Moments of Clarity Ch. 02

The third installment: Her Calling Card.

You're somewhere public. Your head is somewhere else. You're in the middle of some practical part of your life... shopping at the supermarket, riding the metro, having Christmas dinner with your family, in a meeting at work. It's the last thing you expect. You reach into your pocket to find some chewing gums or some mints or to see if you have any coins. Instead, your fingers find themselves entangled in fabric. Silk or nylon. Your brain doesn't quite get it and you try to figure out what it is.

Ultimately, you pull it out of your pocket and there, in your hand, is a surprise. A pair of knickers. In this case, nylon and girlish. Tiny, too. The more public you are right then, the quicker you redden and scrunch them up inside your palm. You don't put them back in your pocket, but you hide them in your hand.

Your mind reels. How did they get there? You usually have a pretty good idea. (Although in periods of increased sexual activity, it is hot not knowing whose knickers they are.) When did she put them there?

The first opportunity you get, you do what it inevitable. You raise your fist to your nose, open your fingers and inhale the musky scent. Her aroma of arousal that lingers on the tiny bit of fabric and in your brain.

The Moment: Seeing them in your palm and realising...

She's Packing Heat.

You've fucked a half-dozen times. Always hot, always pushing the limits just little bit more. Getting to know each other, testing each other's inhibitions. She's hot and she makes you hot. You have a date. A posh bar, filled with posh people. She's late and you're impatient. Not to mention horny for her body, her every hole, her mischievous eyes.

Then you see her, dreamily wading through the crowd. Wearing an expensive, light and airy summer dress. It is the South of France in August, after all. Floral pattern, of course. Girlish but leaving no doubt that a woman is wearing it.

She approaches you and you see it right away. Her eyes, ever so mischievous, are electric with naughtiness. A good sign. Her kiss leaves your lips tingling. You find a space at a table on the terrace of the bar, overlooking the Med bathed in moonlight.

You are eager to touch her but she is strangely aloof, despite her eyes promising you the world. A couple of drinks later you are impatient to get going, to get her back to your place. She leans over and whispers into your ear that she has a surprise for you and that you're going to love it. Your pulse quickens. She continues, saying that if you don't love it, she's going to make you love it. Her voice sharper now. More insistent. Vaguely dominant. You swallow hard.

You see her open her thighs. Golden brown from the summer sun. Ample skin beneath the high hemline of her summer dress. You see her eyes. It's an invitation but to be sure you understand, she takes your hand and places it on her leg, just above the knee. She whispers into your ear that you're now on the right track to heaven.

You do what you were born to do – let your strong, male hand glide up the silky thigh of a beautiful woman. You sense yourself smiling. To her and to yourself. Self-assured, a little cocky. Cocky as men are when they know a cunt is theirs for the taking.

Up, up, up it glides. Her thighs spread wider to accommodate your hand. Her eyes are unwavering, watching yours for your reaction. You reach your goal and you can feel the heat emitting from her tight, shaved cunt. Everything is as it should be...

... until your hand, while adjusting itself in order to finger her wet hole, bumps into something. Something that shouldn't be there. Her eyes widen as she sees yours narrow.

Your hand explores. Your mouth goes dry. It is a hard object. It is long. Your fingers wrap around it, instinctively. Your eyes shoot down between her legs. She anticipates this and raises the hem of her summer dress, lifting the girlish, floral pattern up to reveal her surprise.

Packed impossibly tight into her tiny, see-through, nylon knickers is a cock. A strap-on cock, sure enough, but a cock all the same. It is plastered along the fold at the top of her thigh. It's glossy black colour accentuated against her deep tan. And there is your hand, gripping it tightly.

Her eyes are still on yours and you meet her lusty stare. You are far from self-assured now. All cockiness has seeped out of your body and melted into hers. There is silence between you. She smiles and leans close to you, kissing you softly, but biting your bottom lip. Her voice is low, deep and intense. She tells you that you're going to be her girl tonight. The words hang between you like a fog.

She gets up and takes your hand, leading you through the bar, out to a taxi. You follow.

The Moment: Your fingers wrapping around it.

Trois.

The myriad of possible sex acts with three people is stunning and mind-numbing. There's always an angle you never thought of. You can spend a lifetime trying them all. Add the maths of whether it's MMF, FFM, FFF, MMM and the number of possibilities goes through the roof. Two women are preferable for this man. There is no questioning why this is the ultimate male fantasy. Two woman to pleasure and to be pleasured by... words are unnecessary.

A hot, sopping wet cunt on your face, grinding, writhing, accompanied by moans and squeals and shouts. On your dick? Start with a slobbering tongue, an able throat and plenty of sucking and jacking and then feel it when she climbs aboard and you feel her hand reach down to grab your cock, aiming it at her wet hole and then sliding down, sucking your cock inside of her to the hilt.

You feel somehow submissive, lying under the weight of two beautiful woman, but that edge only adds pleasure. Double the moans and squeals, double the delight. Using and being used for a common goal. Every nerve ending alight. The brain reeling at the pleasure.

Usually you focus on one tingling event at a time. But with three people, you never know what to expect. Three people with a common desire but with three different set of needs. So delicious that the thought sends lightning bolts to my dick.

The Moment: The whole thrilling flurry of it all. Every mind-blowing tingle.

Roleplay.

It doesn't come naturally. All too often any attempt to do it ends in embarrassment. But there are Moments when it begins and becomes fantastic. Like when you come home and your wife is at the kitchen table in a schoolgirl's uniform doing her 'homework'. When she greets you with a chirpy, "Hi, daddy!", world records are set for rising cocks.

