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Archive name: dont.txt (MF, nc?)
Authors name: Anonymous Author (c) 1996
Story title : Don't Turn Around

--------------------------------------------------------
This story is copyrighted (c) 1996. All rights reserved. 
It may be posted to **free** sites as long as no changes 
have been made to my story, and the author name remains 
attached.
--------------------------------------------------------

Don't Turn Around
by Anonymous Author (c) 1995

***

She came out the front door of the office building and 
stood for a moment squinting against the noonday sun. 
After a brief pause, she strode purposefully down the 
sidewalk, unaware of the eyes intently following her 
form. The eyes glittered with fascination and a hint of 
playfulness. Perhaps it was a wisp of a cloud blocking 
out the sun, perhaps some dark thought from within, but 
for a moment a shadow flickered across his face. He ran 
his tongue languidly over his lips, as if her taste were 
already on them. 

He'd watched her these last couple of days, knew her 
movements, knew she was headed to that Deli that was two 
blocks down. Following behind her in the press of people 
out for lunch, he paused as she stopped to look in a 
shop window, then closed the distance between them as 
she approached the alley. Just before she reached it, he 
drew up behind her and placed his hands on her 
shoulders. 

She started to whirl, but he pressed his body firmly 
against her back used his cheek to prevent her head from 
turning. She stiffened - gave a startled gasp - but his 
anticipation outmatched her reaction - his mouth moved 
instantly to her ear.

"Don't turn around," he growled softly, huskily. The 
voice sounded familiar, but it sent shivers down her 
spine. A joke to be sure, but she never expected him to 
play it out. How far would he go on a dare?

Passers-by were giving them strange looks. He obviously 
didn't care. What if one of her co-workers saw them? 
What would they think? She flushed in embarrassment.
She tried to turn, again, but he was standing too close 
and still holding her shoulders. He reached up to brush 
the hair aside from her neck. She felt his breath hot as 
he planted kisses up the exposed length of her neck. She 
heard a low groan escape from his lips as they traveled 
slowly up to her ear. 

He stopped and gripped her shoulders again to emphasize 
his words. "When I nudge you, I want you to walk 
straight ahead and then turn where you feel my hands 
guiding you. Don't turn around. Do you understand?"

She nodded, and he gave her a small but insistent push. 
She started forward, legs wobbly in the excitement. She 
did not know what he had in mind, how far he would take 
this. 

At the entrance to the alley, he directed her into its 
depths. About halfway in, there was an alcove and a 
doorway. He urged her into the alcove. She stopped in 
front of a weathered wooden door, and he shifted his 
hand to grip her firmly by the back of her neck. Holding 
her immobile with one hand, he slipped his other hand 
under the bottom of her sweater. His fingers touched the 
side of her waist just above her skirt, a delicate touch 
on her bare skin, then moved, slowly, spidery up her 
ribs. She shivered, and he chuckled low in her ear. 

Although the voice sounded familiar, she had never heard 
this tone before. 

Her breathing contracted to shallow gasps as she felt 
his hand exploring further, touching her through her 
bra, cupping her breast in his palm, gently rubbing the 
nipple. He stood close to her for a few minutes, 
manipulating her easily, stroking the bare skin above 
and below the bra, then returning to her sensitive 
breast. His breath was rolling thunder in her ear.

"Very nice!" he grated. "Satin...Smooth tender 
skin...aching NIPPLE!"

As he said it, he grasped it sharply between his fingers 
and twisted.

Her back arched in response, but he drew her quickly 
back to him.

She felt herself unable to move, held by the firm grip 
on her neck, and the hand on her breast. Her jaw fell 
open, her body trembled, her hands reflexively opened 
and closed as they hung at her sides. 

Held immobile, she stared straight ahead, hardly seeing 
the rough surface of the door in front of her, but in 
her peripheral vision, she could see the movement under 
her sweater as his fingers worked at her breast. He 
slipped the hand from under her sweater and gripped her 
shoulder slightly.

"Don't Turn Around!" His voice rasped suddenly in her 
ear, anticipating her deepening desire to see him. He 
squatted and she felt his hands on her ankles. They 
crept with definite intent, up her calves, tracing lines 
over her smooth stockings. Her knees were shaking as his 
insistent hands reached her thighs. The fingers moved 
higher and she felt them hesitate when they reached the 
lace tops of her stockings. Damn, when she wore them 
this morning, she had thought how sexy it was to wear 
something illicit under her skirt. 

