The Firefighter's Ball

His powerful hands held her securely against his face. Mercilessly he licked and sucked her clit while his left pinky surreptitiously stole to her anus. He had previously lubricated it, courtesy of her moist quim, and he insinuated about a quarter inch into the tight little flower. He executed tiny maneuvers with it there, and viewed with considerable delight and not a little pride, and some alarm, how this made her buck and squirm and call his name. He continued for perhaps four minutes, pausing briefly now and again to gauge her reactions.

Without removing his pinky, he stopped altogether. She gasped, and wrapped her long legs around behind his head, and whimpered.

"More?" he asked.

"Yes!! Jeezus Fucking Christ, yes!"

He waited a moment. "Now?"

"YES, you vicious son of a bitch bastard. Lick my fucking pussy!!" She grabbed his ears and pulled, and her heels pushed against his back, forcing him in to her.

"Okay," he said, and plunged again.

9.

Puffer made it over the fence just ahead of her big Rottweiler, Mr. Pemberton. Well, almost. Mr. Pemberton came away with a large swatch of his Dockers. He stood with his hands on his knees in the vacant lot, regaining his wind. He was congratulating himself on his escape, and wondering what real ninjas did about dogs - probably a dart with a mild fugu-fish narcotic in it, he decided - when Mr. Pemberton rounded the far corner of the fence. Puffer regarded this as an example of the shoddy craftsmanship of the American worker nowadays; leaving gaps in a fence like that, what was the point of having a fence, after all; and simultaneously, his fine analytical mind was able to calculate the relative distances to his car vs. to that tree over there. He decided on the tree.

10.

She had stopped screaming, and now just lay back, twitching. Her hair, not quite dry from the shower, lay curled in damp profusion on the pillow around her flushed face. Big blue eyes closed, she breathed in rapidly through her nose and exhaled in tremulous soft hums. His hands slid off her abdomen and out and around to grasp her buttocks, and he gently lowered her hips down onto the bed. Up on his knees, he watched her chest rise and fall to her breathing. His finger traced a circle around her navel. Then she took a deep breath, gave him a dazzling smile, and sprang at him.

Her weight hit him in the chest and he went over. Quickly, she straddled him and, her hands on his wrists, leaned down until her lips were an inch from his. Her brown nipples brushed against his chest, and he could feel them crinkling up again. She looked into his eyes through her half-closed lashes and whispered, very distinctly, " I. Am going. To suck... your... cock."

"Okay," he said.

Her laugh was like harp music, he decided. What do you call it? A glissando. And then all musicological musings abandoned him as she licked his nipple. He groaned. You prick, she thought, now it's your turn to wait. She circled the other nipple with her tongue. But a nice prick, she conceded.

She had an idea. "Shut your eyes, big boy," she cooed.

He wondered what deviltry she had in mind, but obeyed. He felt her weight leave the bed, and by the time he had opened his eyes and raised his head to locate her, all he saw was the closet door swinging shut. He swung his head around as he heard the bathroom door lock. He cursed under his breath and dropped his head back down to the pillow. He wondered how sturdy the bathroom door was. Interior doors were usually hollow in these 50's houses, he knew. He toyed with the idea of smashing through the door; he wanted to see the look on her face. But he knew she wouldn't be in there all night. Right?

"Honey," he called. "Will you be much longer?" Like an old married couple going out to play bridge with Jerry and Millie. Why do they take so long?

"I'll be right ouuu-ouuuut!" she sang, playing along.

"O-kaaay-aaaayyy!" he responded, and smiled, and thought about her. Gorgeous woman, he thought. Full, soft lips; kisses nice too. Great bone structure. Legs like a model or something. Yeah, her tits point a little more to the south than they maybe used to, but they still make me hard. I don't care that much about tits, anyway. Not a tit man, nope, not me. I do love a nice butt, though, oh my yes. And she's sure got one. He loved how it described figure-8's when she walked, and how sinuously it curved out and down and around, and how it met up with her long legs, and how her back flowed into it and vice versa. He thought about that sweet little diamond of daylight that it formed in conjunction with her thighs when viewed from behind. You don't see that every day.

