("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
                     `6_ 6  )   `-.  (     ).`-.__.`)
                     (_Y_.)'  ._   )  `._ `. ``-..-'
                    _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
                   ((('   (((-(((''  ((((
                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
		_________________________________________
		                WARNING!
		This text file contains sexually explicit
		material. If you do not wish to read this
		type of literature, or you are under age,
		PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
		_________________________________________




			Scroll down to view text


















--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted 1997 by Cobalt Jade - Archiving 
and reposting of this work is permitted provided that no 
fee is charged for the use of the archival or posting 
site. Charging a fee for this story, or publishing 
without this preface or tagline violates my copyright.
--------------------------------------------------------



The Off Season
by Cobalt Jade (cobaltjade@aol.com)

***

A couple invade a closed amusement park for a romantic 
interlude. (MF, rom)

***

Author Note: Keep in mind the following is a work of 
fiction intended for those over the age of 21. If you 
are a minor, you have no business reading this, and are 
breaking the law in some states.

***

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he said.

"Yes," she replied, her voice a husky whisper against 
his neck, his thick sideburns tickling her nose. He 
smelled of autumn leaves, faint, spicy soap, and grease 
from the motorcycles he loved to work on.

"We're breaking the law, you know."

"To hell with the law." She nibbled on his ear, the 
rough growth of his beard scratching gently against her 
face.

"I am ever at your command, my lady." He took up the 
thick wire cutters and cut through the fence in a series 
of snips, peeling back the chain metal to make a hole 
big enough for them to crawl through. He fetched a few 
other things from the back of his bike and tucked them 
under his arm. They crawled under the wire, she first, 
he following more carefully to avoid catching his 
fringed leather jacket on the sharp edges. No one would 
see their entry, concealed as it was by a row of bushes.

The marvels of Playland were spread out before them, the 
amusement rides like sleeping giants in the November 
twilight. The pavilions and eating stands were boarded 
up, the video game parlors securely locked. It looked 
less like an amusement park then an empty movie set 
where things might happen once the scene was dressed... 
deserted, yet quivering with potential. Her excitement 
and longing grew.

To her, the park was even more enchanting in this quiet 
evening than it had been during those innocent days of 
picnics and swimming when she was a child, or the wild 
nights of her teenage years. Her parents had started her 
on the kiddie rides when she could barely walk, and 
gradually she had worked her way up from the miniature 
steam train to the ferris wheel, the Scrambler and 
Himalaya, then the roller coasters and the nausea-
inducing Skydiver and Zipper. She had moved away after 
graduation and sampled other rides, and other thrills, 
in more modern parks across the country. But this modest 
place of amusement still had a special place in her 
heart, which was why they had returned here, on this 
day, in the off-season of the park.

The day had been warm, and the asphalt they walked on 
still held the heat even though the breeze was cool. A 
smell of burning leaves came from a distant field. A few 
crows gave complaint in the stillness. She imagined the 
smell of popcorn and hotdogs, the cacophony of screams, 
laughter, and distant rock music from the rides. 

The rides waited like frozen dinosaurs, mute, yet full 
of potential power. Their lurid metallic hues looked 
fluorescent in the fading light. The rotating disk of 
the Trabant was still now, its garish sign unlit. The 
swing ride was missing its swings, the flume its water. 
The abandonment might have looked foreboding to someone 
else, but to her it only added to the anticipation. 

"There it is."

The pavilion was a marvel. She had always thought it 
resembled a Moorish kiosk, decorated as it was with 
gold-leafed minarets, silk banners, and layer after 
layer of decorative woodwork carved into cherubs, 
clown's faces, snarling dragons, and other fell beasts. 
The colors were those of a candy store: cherry red, 
royal purple, fuchsia, tangerine. She paused to admire 
it.

"Inside, baby," he said. "Remember why we came here." He 
gave her a knowing wink.

Technicians had been cleaning the pavilion so the canvas 
panels that covered the open sides were not drawn down. 
The thought of exposure both chagrined and excited her. 
They had already taken a big risk in breaking in here. 
Why not add one more?

A nearby portable generator told them the park's power 
hadn't been entirely cut off yet. Probably the crews 
would be back tomorrow, cleaning the carousel before 
securing and locking it shut for the winter season. Her 
husband went off to find the control panel. She didn't 
have any doubts he could get it running. He was a wizard 
with his bikes, and had worked for a while as a heavy 
equipment operator.

She sighed in anticipation. She had loved this carousel 
ever since she was a child. It was an original Dentzel, 
and the carved horses were original too, lovingly 
maintained over the years. The animals on the outside 
were the best. Snorting, stamping, rearing, they always 
seemed to be in a frenzy of agonized motion -- randy 
stallions and mares imprisoned by the poles on their 
backs and set to gallop around the central axis, forever 
-- the up-and-down motion both relieving their lust and 
adding to it. Some gazed up at the sky, others pawed the 
earth. The most desirable ones thundered straight 
forward. They all had names painted on their saddles: 
Thunder. Flying Cloud. Scout.