His voice penetrated her private musings. "Stockings and 
garters, at work?? How very naughty. How very 
delightful." He probed the soft flesh with his fingers, 
and her thighs parted imperceptibly. He dropped his 
hands and spoke admonishingly, "Raise your skirt at the 
back. Show me those sexy things that you put on this 
morning, thinking no one would know you were wearing 
them. Show them to me."

Now her face flushed with embarrassment and she wondered 
how he knew her thoughts. She didn't move. He grunted, 
then reached down and swept up the hem. She felt the 
sudden cool air on her thighs above the stockings. She 
shivered and closed her eyes, pulled her buttocks tight 
against the chill, and prayed no one would see her. He 
bunched the skirt up and into her waistband, then 
kneeled again to peer closely at the delicate lace. Oh, 
God! She felt his breath warm on her ass, then his nose 
urged under her exposed backside.

"Mmmmm..... what a delicious. *hot*. *wanting*. smell." 
As he placed a hand on her inner thigh, and slowly eased 
it up, she knew he would feel the wet panties. Her 
breath seemed frozen in her chest as his fingers probed 
through the delicate underwear. She shivered in 
embarrassment, but her clit was so erect it ached. He 
chuckled softly.

He stood and gripped her ass cheeks and once again his 
voice was in her ear. Her breath hissed out as he 
breathed soft words of desire, and brought his hand 
round to cover her mouth. The pungent smell of her own 
sex invaded her nostrils. His musky fingers pushed 
between her lips, and explored her mouth. His other hand 
ran lightly over her ass, and she found herself sucking 
his fingers in rhythm with the strokes. 

He nudged her forward. She stumbled forward a half step 
to come face up against the rough wood of the door. The 
grain was pressing into her cheek. From far away, she 
could hear the sounds as her hands scrabbled on its 
surface. She was losing control, almost willing to be 
fucked right here. In the open. Where anyone could see. 
"You know what bad girls deserve, don't you?" Her head 
shook almost imperceptibly. "I didn't hear you." His 
voice became darker, more demanding. His hand held her 
chin, and his finger traced the line of her lips. 

"No." It was a breath of a whisper. Oh god? What was he 
going to do?

A short, tingling smack brought her out of her mental 
meanderings. She let out one startled cry, and his hand 
covered her mouth. Another smack on the other ass cheek 
and a torrent of wetness escaped her pussy as she 
jerked. He continued with his open palm a few more 
times. The spanking was not severe, but it served its 
purpose.

"Now your ass is nice and warm. Mmmmmm. I like a hot 
ass." 

Her eyes widened to the sound of a zipper coming down 
and then his cock was springing against her stocking 
tops. He stood square behind her, grinding his hardness 
against her, his hands with an undeniable grip on her 
shoulders. She didn't resist, didn't struggle, began 
wishing and hoping that he would give her what she now 
desperately craved. But it was just teasing. He pulled 
her away from her wooden support.

"Open the door."

Her shaking hands fumbled with the knob as she complied. 
He urged her inside. Her skirt was still tucked up in 
back. They went up a flight of stairs, his right hand 
again holding the back of her neck, fingers just under 
her jawbone, his left hand up under her sweater, 
stroking her breast, her side, her back. At the top of 
the stairs, he directed her to the right, and she found 
herself facing another door. He handed her a key and she 
opened it. She still could not turn around. Could not 
see his face.

Inside was an apartment. Sort of an artist's studio-type 
of place. It was big, open and airy. A north-facing 
window stretched from floor to ceiling, and warm light 
spilled across the hardwood floors. There was a leather 
couch with two over-stuffed chairs facing, and a big bed 
off in one corner. He directed her towards an area rug 
on the floor. He unbuttoned her skirt with his free 
hand, and tossed it to one side. Then he pulled her 
sweater off, and tossed it too. 

She tried to turn in that instant, but he caught her, 
and twisted her face away from him. 

He produced, from a pocket perhaps, some sort of thinly 
rolled black scarf. This he tied over her eyes in a 
blindfold.

"So you don't peek."

She moaned softly. He took his hands away and she could 
hear the sound of his clothing being removed, the 
familiar tearing sound of a package being opened, latex 
being stretched...