He became aware that his hand had unconsciously strayed to his penis, and he was maintaining his hard-on with slow strokes along its length. Well, it wouldn't do not to be ready when she was, he thought. He tweaked his left nipple with his free hand, and switched his right to full wraparound mode. He got himself to maximum rigidity again and his hand slid to his scrotum, tickling the hair on its underside. He looked down and critically appraised his - what was the phrase? - his 'turgid, vermilion member.' Yeah, like out of that sticky-paged Victorian crotch-novel he'd sweated onto as a boy. ("O rapture! O sublime! Such exceeding lubricity! I spend... I die!" ) Not a bad slab, he told himself. 6 & 5/8. Glad I'm a man.

The room brightened as the bathroom door opened. She stood in the doorway with one hand on the jamb, the other on her uptilted hip, feet apart and weight over one foot. The light from the bathroom filtered through the diaphanous folds of a floor-length black negligee. It was closed with ribbons down the front and a silk sash at her waist. As she strutted across the room toward him on negligible and spiky high heels, he could see that under it she wore a tiny black satin & lace confection that did little to conceal her femininity. It was mostly made of the same translucent fabric as the robe, except for a fancy, flowery panel front and center. It was little more than two triangles that tied together with ribbons in little bows at her hips. Her skimpy bra, of the same diaphanous fabric, concealed nothing. Perhaps most exciting of all, she wore shimmery silk stockings that rose to halfway up her thighs and were secured by a black lace garter belt.

His hand still held his stiff penis. She sat on the bed beside him and said, "Don't stop on my account. I'll help."

11.

Norbert Puffer was bleeding. He had cut and abraded himself in several places climbing this tree, and now the damn dog was just waiting by the trunk, growling idly and baring large, ecru teeth. Maybe there are no dogs in Japan, he thought. I can't think of any Japanese breeds. They might eat the mutts; this bastard could feed a family of six. "Fuck off!" he hissed at it, as if that would help. He broke off twigs and hurled them at the dog. Nothing. It smells blood, he thought.

He calculated that he was within jumping distance of the fence. If he got out far enough on that limb... got a good bounce going... jumped hard -- hell, he was short, but all the Puffers were wiry -- he could make it over that fence and be on his way before the damn dog knew what was happening. Yeah, there we go. Use what you've got.

He got out on the end of a stout limb and steadied himself with a hand on a branch above it. Mr. Pemberton's head followed him as he got the limb bending down and up under him. One... (creeak)... Two (neeerngk)... THREE! (KcccraachckkSproing) and he was aloft.

Even the finest of analytical minds can miscalculate. It was dark, after all, and he was bleeding, and the limb didn't really hold up its end of the deal. For whatever reason, however, he strongly suspected he was going to be a trifle short on his trajectory. Aha. See? He was right. His chin smacked against the top of the fence. He got his flailing arms over the top, but felt a sharp pull on his pants leg. He hurriedly scrabbled up the rest of the way over as his pants cuff tore loose in Mr. Pemberton's fangs. A brief moment of elation at the top, then that disappeared, along with his balance, as he toppled off the other side... and fell with a splash into the cold swimming pool beneath.

12.

He smiled up at her. He sat up and put his arm around her and, like the first time, kissed her. She kissed back. He pulled her down until she was lying back in the crook of his arm, his other hand around her narrow waist.

When they were done, she dimpled up at him and asked him, "What was that for?"

"For being such an exciting woman." He caressed her cheek, then put his face against her neck and took in her scent. She had put on some heady perfume that she told him later was a special blend of hers. At the moment he didn't much care what it was, he just knew that it made him a little dizzy. He put his index finger on her lower lip, and she sucked on it like a baby with a bottle. He untied the ribbons that fastened her filmy robe and he pulled it down off her shoulders, and it billowed out around her and lay in moiré patterns on the duvet. He got to his feet and stood beside the bed, his shins against the dust ruffle.

She swung her feet around to face him, her legs on either side of his, and looked up at him with a sly smile. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, Cowboy." She caught hold of his right hand and guided it to his now-semi-erect member. "Go ahead," she told him. "I want to watch."

He resumed his ministrations to it, again restoring it to its 'angry' state. She watched intently, with an eye toward technique. With a quick dart of her head now and again she would lick the glans, and sometimes with both hands she would tickle the hair on his scrotum, or slide her palms up across his stomach and chest, or along his legs.

