T01 Playmate {Addesso} (MF)
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WARNING NOTICE:
The following story is erotic fiction and includes
descriptions of explicit sex. If you are a minor or
if such things may offend you, quit reading now.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Playmate
by Addesso
(C) 2003, All Rights Reserved
I visited Good Vibrations today. Passing to my right on
Valencia, it was quite difficult to miss the signs taped
upon their windows, one letter per page announcing their
S-P-R-I-N-G C-L-E-A-N-I-N-G S-A-L-E. Miraculously, a car
in front pulled out into the street vacating its space
for me -- quite a rarity in parking-impared San
Francisco. With a few flicks of the wheel, the WRX was
parallelled and alarmed, and I stepped to the curb with
quarters jingling in the palm of my hand. The meter
though already had a full twenty-minutes left on it. How
fortuitous is all of that?
I was interested in checking out a Taschen book called
Motel Fetish by Chas Ray Krider, a photographer with an
affinity for '50s-'60s era lingerie and undergarments,
'70s-'80s trashy pulp motel settings, and '90s
contemporary Betty Page-ish models. What a delightful
combination.
I hadn't stepped into Good Vibes in quite a while, my
last being a few months ago with my ex. With her
disappearance, the clanging of sexual excitement had
faded to a morose whisper. Funny how some of my peers
would say otherwise; that when attached to someone they
adore, they suppress their filthy, mind-in-the-gutter
desires in fear of loss, and only as a bachelor do they
have the freedom to let their inner perv out, usually in
a chain of promiscuous one-night-stands. Myself, the
opposite has always been true, sharing pornography,
erotica, and pushing sexual limits with only the one
closest to me. I suppose it's all a matter of finding
the right playmate.
Lately, another playmate has come into light and my
thoughts turn to her like a spotlight trained on a
dancer's body. Every move she makes, I keep that light
steadily on her, never waivering. I believe she likes
the attention as well; certain people are just born to
exhibit. Although never meeting, we've played numerous
times on the phone, our voices exchanging pent desire
back and forth, patiently waiting our turns as we
intently listen to the other moan in pleasure. There is
nothing that makes my mind race more than the sound of a
woman lost in her own touch. She alone has thrown the
breaker inside of me, again turning on my concupiscense
for the perverse.
My custodian playmate, donning coveralls tantilizingly
open between her breasts and a tilt cap on her dainty
head, has decended to the basement within me and primed
the furnace.
Unleashed, I ease back into old habits, like fantasizing
about my new playmate in bed or in the shower. With a
thought, my ears can recall her moaning my name while
lost in her self-made pleasure created literally with
her own hands. That thought is enough to get a rise out
of me and once it begins, that appetite has to be sated.
(Although the game where I'm left hungry is also a
delight, I only appreciate that when played in person.)
Lately, her influence has, as well as kick-starting my
lust, unlocked my creativity and imagination, pushing me
to sprawl my words continuously. Even a gentle snowfall
can cause great avalanches.
And so my perversity finds itself at Good Vibrations, an
old habit that I comfortably slip into. My only thought
to make this visit more perfect would be the eager
company of my playmate, slipping through the frosted
door hand-in-hand, the rousing tension felt through
every curve of our interlaced fingers. I pull that
earnest thought back deep into my mind, not letting it
dwell too long on the surface. That day may come soon
enough; best let it come in due time.
My feet walk through the stacks, my eyes spot the book
I'm searching for, and my hands split the covers open,
letting the pages fall open as they may. I'm delighted
by the images conjured up by Krider's photography -- of
a classy yet sinister by-gone era seeping in an
atmosphere of pulp noir, but lost due to its antiquity.
Too classy to be prostitues, but not so much so that
they wouldn't entertain the thought of an illicit fling
in dark hideaways. The ultimate listless mistresses.
Resting the book back on the shelf, my eyes fall upon
other delights, familiar as well as curious. Erotic
fiction, sexual guides, vibrators and dildos, plugs,
lubes, videos and DVDs, sensual games. The cuffs and
whips catch my attention, arresting me in ways
figurative as well as literal. My fingers wrap around
the handle of a riding crop and I swat gently upon the
base of my thumb, then my outer calf to get a feel for
the control and sensation. I examine the workmanship and
details of a new set of padded cuffs hanging on a
collection of hooks, wondering how delicate wrists would
look bound in their leather and buckles. I fancy a
strappy rhinestone-jeweled collar around my playmate's
slender neck. I imagine the purring eminating deep from
within her, passing her lips as I fasten the thin collar
around her, and once bound, feeling the gentle patter of
her heart as I lay my hands against her chest.
Once back home, surprisingly exhausted, this is what my
thoughts turn to as I lie in bed.
The beginning of May has been quite an ordeal for her,
dividing her time between family and occupation, with a
scant few minutes left over for me. It's understandable,
and I always tell her that I'll be here when she has the
time. But for now, I play with her mental doppelganger
within my mind that pays me a visit with just the
closing of my eyelids. From the vapors of imagination, I
quickly unpack and expand the room I reside in, the
whole unfolding like a crumpled paper diorama in
reverse.
With a simple mental gesture, our figures are upon my
bed, me lying on my back, my playmate above me on all
fours, collar sliding to rest upon her neck. I will my
hands upon her hips at the point where the curvature of
her body begins the shape of her behind. Her hands,
fingers splayed, wrists wrapped in padded vinyl, are
each in the space between an arm and my body. I can feel
the cool metal rings adorning each cuff pressing into my
side. She stares down at me, hair, whatever is not in
pigtails, cascading down in tufts, eyes vibrantly green,
even in the dim light.