Then, suddenly, he was pressing his face into the side 
of her neck, kissing passionately. His body pressed hot 
and hard up against her back. She gasped, and 
instinctively pressed back against him, in that age-old 
rutting motion. Both his hands now ran up and down the 
length of her sides. Her hands came up and tried to 
direct his to places more wanting, but he was in full 
teasing mode, and would not be diverted. Slowly, sooooo 
slowly, the hands beneath hers worked their way round to 
her stomach, her chest, to her breasts, and nipples, now 
both achingly erect. One hand continued to play with her 
through the satin and lace, while the other slid down 
into the wet recesses between her legs. 

She now had a burning need to be fucked, and he knew it. 
His fingers danced down her front, squeezing, tweaking, 
sliding in the slippery juices, seeping from the satin 
panties. His hardness prodded her from behind, nudging 
easily between her legs. In one deft motion, he pulled 
the crotch aside, and thrust up inside of her. She 
moaned and gasped, and pushed back against him, feeling 
the full length of him pressing up into her.

"Aaaahhhhhh..." It was incredible! That first moment of 
entry, that first thrust, that at once scratches the 
itch and yet makes it more intense.... But he was only 
teasing. He pulled out just as suddenly, and she groaned 
in frustration. He pulled the panties down and off. 

He unclasped her bra and removed it. He slid off her 
heels and left her in nothing but the garter and 
stockings. "Lie down. On your stomach." His voice was 
hoarse and insistent with longing and lust. She wanted 
nothing more than to comply. She laid down on the rug 
and impatiently awaited his next move.

She was stretched out before him but the tension in her 
body curled her back to an arch which raised her pelvis 
off the rug. The shag threads brushed her, teased her, 
excited her further. Sensing this, he placed his hands 
on her hips, raising and lowering her ever so slightly 
until the shag tips of the carpet became dewed with 
expectation.

"You're tense," he said, with a short stressed "t" and a 
long drawn out "s". "I can help." He knelt over her 
thighs. His hands worked from her hips to her shoulders. 
Alternating between soft and hard pressure, his hands 
kneaded her body. 

Then he hesitated - in thoughtful contemplation of his 
next move. He repeated the pattern. A little here, a 
little there. She exhaled each time. He could almost 
visualize her eyes - an unfocused glaze. She relaxed 
completely, flowing to the carpet like a pool of water.

"We can't have you too relaxed," he said with laughter 
and a hint of the wicked in his voice. He stretched his 
legs out behind him until he was laying flat on her 
back. His hardness stretched out along the valley 
between her ass cheeks. He continued kneading her back, 
her shoulders, her arms. Each soft knead was accompanied 
by a soft stroke below, teasing her. Each hard knead 
brought a hard stroke of want. Each hesitation sharpened 
the blade of anticipation. 

She squirmed beneath him. Wanting to feel him inside 
again, but he was taking great delight in this teasing - 
this slow torturous pleasuring. This total control over 
her. The ministrations on her shoulders, back and arms 
were no longer having a soothing effect, since his 
hardness was now taunting her so wantonly. He pulled 
back further and stroked the wetness of her slit with 
the head of his cock.

She gasped and tried to push back onto him, to feel him 
inside. But noooo, he pulled away, teasing, teasing, 
using his hand now, to guide it in slow circles around 
those swollen, succulent lips. She gritted her teeth in 
frustration and groaned. He was merciless, prodding her 
more, just barely slipping inside of her, a few 
millimeters, then pulling out and sliding up and down 
the length of her crease. Her nails made frantic 
scratching sounds as she raked lines in the pile of the 
carpet.

Finally, he could stand it no longer himself, and he 
plunged deep inside, delighted by the startled gasp it 
elicited from her. He withdrew slowly and then thrust 
into her again. 

She couldn't see the mottled flush that had painted the 
taut chest muscles pressed into her back. His hands slid 
beneath her, fingers curling into the giving flesh of 
her inner thighs. He drew her legs farther apart. 
Together they became a wave of undulating motion 
accentuated by gasping breaths, soft moans, and guttural 
groans of pleasure.

He stopped. He held her quivering legs to him, and 
whispered softly, "Don't move! Relax... shhhhh... 
relax...."

She knew that this slowing down, this halting was just 
another form of teasing, another form of torture. He 
gently eased out, and rolled her onto her back. Her 
thighs were slick - glistening like fresh-buttered 
bread. As his fingers traveled along the garter straps 
and stockings, he admired her inviting body. He cupped 
her hand under his balls so she could feel his approval 
as his low growl was accentuated by a further 
tightening.