She put her hands on his. "Gimme that fucker," she said. "And grab hold of something."

He leaned back and draped his arms across the top of the tall dresser behind him. She wrapped her fingers lightly around the shaft and glided them back and forth along its length, once, twice, again and again, and her eyes never left his face. She gave his penis a little kiss, and it throbbed and stiffened in her hand. She rose up and rubbed the full, hard length of his shaft against her nipples. She settled back down and licked her lips.

He locked eyes with her as her tongue touched the very tip of his cock. He watched as she laid his glans on her tongue-tip and slowly oscillated it side to side. She held it fully upright in front of her face and, starting at its base, licked it end to end. Her tongue made a complete circle around the glans, and then traveled back down, continuing on to lick his balls. She took one of them fully into her mouth and manipulated it gently with her tongue. Then the other. His head lolled back and he made a deep growling sound in his chest. She giggled as she again ran her tongue back up the shaft and flicked it like a hummingbird's wing at the tip. Then she took it, suddenly, into her mouth.

He gasped, and his knees nearly buckled. Good God, he thought, this girl is amazing! Oh, jeez... Oh, Jeez... Oh my god, she's gonna blow my brains out!

That was her plan. She sucked hard on the end of his cock, making various little geometric patterns with her tongue. Then she began taking it all in, a sixteenth of an inch at a time. He was aware that it was slowly disappearing between her lips, and that she was taking long, slow breaths through her nose, and that the suction hollowed her cheeks and threw her high cheekbones into greater relief, but her eyes never left his, and there was a smoldering look there that excited him as much as anything else. He was honored that she thought enough of him to bestow such a gift, he thought, or would have thought so if he'd been able at this point to put an entire coherent sentence together.

At last she had her lips down at the base, and he could feel the tip being swallowed over and over. She cupped and caressed his balls as she began to slide her lips back off of him. Equally slowly and, incredibly, with greater suction than before, she made the motion in reverse. "Ngaaaahh!!" was the most articulate expression he could manage, and it came out in another gasp. Her mouth eventually came off the end of his cock with a soft 'plop,' and she took a deep breath. She began again, a little faster this time; but not much. Rational thought abandoned him. Again she took him into her throat; again her uvula pummeled his German helmet. This time she dug her nails into his buttocks and scratched.

She completed the cycle. Another 'plop.' Another cycle. Incredibly, blood pounded in his temples; wasn't all his blood elsewhere? Random, unpredictable licks and kisses. Tickling and stroking his balls. With thumb and forefinger around him in an OK sign she slipped up and down the throbbing, enraged column of gristle. She kept him rock-hard, but she wasn't going to let him come yet, oh no. But when he does, she thought, I'm going to drain him dry.

His breathing had slowed, so she wrapped her lips around him again. She moved her head down. And up. Down, and up. Down and up. She pressed her tongue to the underside on the way down, and applied extra suction at the top of the arc. She surrounded his scrotum with her fingers, and slowly stroked and caressed and tickled. Down and up and down and up and down and up and his eyes rolled back in his head. She stopped, looked up at him, and waited.

He looked down at her, abject.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked, sweetly.

He reached for her hair. She threw herself backward and rolled off the other side of the bed. He stood opposite her, and his face was much the same color as his dick. She smiled, showing those killer dimples again.

She reached up between her breasts and unsnapped her filmy little bra. It disappeared into the folds of the robe's arms. She slid her hands slowly down across her hardened nipples and across her long, smooth belly, and her middle fingers slid under the thin straps that joined the front of her panties to the back. Moving out to the sides of her hips, she took the loose ends of the little bows there that tied the panties together. Slowly -- she loved 'slowly' -- she pulled until the bows spun open and fell loose along her legs. She moved one hand over and in mock shyness held the front panel in place for a second. Then she pulled the panties away, wadded them up, and tossed them at his head. He caught them neatly, brought the wad to his nose, and sniffed.

She was magnificent in only the robe, garter belt and silk stockings. They were old-school, authentic stockings that her grandmother had given her when she turned 16. Sheer; shiny; a wide dark band at the top; a thin, dark seam running down the back. She executed a half-turn, like a beauty queen, to show off the seams. She bent down from the waist, still turned away from him, to straighten the seams and smooth the stockings, and she twitched her ass at him for good measure through the fabric of the robe. Her skin whispered to him through the ephemeral gown.

