush of light pubic hair drawing attention to, but not hiding her sweet labia, poking forth from the juncture of her legs.

My dear companion was all of a fluster, and once more my assistance was offered as I shed my slightly too large blazer, and offered it to her as a shield. This chivalrous act was performed with a union of both purely altruistic and purely selfish desires. My jacket was accepted graciously and with great indebtedness. It also lead to the now compulsory future sequence of events in which I would accompany this heavenly apple of mine eye until I could again watch her disrobe, before getting fully dressed - or so I had planned.

Suddenly we were seated beside each other on the foot of a bed within a room I had never seen. We were dressed just as before, and my craving eyes traced the delicious looking skin exposed between the break lines and lapels of my jacket, and between the areolas and nipples of my companion. She seemed to be as surprised by our sudden change in location as I was, and my heart hammered as I saw her instinctive glance around the room for a doorway leading out. She did identify one, but on noticing it she leant herself back against my body, turning me into her physical support in addition to psychological, defensive and clothing.

I looked down at her still red eyes and it became all too clear. She felt no desire to go anywhere different as you see, she had absolutely nowhere else to go.

"Why do people die?" Her gaze seemed fixed across the room, and I chanced a glance through my jacket again, and saw the succulent curve of her left breast.

"Why do people live?" I countered.

She responded to my mostly rhetoric enquiry after a moment's hesitation, "To be happy."

"Was your friend happy?" I asked her, reaching my arms around her now in a motion of genuine emotional support.

"I hope so," she returned hopefully, as if my acknowledgement or confirmation would in some way alter the enjoyment the departed experienced in a lifetime I had no awareness of for its duration. I therefore offered up some wisdom I believed to be off the cuff, but in retrospect was likely plagerised from the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald or Vladimir Nabokov.

"I guess life is just that one small piece of light between two eternal darknesses. We just have to do our best to make that light shine as brightly as it can. It's about the C between B and D."

Her soft eyes looked up at me, filled with curiousity.

"Choices between Birth and Death."

She sighed, and as she did so she laid herself more fully upon my body until we fell back and were positioned in union atop the quilt cover. She looked up at me with an expression filled with need, adoration, hopefulness, and the purest manifestation of desire I have known to ever have been experienced. In writing this now, the mere recollection of her features makes my knee and orgasm-control muscles threaten to convert both my body and scrotum contents into a puddle on the floor.

"You know, what's so dreadful about dying?" She spoke to me softly in an ethereal voice so dear and honey-touched it could convince a natural disaster to cease. "It's that you are completely on your own."

I looked down at this angelic woman I had just met not 10 minutes earlier, and whom now formed such an indispensable role in my being that her removal would all but snuff out whatever light I had burning, leaving me to foster and kindle weak embers indefinitely.

"I guess we need to take charge of our lives then," I offered. "Seek out maximum pleasure from every opportunity afforded to us."

My partner rose suddenly, and mounted my hips, my jacket now still covering her back, but framing her tits as it rested snuggly along the curves drawn by their outer outline. Her face was now lit with excitement, as her hands absent mindedly fingered my black tie as she again declared her desire in the form of a question.

"So, I'm the boss?" She queried.

I looked up at this delectable, all but nude bachelorette seated lightly atop my now fully erect shaft.

"I'd love being bossed by you," I told her, taking her two hands lightly in mine, and watching her face light up in a smile before I finished, "but every game has its rules."

I held her hands firmly as I raised my torso, causing her to fall backward onto the mattress.

Shock transformed through confusion before melting into laughter, as her visage shone with the surprised thrill of receiving exactly what she simultaneously desired and required.

Mirage and reality merge in love, and I find myself even in writing, startling myself into waking for fear that this fantasy recollection is itself no more than a dream.

I removed my necktie from my shirt collar, and rolled my subject over in order to bind her hands firmly together behind her back.

"I'm Charlotte, by the way," she twisted her beautiful face over her shoulder to inform me. "But you can call me Char."

"Rohan," I responded. "But you can call me Mr Ravenous."

Charlotte's eyes sparkled with anticipation as she turned to face me, unable to hide so much as a freckle.

"Care to ravish me, Mr Ravenous?"

By God I did, and my face must have displayed it clearly, as she proceed to turn away and fall down on her breasts to give her lower holes a chance to be feasted upon.

My tongue approached them as would a man dying of thirst's tongue approach water. I licked them both inside and out, indiscriminately. She tasted of salty rainbows, caramel clouds and coconut bodywash. Her tightly puckered asshole tickled my tongue tip as my tongue tip tickled her in return. Her moist cunt was a wonderland for my exploration, and so eagerly I discovered both the taste and feel of various internal surfaces, punctuated by gasps and cries of pleasure. This culminated in my reaching her sweet rosebud clitoris, where I employed a variety of techniques ranging from up and down, side to side, round and round before tasting a salty explosion emerge from deeper within her being.

She said she loved me. She breathed deeply, then turned and rubbed her face against my penis through the front of my trousers, as if she were the gentlest stray kitten trying feebly to coax open its master's door.

I obliged her request, and was treated to the most loving, passionate and thorough blowjob I have ever been witness to, let alone experienced. It was as if the entirety of her entity was purposed to acquaint the entirety of my manhood with every last gratification her throat and mouth were capable of supplying. Her beautiful eyes transitioned between observing her target, and looking up at me with a mixture of devotion and desire.