He lowered his head next to hers and spoke in a low, 
soft voice, "Now something special, -- its called -- the 
'flutter'."

Her lips pursed perplexedly but then quickly drew into a 
devilish grin. "Show me," she said.

While kneeling he spread her legs wider, and pressed the 
back of her legs with the front of his. Her ass rose 
slightly from the carpet. He licked the thumb and 
forefinger of his left hand and reached between her 
knees to slowly roll her tubular left nipple while 
spreading her legs wider with his elbow. The fingertips 
of his right hand softly, barely caressed her stomach in 
descending circular motions. Soon the fingers of his 
right hand became entangled in the snarls of her hair.

"Coarse, but wetly lubricated," he thought to himself, 
"nice contrast". He then turned his palm facing upward 
and inserted his index and middle finger into her. His 
thumb started to quiver on her exposed button while his 
fingers rapidly fluttered inside her.

The wet became wetter as her breath whistled from her 
throat in a near-scream. She arched her back 
involuntarily at the intensity of the orgasm. Her hips 
bucked and writhed for a considerable length of time. As 
her motions subsided, a soft moan escaped her lips... 
"Oohhh god..."

He chuckled, his voice turned soft and inviting, "I see 
you still have things to learn. And I have so many 
things I can teach you...." 

He could tell by the way her hips were undulating, in 
soft smooth motions, that her lust had not been fully 
sated. Then again, nor had his. He was aching. This game 
of teasing also had the benefit of intensifying his own 
arousal. He placed his hands on either side of her 
chest, leaned forward and kissed her full and wet on her 
slightly open mouth. She responded hungrily. Her hands 
slid up his smooth chest. Her trembling thumbs found his 
nipples, and worked them in agitation. The small nubs 
stiffened immediately. There was something about them, 
something unexpected and different, but she couldn't 
quite place it....

She reached a hand down to grip his cock, meaning to 
slide it into her. But he would have none of that. His 
voice was thick syrup, mockingly admonishing, "Ah, ah, 
ah. No! Naughty girl. You get it when *I* say you 
do...." The small stinging smack on her hand shocked 
her. She was even more surprised by the juices that 
flowed as a result.

He rose and pulled her to a standing position. She was 
disoriented, trying to remember the layout of the room. 
For a moment, she was alone, swaying, unsupported - then 
he was back. She heard a squirting sound and his hands 
began sliding all over her body. Slippery, slick, and 
cool. The scent was musky, heady. He was rubbing oil 
into her. His hands washed over her clavicle, her 
breasts, her belly, her inner thighs.

He purposely avoided her wet and aching snatch. The ass! 
The hands went away, and then came back again, 
replenished with the cool liquid. This time he 
administered it to her back, her buttocks, the crack of 
her ass. His fingers lingered a long, teasing time 
there, between her cheeks.... She pushed back against 
his hand, cheeks clenched in tight uncertainty. He 
manipulated gently until her muscles relaxed. Then he 
withdrew his hand and slapped her lightly on her bum.

He began pushing, guiding her forward. She held her 
hands out in front of herself, tentatively. After 
several steps, they came in contact with a wall. No. Not 
a wall. It was smooth, cold. A mirror? 

She couldn't be sure, but the next thing she knew, he 
was pressing her cheek, her chest, against this suddenly 
cold and ungiving surface. His knees pushed between her 
legs, and she nearly buckled trying to regain her 
balance. With one hand entwined in her hair at the nape 
of her neck, he pressed her cheek securely to the 
mirror. Was it a mirror? She didn't recall seeing one in 
the room...

He began biting up her neck. Soft, insistent bites, that 
grew harder as he reached her ear. His other hand had 
been caressing her back, her ass. Now it slipped between 
her cheeks again. She could feel his long fingers 
probing her, pushing at her. "Oh! Ohhhhhhh...." she 
moaned uninhibitedly.

He growled in response, his finger slid easily in and 
out of her slippery ass. He pressed his chest up against 
her, his lips brushed her ear. "My god, but you're 
horny, aren't you?" He said it quietly, but his voice 
was a growling roar in her ear. Vaguely menacing, 
enticing. 