She lays one hand on my chest, the rings brushing my
nipple causing a slight tremor to run though my body.
She then lays her other hand on top of the first, lowers
her breasts to my stomach, her hard nipples dragging
against taught skin. Perched on her knees, rear high in
the air, she rests her chin upon her folded hands and
with a wry smile, she looks into my face. I cup a hand
behind her head, pulling my playmate towards my lips
which dance across hers. Eyes closed, she moans against
my mouth.
I picture my walk-in closet with two hooks lined on the
wall for jackets. The jackets now lay in heaps upon the
floor, and in their place bound to them by rope is one
cuff each, wrapped around a fragile wrist, the contrast
between the pale flesh and the dark vinyl dizzying. My
playmate stands between them, facing the wall arms
spread wide. Her delicate shoulers face me craving a
caress with fingertips or lips, the gentle triangle of
her back continuing downward before pinching at the
waist. The rise of her bottom follows to long, lilt legs
which are spread slightly apart, ankles bound to a short
rod of wood keeping her stance wide.
I press the entirety of my body against her back,
crushing my playmate against the wall, an act of
aggression and passion folding into one. My hands slide
around slim hips to her stomach, fingertips meeting then
wandering apart from each other, one upwards to her
breasts and the other downwards snaking around her inner
thigh. Her head is turned to the side, ear pressed to
the wall as if eavesdropping on illicit acts instead of
being involved in one. She cranes her head upwards as my
lips nuzzle against her curve of neck, precursory
nibbles dotting her shoulder.
My fingers ply over her body, one teasing an erect
nipple between index and middle, the other circling ever
closer to a warm pubis. Resting my thumb on the top of
her triangle, I curve my fingers inward to the fold
between her legs grazing my playmate's clitoris. I feel
her body shift downwards, pressing against my palm as
her knees give ever so slightly, thigh muscles tensing
up beneath her soft skin. Gingerly, teasingly, I caress
her clit, letting time excrutiatingly pass between
touches, waiting for hips to cry out in frustration
before I resume. My middle, resting across the entrance
to her body, can feel the warm, moisture gather beneath.
A slow steady rhythm is established and with every
passing moment that pace is quickened.
My playmate begins to rock hips against my own. Her soft
cheeks brush against the front of my thighs and hips, my
cock stiffening between the space of my body and part of
her behind. Each of her motions is carried out along the
base of my penis, pulling the skin upwards and
downwards, quickening my own breath in time with hers.
Her movements become more rapid, and as I keep my speed
up against her clit, she cries out to me, calling my
name in between labored breaths, begging to be felt from
the inside. Now bending my middle towards her wet,
sticky lips, I oblige.
Inner muscles tighten around my finger as I slide it
deep within her. Her body drops again beneath me, rhythm
lost as my playmate's composure begins to slip. Slowly
she gathers herself up beneath me as I curl my finger
forwards, pressing first softly against her G-spot, then
more forcefully as her moans increase. The heat
radiating off her skin as my chest is pressed against
her back makes my head swim. Throwing her head from side
to side, her pigtails dance before my eyes, swatting
against my cheeks.
Building up to climax, her moans straining to escape her
lips, I wrap my free arm around her body embracing her
against me. Holding her tight, securely and comfortly, I
whisper in her ear to come as I slide another finger
past her lips to force her over the edge. With two more
curls of my middle, my playmate is falling, surrendering
to orgasm, throwing her head back against my shoulder,
hair pressed hard, burning against my chest. Body tense,
her legs give from under her and straining against the
cuffs; I hold her up with an arm wrapped around her.
As the tide of her pleasure receeds, I position myself
behind my playmate, and before her head can clear, ease
my tense and waiting cock into her. She eminates a quick
gasp past parted lips and relinquishes control to me. My
hands firmly holding her sweaty hips, I push into her
body, closely on the heels of her previous orgasm. Lungs
panting, she returns herself against me, accepting my
forcefulness willingly. Soon another orgasm tears
through her, and through clenched teeth, she cries for
me to not pull out -- to come within her. That yielding
demand sends me shooting out of control, and my hips
thrust into her as an explosion races through my mind
and body, lifting her to her toes, grappling for her
body to embrace. Hot and sweaty, moaning the requiem of
frenzied passion in choral unison between breaths, we
rise and fall pulled along in the receeding tides of our
sexual avarice.
I now slide up between her and the wall, my eyes level
with hers, first holding her face in my hands as I stare
into luminous green, moist with tears. I look from one
to the other, delving deep into her soul, my thumbs
wiping away drops from the corners of her lashes,
culminating with a touch of our lips. I envelop my arms
around a tiny waist and small of back, pressing her body
towards me. Once again her body yields to my embrace and
-- her arms still spread wide bound to cuffs and hooks
-- impetuously we kiss.
These moments never last long enough.
My doppelganger playmate fades as I drift away into
sleep, her perfectness slowly sinking into the depths of
memory. Languidly she stares back at me during her
decent, those pools of green the last traces of color
shimmering in the darkness before my consciousness --
grappling for a memory to pull into it, but finding no
purchase -- also dissolves away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End of 'Playmate' by Addesso.
Story 01