And she was mine, she was mine, her lips were around my shaft, my knob was down her neck, she was mine.

All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other... We unabashedly loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.

I had everything right there, but still needed so much more; and would have taken it immediately, only she needed me. I grasped her by the hair behind her neck and made love to her face; her esophagus specifically. As I felt my pleasure approaching its peak, I forced her head down against my body before ejaculating profusely directly into her stomach as she licked at my balls while her trachea pressed right into me as she continued to gulp in order to not gag on her windpipe's obstruction.

I mentally gathered myself as I unwound from the highest and most exhilarating peak I had reached to that date. I looked over toward Charlotte who was resuming her position all but attached to my side, expecting to experience the familiar mild level of repulsion, provoked by the always lesser appearance of reality comparatively to having originally viewed her in the dreamy glow of infatuation whilst running on little else but a heavily testosterone-fuelled drive- and was astounded to discover that her beauty was in no way diminished at all. If anything, the lenses had blurred some of her natural alluring qualities; and laying here now, undiluted and unfiltered, she was bespoke levels of breathtaking.

I was surprised to already feel that primal urge overcoming me again, and looked down at dear Char, still bound with her arms behind her back as I had left her, but resting her body against mine with no less warmth. This was my opportunity.

Rolling to look at the contents of a bedside table drawer, I was only half surprised to see it filled with every variety of bondage strap, gag and blindfold I could have imagined.

I fished out a suitable blindfold and slid it easily over Char's eyes, and could almost smell the wetness that rushed to her pussy.

Removing my necktie from her arms, she breathed a sigh, believing the blindfold to be the limit of the next phase of our encounter.

Softly, I buckled some leather straps first around her knees, and then her upper thighs. A ball-gag fit satisfyingly into her mouth, and the clip round the back of her head was covered by her blonde gold locks.

I then got to work, strapping her arms out to the sides of the bed, her ass just balancing on the end, then her legs lifted up and her ankles held by straps extending to hooks in the ceiling. Her knee straps had ropes going up to the bedpost at the head of the bed, and also to the sides with her arms, while the ropes to those around her upper thighs went in the opposite direction, pulling her waist Just enough over the bed's lower end.

I pulled her blindfold off with a flourish, "Well, what do you think?!"

"Mmmmmmmffffff!"

I smiled down at her, "Couldn't have put it better myself. Now listen," I held my cock poised above her pussy almost threateningly. "The safe word is 'Vladimir Nabokov,' unless I hear you say that, I won't stop; okay?"

"Mmmmffff!"

I gently slid a finger between her soft, supple pussy lips, and was jubilant upon discovering her juices had moistened her so extravagantly that it resembled submerging a digit within a hot spa. She was more than ready.

I slid my fully erect pole deep within her warm cooch, and watched her eyes roll back in her head as I slammed my meat within her with my full bodyweight behind it. It was nice, and watching her bliss was nicer; but she was so wet by this point that I was slipping in and out without any real return gratification. What sort of boss would I be if I treated my office slut with a level of endearment generally reserved for Pornstars and marriage?

I quickly withdrew, and retrieved some additional clamps from the floor. Two were joined together with a chain and sported small weights. These I placed securely on Char's tits, and gave the chain a firm tug as a test. Yielding the muffled moan response I'd been looking for, I placed the longer clamp on her clitoris, and watched her wriggle her hips to savour the increased blood-flow. Her body now sufficiently bound, gagged and clamped, I placed the tip of my knob slightly lower down than I had earlier, pressing questioningly against the smaller and tighter backdoor I had only tongued until this point. Keeping my eyes on Char's dear face, I slowly and incrementally applied my bodyweight forward, feeling the tight grip of her rectum sliding gradually down my cock. I withdrew, then slid in faster, and faster and faster, again and again. Seeing no overwhelming signs of pain, or hearing any trace of her safe word, I persisted in pounding myself deep within her rear entry, tugging her tit-chain with one hand and toying her clit with the other.

Char was admirably managing her heavy breathing despite the ball-gag semi-suffocating her mouth. She was being pushed to new heights herself, and I realised that this sensation may have been irregular for her, and her body was still becoming accustomed to this newfound pleasure method. I was confident in persisting with this concept, right until her body began to convulse despite the numerous manners I had her bound beneath me. My confidence moved to concern, and I'd almost pulled out and made to remove her gag, when a veritable fire hydrant of pussy-juice came shooting into my face, leaving me the spitting image of a drowned muff-diving rat.

Charlotte's squirting orgasm provided me with the kind of ego boost a guy already fucking a bound and gagged submissive blonde in every conceivable hole, really didn't need. I slammed myself back within her butt fiercely, and ploughed her repeatedly until I was at the edge, where I pulled out and rested my cock atop her chin, spraying thick wads of cum up her face, up her nose, in her eyes and over her gag.

Here right now, she was my picture perfect cumslut, but just as the moisture forming clouds knows it must one day form snow or rain and return to the Earth's surface, I too knew that the reason my jizz-facialized bound Charlotte was so extraordinarily special was because she was unprecedented and inexperienced in that regard. Maintaining a beauty even of Charlotte's standard, in a fixed pose causes her to lose value, just as porn videos have taken over and dominated the pornographic photography market. I knew it was time to untie her, and commenced with the removal of her ball-gag.