Her splayed fingers convulsed on the mirror. (god, it 
was a *big* mirror) Her response came out in shallow 
gasps, "yes.... yesssss.... YES! Ungh!"

At that moment he stuffed his cock up her cunt, and 
groaned at the exquisite feel of it. His entire body 
pressed against her, nearly crushing her against the 
mirror. She gasped and writhed with each long, slow 
thrust of his cock. He pushed so hard up inside of her, 
that it nearly raised her off the floor. Her mouth 
opened and she heard her voice in a scream of pleasure 
as he took possession of her body.

His lips were back at her ear again. Hoarse words were 
accentuated by bites to the edges, the lobe, "God! I 
love the feel of a wet cunt!" He began telling her all 
the things he was doing to her, all the things he was 
planning to do with her.

Her pussy gushed wetter, juicier, with every word. He 
reached around in front, and began tweaking and teasing 
her clit. Rubbing side-to-side, gently squeezing, 
pulling, pressing. Her legs began to tremble ferociously 
and her moans took on a fevered pitch, "Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! 
oh! Oh! OH!!" Her hips bucked and ground into his hand, 
mashing it against the mirror. 

He cupped her mons in his hand, as her orgasm subsided. 
As the last shudders coursed through her body, she 
shoved hard back against him and begged, "Oh, please, 
please, please...."

"Please what? What do you want my sweet little cunt?"

"Fuck me HARD!"

"Uh Uh! You forgot the magic word." He held her tight to 
the mirror. "Please fuck me HARDER!" then softer, 
"Please?"

He was too close to the edge to resist. He dug both 
hands into the flesh of her hips. His slow, deep fucking 
changed and took on a new, and frenzied pace. With every 
jabbing thrust he jammed himself to the hilt, grinding 
and then backing off to thrust again.

She slid and jiggled against the mirror as he pounded 
into her. Her mouth went slack, as sobbing moans escaped 
on each deep penetration. Then he reached round to her 
inner thighs, pulled her tight to him and pumped his 
load into her delicious recesses, his spurts accompanied 
by guttural groans. Her sobbing eased to gasping, 
shallow breaths. His lips whispered anxious kisses up 
the back of her neck. 

He gently removed the blindfold. When she opened her 
eyes, she had to squint at the sudden brightness of blue 
sky and birds whirling close by, on the other side of 
the window.

Her first reaction was to cover herself, but he 
anticipated, and gripped her wrists, spreading them wide 
so her body was laid bare against the glass. He used his 
own head to force her cheek to the window. He kept her 
thighs wide with his hairy legs. After a few seconds she 
opened her eyes again to look out. If anyone had been 
watching from the tenement across the courtyard, they 
were not to be seen now. She relaxed, and held his 
softening cock with her muscles.

"What a delicious fuck you are," he crooned in her ear, 
licking her just below the lobe with the flat of his 
tongue. Her body shivered in response to the tension. He 
was still moving slightly inside her.

She could feel the swelling as his erection renewed 
itself, and she wondered what more he had planned...

Surely, he'd had enough? She really should go back to 
work! The thought flashed through her mind. The director 
wanted her report that afternoon, and here she was 
plastered to a window, sweaty, smothered in oil, juices 
painting the inside of her thighs, her hair a mess, and 
his thick cock keeping her cunt open. He sensed her 
stiffening, and released her hands. She looked at her 
watch and pushed back against his belly.

Her garters and hose would be a mess, stained with lube 
and her own juices, possibly torn or tattered. How in 
hell was she going to get cleaned up and back in five 
minutes? He stepped back, and just as she was about to 
turn, she felt her ass twinge crimson as his hand 
delivered a sharp reminder smack. 

"Don't turn around!" She complied with building ire. 
"Look," she said, with her back to him. "You've had your 
way with me, but now I have a meeting to go to."
"You'll never make it." His voice was implacable. "But, 
you could conference them in. Say you had an urgent call 
to a client site, got stuck in traffic and will make the 
presentation over your cellular phone." He frog-walked 
her over to one of the chairs and thrust her over the 
arm. 

The blindfold reappeared, and darkness descended. The 
leather warmed quickly under her skin. "The number.," he 
insisted. She stammered out a response. He bent her 
forward over the arm of the couch and thrust his cock 
back in her warm cunt. As he shunted his half-hard 
member back and forth, she heard the sounds of dialing, 
then a hard angular object was thrust into her senseless 
fingers. She heard the ringing and her mind whirled. The 
Director's assistant answered, and her throat went dry 
for an instant.