Or in the evening shadows of the bedroom where reality and fantasy are blurred and you see her lying there on the white sheets and your desire, needs, passion needs quenching. Your voice changes – harsher, hoarser – as you tell her that you've been watching her from the flat across the street. A dirty old man that has seen her cockteasing through the windows and now it's time to teach her a lesson once and for all. She catches on quickly and her protests are appropriately meek. You rip off her knickers and take her roughly, whispering throatily into her ears as you chastise her for teasing you by walking naked in front of the window all the time, forcing her head down to your cock, telling her that little sluts know only one thing.

Her squeals have a tone of protest to them, she tries to struggle but you are too strong. When her mouth has served it's purpose you push her back onto the bed, on her stomach, and you are on top of her in a flash, holding her arms behind her back while you wriggle as your cock seeks that cockteasing cunt. Your knees forcing her thighs apart, your cockhead splitting her cuntlips apart as you force your shaft inside. All the while hissing nasty things into her ear as you fuck her sluthole.

You cum inside of her, pulling out abruptly and leaving her gasping on the bed.

Or any other variation on the many themes.

The Moment: That unexpected moment when the games begin.

Smile. You're on the Internet.

If you had told me that at some point in my life that I'd take photos of myself in various stages of arousal and send them to sexy woman in other parts of the world I would have called you quite mad.

But there you are. With your digital camera on a tripod. Pleasuring yourself beyond belief. Pushing your limits to the horizon.

Downloading them onto the computer is a rush, too. Seeing the naughty photos appear on screen in living colour and in graphic detail takes your breath away.

But attaching them to emails, typing in the address of someone you've never met and pushing 'Send' – that is a breath-taking thing to do. All inhibitions are gone. The mail is sent. There is nothing left to do but wait – and hope – for a reply.

The Moment: 'Send'.

Pigtails.

The whole schoolgirl thing. The whole scenario. Go figure. Long academic papers have been written about men's fascination with these kind of fantasies. With good reason. Even Britain has an entire porn culture built on schoolgirl uniforms and the fantasies they entail. But fuck it. The point is it's a turn on. Give me pigtails once in a while. With uniform or without. No matter. Those simply braided ribbons of hair are enough to set my fantasies on fire.

Feeling them dance around your cock as she sucks you dutifully. Grabbing hold of them like handlebars as she sucks or as you fuck her.

Give me pigtails. Not every time, but often, thank you very much.

The Moment: Grabbing hold of them, wrapping them around your fists and guiding her head to your cock.

That Sense of Power.

It's never been your game. Domination. After a long period with regular, albeit fantastic, sex, she reveals her secret to you. You've sensed it for a while in the way she likes her arms held tight but she reveals so much more. She wants to be dominated. She wants to be controlled. She pleads with you. Begs you. Submitting from the word go. Never been your game but her arousal quickly becomes your arousal. She explains her needs. They are far from velvet handcuffs. Another league altogether.

You decide to oblige her. The first few times are test drives. She guides you until you get the hang of it. You get to decide what she wears, what she does, how she does it. You amaze yourself but discover that you enjoy your role. You let the testosterone take over your brain.

Soon she is wearing a buttplug and lying faithfully at your feet. Soon she has learned that a snap of the fingers means 'suck my cock' and she learns even quicker the punishment of making you cum too quick or too slow or whatever you fancy at the moment. She learns and she loves it.

You dress your slut up in revealing clothes when out in public. You make her show her cunt to strangers at restaurants and bars. Your fantasy knows no limits for three months. Her ass is as well-used as her shaved cunt. She laps it up. You decide her ass is worth sharing. You gaffer tape her cunt closed. Shiny, black tape blocking her cunthole and you invited men at bars to fuck her ass in the toilets.

After the affair ends and she moves on to another master, you don't try it again with other women. You don't seek this kink. But you have the memories of the one woman who tested your limits and you smile at the thought of her.

The Moment: When your inhibitions fade and your testosterone takes control and you realise that you crave the power.

The Scent of Another Woman.

This is a guy thing. It's a thing reserved for nasty ex-girlfriends or soon-to-be ex'es. It's a man's private revenge.

Your cock still carries the salty-sweet aroma of another woman. The cocktail of her spit and cunt juice and your musky cum is pasted up and down your cock and your trimmed pubic hair. Even your balls are sticky with the fruit of your fucking.

But that is just the beginning. You know where your cock has been. You know what dirty deeds it has been up to. Now you're going fuck the nasty woman that has made your life miserable. She doesn't know. She doesn't have a clue.

It is a wickedly satisfying thrill when you see your used cock slide inside of her and you fuck her hole – the only part of her that still has attractive qualities.

You fuck her hard and impersonally and cum inside of her. You withdraw and lift her head up to clean your cock off. She obliges, still horny, still hoping for an orgasm. But as she sucks your shaft, you tell her. You tell her what she is tasting. She is furious but you have won the battle.

Like I said, it's a man thing. Primitive and yet appetizingly vindictive. But I suppose you could turn it around and switch the roles. A woman whose cunt has been pumped full of another man's cum looking down between her legs at the asshole who she has wasted so much time on, watching him suckle hungrily at her cunt, knowing he is consuming another man's cum. Same nasty vindictiveness, same wicked satisfaction.

The Moment: Telling her/him. Seeing her/his eyes widen.