Utopian Nights

Like all young men these days, from the earliest onset of puberty Mikhail has been under a curfew, under strict instructions to be home by dusk, and like many from wealthier families he wears a belt beneath his jeans, the key kept between the breasts that nurtured him as a babe.

Because you can't trust men. They can't 'keep it in their pants'. We learned that the hard way. Things are better now. More equal - though you would not believe it from all their whining. Anyone would think men were put on this Earth to sow their seed wildly, when in truth only one in a hundred has what it takes to be a stud.

Mikhail is one such, perhaps. At least, his mother believes so, the way she parades him about town, strutting proudly at his sullen side. Though legally an adult, he is owned by her until a wife claims him. I wonder if one day she will stir him into action, encouraging him with a whip across his flanks as some lucky cunt gets a filling.

I wonder if one day it will be my cunt getting a filling. There are, of course, cheaper ways to conceive, but there's value in pedigree. For now I must content myself with dreams, with stolen kisses and furtive encounters.

He is a fine specimen. The warmth and hunger of his lips excites me immensely, and his tongue has grown familiar with my cunt. I will take his ass one day soon, and have taunted him with the cock I will use - a marvellously lifelike member of good size - but like a wimp he uses his mother as an excuse, claiming that she will note the difference between his tight sphincter and the gaping hole he is sure I will leave.

But I will have him soon. Already Mikail enjoys my tongue and fingers in that virgin passage, and his belt is of a design that will not deny me.

Only at night, when he is secured in his family home, does the belt come off, though even there he is under the jealous and watchful eyes of his mother and sisters. But usually by midnight the house is dark, and the world peaceful, not a creature stirring...

Save I, creeping between jasmine bushes, skirting carefully round sharp-thorned yellow roses, lingering momentarily beneath an ancient purple wisteria as I study the dark windows for signs of life - and there, the first floor window, open a crack, enough for air to pass through, but not a whole body. No escape for Mikhail.

He is barely more than a shadow, but I know that shadow well. I let my clothes fall to the ground, and stand naked in the moonlight, caressing my breasts for his entertainment as I look up at the dark, reflective glass. I cannot see with my eyes, but in my mind he strokes a cock as long and thick as my strap-on as he looks down at me, the tip of that throbbing member kissed by the same cool night air that sharpens my nipples below.

Perhaps it is better that I have never seen it. Perhaps the reality would be a pale imitation of its imagined grandeur.

Three times we have tried this, the first missing completely, the second catching my hair, the third my feet. I'm determined to have him hit his target. With the fingers of my left hand I tease my clit, and a soft moan escapes my lips. I want to kick myself - it would not do to be discovered here like this. It is a crime to take a stud's cum without his owner's consent. Even a potential stud like Mikhail.

I hear an answering moan, almost like an echo, and glimpse the first stream of fluid volleying through the air. I don't even need to adjust position as it splashes down onto me, making a long line of wetness from my right cheek down to my left thigh. I step closer to capture a second, some even on my lips. I yield to an intense orgasm as a third, a fourth, a fifth quantity of his pearly cum wets my breasts.

I scoop it up, working it into my cunt as I prolong the ecstasy of the moment - but suddenly there is a light on in the house, and I dare not stay. Gathering my clothes, I slip away again past the roses and through the jasmine, sucking my fingers in triumph.