"Francine," she blurted. "I've had a problem. I got held 
up, and I won't make it back for the meeting. Can you 
conference me in on speakerphone, then get the slides 
off my desk and hand them out." Businesslike, she had 
forgotten where she was, forgotten what had just 
happened, just barely aware of the cock moving slowly 
inside her. 

She breezed through the presentation from memory and was 
just wrapping up, when she froze. Suddenly, the enormity 
of the situation blazed through her mind like wild fire. 
The voice, the hands guiding her, the alley, the door, 
the window. An involuntary gasp escaped as she came back 
to the studio, to her body lying naked over the arm of a 
leather chair, blindfolded, an unknown cock working her 
pussy, making a presentation to the Director. She 
listened in a daze as her proposal was accepted.

Numb, the phone slipped from her hands, and she 
struggled unsteadily to rise. His hands pressed down her 
head, and she became aware of a pressure in her bladder. 
The phone made tinny noises until he snapped it off. 
Then his hands came back to touch her. Her skin prickled 
as his fingers traced her ribs to her backbone, then 
down each vertebrae to her hips. 

"Good job!" he chuckled. "Nice presentation!" She 
wondered if he were referring to her business proposal 
or to her ass that was raised up in the air. His fingers 
inched along and softly pinched the hemispheres of 
flesh. She squirmed as he trailed his fingers up the 
inside of her thighs and tickled her clit. She felt 
herself lubricate and open to him. A moan escaped her 
lips. Not for the last time that afternoon she wondered 
just how far he would take her. She wondered what he 
would do when she told him, but she couldn't stand it 
much longer. She stated flatly, with a touch of 
insolence, "I have to go to the bathroom."

"I think you'd better ask me nicer than that..." His 
tone was tinged with the suggestion of severity... 
Contrition crept into her voice, "Please can I go to the 
bathroom?"

He withdrew and pulled her to a standing position. He 
turned her and gave a small slap on the rear to get her 
walking. Walking behind, he directed her across the 
room. She felt him reach past her and open a door. He 
pushed her inside and turned her around. She could feel 
cool porcelain against her calves.

"Sit." She sat down slowly, feeling behind her with her 
hands.... She listened to the sound of a condom being 
removed, and waited. She could hear him breathing, just 
inches from her. Good god. She had to go pee in front of 
him too?

Her bladder was saying one thing, but the rest of her 
anatomy was not cooperating. She tried to relax, breathe 
slow breaths.... She heard the sound of water running, 
felt the increasing humidity lick her skin pasty. 
Finally, her stream of urine started, and she sighed.

She heard the tearing of toilet paper, and was strangely 
aroused when he blotted the urine and secretions from 
between her legs.

He raised her up by her arm and directed her to the 
source of the running water, a shower. The thick heat of 
the air prickled her skin in a way that made her itch to 
rub her body against his.

A faint smile of satisfaction appeared on her face as 
she heard him unwrap another condom. The hands on her 
shoulders urged her backwards to the wall, and she held 
out her hips in an open invitation.

He groaned at the provocative curve of her belly, the 
pouty labia visible beneath her thatch, the tight 
quadriceps drawing lines down her legs. He splashed the 
water briefly against her, then noisily lapped up 
trickles that dribbled off her nipples. He looked down 
again at her waiting, out thrust pussy. His hand 
penetrated her in unrestrained eagerness. His finger 
slid up inside her, swirling and groping, sometimes 
pressing that delicious spot, just behind her pubic 
bone. 

She sighed to herself. Oh, there certainly was some 
pleasure in long fingers! He continued to work her with 
his hands as she sloped against the tiles, hands flat on 
the wall beside her hips. Her knees opened willingly as 
he nudged between them. He gripped his cock and swung it 
upwards against her pussy, making a wet thump that sent 
shocks through her from her swollen labia. He swung it 
again and again until she was used to the sensation. 
Sometimes, he held it against her clit and drew 
backwards in a delicious sensation of rasping between 
her lips.

"Use your fingers," he said. "Spread your pussy lips for 
me. Guide my cock inside your hot, juicy cunt. Spread 
your legs wide, and rub your clit against my cock. I'm 
going to slide up inside you now."