A strange nostalgia gripped her. The park was where she 
had learned to flirt, to kiss, to fuck. 

She had a few animals that were her favorites. She liked 
the snarling tiger with his moghul-style saddle, even 
though he did not move up and down like the horses did. 
Most of the exotic animals, like the ostrich and lion on 
the other side of the carousel, were standers. They 
always filled up fast, though. You had to quick if you 
wanted to ride on the tiger.

Of the horses, she liked Lady, the white Arab filly 
best. Her saddle was decorated with carved roses and she 
posed prettily with one foreleg raised, her head tucked 
coquettishly down. Then there was Hiawatha, whose head 
was pointed straight up the sky ("stargazing," as 
carousel enthusiasts called it), all four of his legs 
raised in mid-gallop. He was an Indian buckskin and 
carried a carved wooden lasso next to his saddle. She 
liked to pretend she was Annie Oakley when she rode him.

But her very favorite was Tornado. He was one of the 
largest, a magnificent grey-dappled charger. His neck 
was arched and his head tilted to the side, so his 
carved wooden mane flared dramatically in a spiky, wavy 
crest. His forelegs were bent up as if he was going to 
charge or rear. She nodded to herself. Tornado, 
definitely.

She spread the soft quilts over the horse's back, with a 
few firm cushions in strategic areas. She tied them down 
with strips of fabric. "How's it going, honey?" she 
called.

"Nearly there." He stuck his head out of the control and 
grinned at her. He looked like a 14-year-old with his 
tousled hair and dimples, despite the fact his high 
school years were nearly two decades years behind him. 
"Why aren't you on the horse? Remember you can't climb 
on so easily when this baby gets going."

"It's cold," she said. 

"You won't be cold for long." He went back inside the 
booth. It hadn't hurt that he'd worked in this park 
during his college summers. That long-ago knowledge was 
being put to good use now.

She took off her denim jacket, her jeans, her sweater 
and turtleneck. She couldn't help glancing around to see 
if anyone was staring at her. Silly, she reminded 
herself. They were in a deserted amusement park in the 
middle of nowhere, on a quiet weekend when people were 
more likely to be raking leaves or watching football 
games on TV. No one could get past the park's fences 
except those familiar -- as they themselves were -- with 
its weak points. They had made certain, too, to note the 
absence of security guards. 

She folded her clothes in a little pile, then removed 
her panties and bra. The cold was a sudden shock on her 
skin, teasing her nipples into painful little gems. She 
felt a breeze play along her belly. The atmosphere 
suddenly shifted from peaceful to erotic. She touched 
her bush, the soft lips of her pussy, amazed at the 
sudden sensation and moisture she felt there.

She looked up. Tornado's pole connected to a framework 
of many others, all worked by pistons in the roof of the 
carousel. When in motion, all the horses were staggered 
to move in different rhythms, like an actual herd in 
full gallop. The rhythm would be implacable, 
unstoppable, once the machinery got going. She closed 
her eyes and smiled.

She put one foot into the cold stirrup of the saddle and 
hoisted herself onto the horse's back. The quilts helped 
to deter the cold. She wouldn't have wanted to be in 
contact with the slick, chilly wood. As a child, this 
horse had seemed huge to her . Now she knew it was not 
the size of an actual stallion, though it was large 
enough still to accommodate an adult...or two.

She sat in saddle but faced backwards, resting her back 
against the pole. Her husband came back with two long 
strips of cloth. He tied one around her waist to secure 
her to the horse's barrel, then crossed the other over 
her breasts to secure her to the pole. Then he took a 
piece of rope and looped it through the horse's jaw, 
making an actual set of reins for himself. "Sorry for 
the kink, darlin'," he said. "But we don't want you 
falling off now, do we?"

"Oh no, of course not." He kissed her, and his mouth was 
the promise of pleasure to come. He kissed her breasts. 
She felt her flesh suffuse with sensation like ripples 
on a pond. His gentle tongue teased her nipples, 
compacting them into twin peaks of delight.

"Don't be long," she whispered.

"I don't intend to." He dashed back into the control 
booth.

She closed her eyes, her back arching against the pole. 
She raised her arms behind her to grip it in her hands, 
and waited for the inevitable moment when the carousel 
would stir to life. The apprehension raced through her 
like her first time at the top of the park's roller 
coaster, like the first time she'd told a boyfriend YES. 
Was it? No. Yes... it was. 

A tiny movement shuddered through the metal pole, and 
she felt herself rising. Behind her closed eyelids she 
saw a blaze of color as thousands of tiny light bulbs 
switched on, swirling patterns of yellow and red, white 
and blue. The music began, a triumphant calliope waltz.