She turned back around and saw the look in his eye. Uh-oh, she thought. Better do something. "Lie down!" she commanded.

Much of his brain was fully occupied with the idea of fucking this bitch to within an inch of her life, to teach her a lesson and relieve the volcanic painful pressure in his genital regions. But there was a still, small voice that prevailed. 'You haven't regretted following her orders yet,' it reasoned. He lay down on his back.

She grabbed a bottle of baby oil from the bedside table and tucked it into her garter belt. Then, heels and all, she stepped up on to the bed. She straddled him and put one foot on his chest. She played with herself, and pressed in a little bit with her heel. "Do you want to fuck me?" she asked, her voice husky. "Well, you can't," she said, cutting off his reply, "Because I'M going to fuck YOU, you little bitch!"

She dropped down into a kneeling position over him. His cock was straining up at her wet pussy. Settling back onto her calves, she took it into her hand to pump it a few times, then pulled the squeeze-bottle of baby oil out and uncapped it. She turned it upside-down over the end of his engorged manhood and let a thin stream of the oil drip down over the tip and roll in rivulets down the shaft. She took it in her hand again and made sure there was a generous and evenly distributed coating of lubrication on his rigid member, then greased up his balls for good measure.

"I've always wanted to slide down one of these," she said. Then she lowered herself down onto him. Oh my sweet god it's so HARD she cried inside, but she was doing the fucking here and wouldn't give him the satisfaction of moaning... yet. The combination of the baby oil and her own juices was delicious; so slick, so slippery, so easy to ride his big hard cock. She impaled herself fully on his hot purple schlong and rotated her hips. There we go, she thought, He moaned first. Yeah, she thought, you'll take it and like it, baby.

Still gyrating, changing direction at random, she reached around behind her ass and stroked his oiled balls. She lifted herself, slowly as always, off him, and then got on her feet in a crouch over him. She guided him into her again, and eased down. She began a slow bounce, tilting her pelvis back and front in a syncopated rhythm. Oooof. He felt so good inside her. It wasn't particularly long, she mused, but it was nice and thick, and GodDAMN it was hard, and stayed that way. He's gonna get the fucking of his life tonight.

14.

All the summers of Norbert's youth spent at Camp Kahoopa-maga-wanahjee were not misspent. It was there he'd learned to swim. True, 7 times out of 10 the other campers and the occasional counselor would find it amusing to throw his shoes into a lakeside fir, or relieve him of his bathing trunks and send him, paddle-less, toward Camp Woochehacha for Girls in a well-aimed canoe, but this amiable foolery only served to improve his swimming and tree-climbing skills.

So it was that he was not overly concerned when he was suddenly plunged into the icy water of the above-ground pool that, needless to say, was not much used during Yuletide. It was somewhat disconcerting to come up again in near-absolute darkness under the black vinyl tarpaulin that covered the unused pool's surface.

He must have plunged through a gap where the tarp had pulled away from the rim. But he kept his head and tried, dogpaddling, to revolve himself about in the water to get his bearings. But the weight of the tarp upon him made this, as well as breathing, difficult, and besides, he could see nothing. So he pulled the shuriken from its little holster on a cord around his neck and used it to cut a slit in the vinyl, of sufficient length to allow his body to pass through. Kicking, he pulled himself up onto the tarp and rolled over onto his back.

As he lay there for a moment catching his breath, he noticed a rhythmic vibration of the tarp. A look around soon explained this. Mr. Pemberton had climbed the pool ladder and, rumbling, was making his first tentative but determined steps toward Norbert across the top of the tarp.

15

He dragged another pillow behind his neck, the better to watch this splendid creature ride his one-eyed trousersnake. He loved watching his manhood disappear inside her and slide back out all glossy, and see her lovely white breasts gently sway as she swung her hips from side to side or front and back. The black garter belt around her hips masked the division between the tanned and untanned flesh, and set off both. The robe was draped in a wide circle around her and lay across his shins. Something about the stockings drove him crazy with lust; they were incomprehensibly sexy. Possibly because they sheathed the areas of leg that were normally visible, but left naked exactly what he wasn't supposed to see.