He bent his knees and pushed up, once again entering 
her. Now it was flesh against flesh, bone against bone. 
She reveled in the sensation of being stuffed and filled 
and rubbed and scratched. He humped her against the wall 
for a very long time until eventually her pussy was 
starting to feel sore.

She wondered at the stamina of this man who fucked her 
so relentlessly. She felt far away, remote from the 
sounds and sensations, and realized that she must be 
getting weak with hunger and exhaustion. He slowed and 
then rested against her, breathing hard for a moment. 
Then holding the condom with his hand, he withdrew 
slowly. She sighed as he pushed back.

Sweat was running between her breasts, mingling with the 
oil. She could taste the odors of their rut in the humid 
air as she felt herself slipping into a semi-conscious 
state. The stream of water from the shower splashed and 
splattered enticingly nearby. He traced a finger down 
her neck, across her sticky chest, and down her belly to 
the top of her matted pubic hair.

He helped her stand upright, and turned her to the side. 
She stood forlorn for a moment, looking like a small, 
lost child. His hands deftly removed her garters and 
stockings. She clung to him in an effort to maintain her 
balance. Then a gentle warm rain caressed her flesh, in 
conjunction with the tingling rasp of a soapy cloth. 
With soft stroking movements, he washed her body from 
fingertips to toes.

Her legs began to give way, so he sat her down on the 
floor, back to him, removed the blindfold and shampooed 
her hair. She closed her eyes and relished the sensuous 
feel of his fingers massaging her scalp, playing with 
her hair. She did not attempt to turn and see him, for 
fear he might stop these delicious ministrations. In 
time, though, he did stop, and rinsed her hair 
fragrantly clean.

"Wait," he said gently. Seconds or minutes passed as she 
gazed uncomprehending about her. She was sitting on the 
floor of a tiled bathroom, the Italian-style shower was 
just a hand-held nozzle in one corner of the room. No 
curtain, just the floor gently sloped to run water into 
the drain by her feet. She slowly swung her head around 
to gaze at the nozzle spraying warmly over her legs. She 
started to turn to look at ...him, and found no one 
there... 

She closed her eyes again, and slumped against the wall, 
too exhausted to move.
Some time later her eyes fluttered open. Through the 
bathroom door she saw the vague outlines of the darkened 
studio. She arose and walked on uncertain legs to the 
door, fumbled for the light switch.

Her clothes were folded on the chair. Her stockings hung 
drying by the kitchen sink, but otherwise the studio was 
empty. She took a huge cotton towel from the warming 
rail, and dried herself as she padded about the studio. 
It was anonymous. Magazines, a stereo with a few tapes 
of classical music. No TV. The fridge was bare except 
for some butter, and a loaf of bread in the freezer.

She made toast and ravenously devoured it slathered with 
peanut butter the only condiment besides mustard that 
she found in the cupboard. Yuck, she hated peanut 
butter. But she needed food. She struggled into her 
clothes, stuffed her stockings into her purse, and 
looked around for her garter. No sign. Not in the 
bathroom, not in the main room, or under the couch or in 
the corner, or under the bed. Nowhere! Damn. It was a 
nice one, too.

As she stood by the door, she realized that there was no 
sign she had ever been here. No sign of anything that 
had happened that afternoon. She rushed into the 
bathroom, and checked in the garbage pail, nothing. The 
toilet had been flushed. The shower was quickly drying. 
Only some crumbs on the counter, and the butter knife. 
Compulsively, she cleaned the knife and wiped the 
counter. Then switched off the lamp and closed the door 
behind her.

Her entrance into the apartment was greeted by the 
enticing smells of dinner wafting from the kitchen. 
Mmmmm. Something spicy and Indian, by the smell of it. 
Great! The toast had only taken the edge of her hunger. 
She was *starved*. She flopped down in the big 
overstuffed chair in the living room, and took off her 
shoes. He came in from the kitchen, oven mitts still in 
one hand, shirtless under the cooking apron, a thin 
sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"You're late tonight... Jeeze! You look exhausted." He 
sat down and started to rub her feet. "Dinner's almost 
ready. Rough day?" She nodded in assent, "Incredible." 
She sighed, long and low. "How about we have a bath 
later, and I tell you about it?"

"Sure." He smiled, got up, leaned over, and kissed the 
top of her head.

She laughed.

"You are a messy cook, you know?"

She extended her finger to swab up a stray dollop of 
sauce that had landed on his hairless chest.

THE END

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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 2