The horse slowly rose as high as it could, then dipped 
down again in a complete revolution. It started on 
another. Eyes still closed, she felt the warmth of a 
human body next to her. Her husband. She opened one eye. 
He smiled at her, eyes crinkling at their corners, as 
she and the horse descended. She saw his neck, his 
broad, nicely muscled chest with its coating of hair, 
his slightly rounded but still sexy abdomen...and his 
very erect cock, which pointed at her invitingly. The 
warm colors of the lights danced across his skin.

"Enjoy the ride," she whispered, closing her eyes again 
and arching her neck. Her long hair rippled down her 
back. He adjusted the stirrups.

She felt the horse shudder as he put one foot in the 
stirrup and raised himself up. He swung his right leg 
over her and placed his foot in the stirrup on the other 
side. She felt the improvised reins become taut as he 
took them up in his hands. This was how he would ride, 
standing in the stirrups over the saddle, as he rode 
her... and as she rode the painted wooden horse beneath 
her.

She opened her eyes as his face descended to hers, and 
she opened her mouth to admit his kiss. The loving 
invasion sent new sensation through her. She sucked on 
his tongue like it was all the cotton candy and soft ice 
cream she'd ever eaten in the park, her head moving with 
the demanding pressure of his mouth. 

The warm nearness of his body drove her into a fever. 
The music was very loud, the closeness of the calliope, 
and the absence of other sounds in the park, sending 
delicious vibrations washing through her. The hard 
fleece of his beard rubbed against her neck. Her nerve 
endings kindled, shooting off little synapses that 
flowered greedy hunger in her breasts and well-moistened 
sex.

He took up the reins in a single hand and twisted a 
nipple, causing her to moan. With his mouth he sucked 
the other, the rhythm rising, falling, like the carousel 
horse she was now inextricably fastened to. His beard 
scratched the underside of her breast, a sweet, 
tormenting itch that started her hips into motion... 
rising and falling, a faster countermotion to the 
mechanical plunging of the carousel pole. 

She dug her fingers in his hair, guiding his head and 
hand lower. 

Sensitized as she was, she bucked and twitched when he 
touched her mound. A pity she was too well secured to 
touch it herself, but her safety had been paramount. He 
moved his fingers in a soothing circular motion. She was 
so wet they worked smoothly, smearing her fluids over 
her thighs and belly. 

She felt the warm juice cool in the breeze as they 
whipped around the carousel. She felt the liquids 
tighten on her skin. He touched her clit, and her hips 
jerked. Twisting, almost sobbing, she pressed herself 
into his hand, her own fingers rubbing her nipples. He 
knew she could come from a finger-fuck alone. But the 
passion must not come to climax too early.

She heard him breathing over the music, a hoarse, 
excited rasp. She saw he was fully erect, his cock a 
stiff rod. It was easily the rival of any of the 
horses'. She gripped it with her fingers, massaging his 
balls as her other hand slid up and down. As always, she 
marveled at its length, the sheer hardness of it. As a 
child, how could she have ever believed that such a 
limp, pink silly thing could be such an object of terror 
and delight?

She felt it jerk out of her fingers as he lowered 
himself onto her, his cock sliding home like a missing 
piece of a puzzle. Entered her, and clicked firmly into 
place.

He gripped the reins with both hands and rode her with a 
wild abandon, thrusting forward as the horse rose on its 
slender pole, then fell. His rhythm fell into the 
overall rhythm, the graceful dance of the painted herd, 
the languid pumping of the carousel engines. Her hands 
circled her breasts, kneading them in time with his 
thrusts. 

Every inch of her skin felt exposed and laved in icy 
fire. Her mouth opened in glorious cries. She rubbed the 
soft skin of her calves over his firmer, hairier legs, 
then crossed her ankles behind his powerful thighs. Her 
breath turned into hisses. The calliope music filled 
her, engorged her. The horse flew beneath her. She 
traveled into a bright and unknown country, gilded 
hooves thundering ecstasy over every inch of her skin. 

Jolts of unbridled pleasure exploded through her body. 
The music vanished, as did the cold and the awkward 
position she held on the horse. The pleasure wracked 
her, went on and on, then faded like sparks of dying 
light. 

Limp, filled with sweet devastation, she felt him climb 
off of her. 

The carousel slowed. The music stopped.

She felt a glass of champagne touch her lips. She opened 
her mouth to swallow. She had not forgotten the date. It 
had happened fifteen years ago, when, overcome with 
lust, she had let a gawky college junior bang away on 
her in the carousel's hard, wooden sledge seat. They had 
been too shy to try this back then, but age and 
experience had made them more daring.

"Happy anniversary hon," her husband said.

END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 66