A Dark & Stormy Night

"Silky, I want you to do a full sex evening with a friend of mine. OK?" George asked a routine question.

"Does full sex mean anal, too?" I was always a little worried about that, though I really liked it. Some guys are just not gentle, and sex in the ass feels really good if it's done right, but not good at all if it's rushed. In Porno movies I've seen lots of men shove it in; I don't know how the girls do it, because I've got to be ready.

"Only if you want to... you know how it works. I never ask you to do anything you're not willing to do. This one has a twist, tho'. There is a chance that you & he might run into each other in public, and so I don't want either of you to know who the other is."

"What do I do, fuck him with my eyes closed?"

"He would still see you, Red," George smiled tolerantly.

"Oh. Yeah. Duh."

"What I have in mind is to set ya'll up in a dark room, where you both operate by feel. I'll put you in the bed, naked, and then let him come in and feel his way. When he gets to the bed, he'll strip, and then climb in with you. After a couple of hours, he reverses the process, and when he leaves, I'll get you."

I was intrigued. It would mean I had sex with a total stranger, and I wouldn't ever know who he was. If George worried about our meeting, then any man I met anywhere might be the one I had screwed. He would never know of my green eyes or fire red hair, and I would know nothing about him. Fun!

So a few weeks later I was in a hotel suite, with the curtains closed and duct taped so there was no trace of light. I peed, left my clothes in the bathroom, and cut off the light. No fluorescence. No glimmer, no trace. Ink everywhere! Even when I went spelunking I had a flashlight!

I crawled into the bed without falling over anything. God, what would I do if the man hurt himself on the way? I'm not a paramedic, or even a Wilderness First Responder. And I had to keep the lights off!

Fortunately, that was not the case. I heard a door nearby, then footsteps. Fabric whispered, zippers unmeshed, a belt clunked to the floor. I felt the shift in the mattress as he sat on it, and then a double plopping as one shoe followed the other. Then he moved next to me, and his hand touched my arm. George had emphasized that no words would pass, so I just guided his hand to my breast.

His body heat warmed me, and his uncallused palm gently rubbed flatly across my nipple. His hand continued to my further arm, and pulled me. At first I didn't understand, but he insisted and slowly rolled me onto my stomach. His hands sculpted my shoulder blades, and he massaged my trapezius muscles with powerful strokes. His grasp slid around to cup my lats, and then he thumbed each and every ridge of my spine. The tips of his fingers trailed the sides of my breasts as he went down my back. He knew how to touch a woman!

When he compressed the rounded globes of my ass, I was afraid. Was he going to try anal on me? I wasn't near ready for that! What would I do? How would I stop him without saying anything? I knew I couldn't forcibly arrest his actions. His strong thumbs pushed hard against my ischial tuberousities, the bottom of my pelvis.

He spread my stronzo with that motion, which was very pleasant, but still a little scary. His face touched the back of my leg, and he buried his lips in my crack. I expected a tongue, a rim job, an anal probe; instead he gently nipped my flesh, repeatedly, just at the margin of leg and ass. I began to flood. He continued to caress my cheeks, and I realized he was interested in touching my velvet smooth skin, in feeling my parts, every part from head to toe. With that awareness I unwound, and welcomed his embrace.

He passed my moist divide, and instead griped my right thigh. His vice-like hands crushed that limb, in a very pleasant way, as he worked down my leg to my foot, and handled that extremity with dexterity. He nibbled my toes, sucking my largest into his mouth in an open kiss. If I had had the elasticity, I would have returned that kiss in kind. I could only shiver and lubricate in response.

Now when he reached for my upper left leg, I invited his overtures, and spread my legs to give him better access to anything he wanted to touch. He replayed his downward travels, and I struggled to remain silent. I wanted to squeal in joy.

I became the aggressor, as I rotated to a supine position and explored his arms. I touched hairy forelimbs that were muscular and tight. No ring met my fingers – he was mine alone – he was devoid of watch or jewelry. I explored further north, and found broad tundra, filled with power and covered with fine filaments.

He ran fingers up to my neck, and then traced my jaw, and turned my head. Our lips met, and the eternal struggle began. Soft on soft, firm on firm, he entered my mouth with vigor and then retreated before my sally. Our flexible appendages entwined and each attempted to persuade the other to yield.

I braided my fingers into his full head of hair, an identification I could not miss. His mouth brought no whiskers with it, another marker.

His other hand slowly encircled my breast, exerting just the right amount of pressure to arouse me. His fingertips flicked across my nip, and he knew he was doing it correctly. I could already smell my own miasma, although I had long since been aware of the wetness from whence it came. Mixed among my aroma I noticed his: sun and wind and smiles and soap; happy memories.

The hand that had guided my oral connection tripped down to my collarbone, then along my arm, and pulled that around him. I mirrored my arms with my legs, so that I hung from him like a sloth, tho I was much more active. He continued to give me mouth to mouth resuscitation, or perhaps it is 'susitation' since it wasn't a repeat. Gently he lowered his body onto mine, so that a whisper of frottage assailed my labia. He was large and hard and I was soft and wet.

He rolled and put a hand between us. His roving titillation produced an innuendo of touch from my knee to my labia. By the time he had repeated that move a dozen times I said a prayer of thanks that we still kissed, else I would surely have violated the rules and begged for manumission.

So languidly I thought I imagined it, one digit slipped within my folds. He found no barrier as the slickness I had produced was enough for an entire company of men. So another joined, and another and I impaled myself with delight. The impetus for my motion filled me to overflowing, and indeed, I overflowed onto the sheets and his hand.

Then he withdrew my pleasure, and I moaned with need. I could not keep completely silent. As I had hoped and knew inside my secret heart, he guided his manliness to my gates. I reached, and touched his lesser (?) head. There was a foreskin I could slide, and slide I did as he became the one who gasped.

Then all foreplay died, as he pierced me with his missile, and my orifice grew tight around his size. I could not see what ambient shade of abergine topped his shaft, but I could feel it move within me to my core. He was thick, and long, and lovely.

Again and again, he pulled back to take better aim, then landed in the bull's-eye every time. Even Robin Hood could not surpass his feats. I wrapped my legs tighter around his, and loved the feel of his hairiness under my calves. His speed increased as he plowed deeper and deeper within my warmth, and I rose to meet him with all the urgency he showed to me.

His back stiffened under my clawed hands, and then he rammed so furiously I could not keep pace. I felt his discharge deep within me, and smiled a private smile into his chest with pleasure at his delight.

His motions pushed me to my own rapture, and I squeezed his penis with all the force my uncontrollable spasms could generate. My jactations nearly threw him from the bed. Slowly I regained my breath, and slowly his member dropped out of my introitus.

Again I was bold and brazen. I curled, fetal like, so that I could reach his dripping cock. I enfolded it into my little pouty estuary, and trilled his knob. I scavenged my own juices, and his, as I sucked along his noodle. At first it was hard, when it wasn't hard, then it was easy when it was hard. My efforts produced a swelling of his organ that pleased me but was not its own reward.

That gift I gave him as I gyrated prone, and pressed my gluteals against him, inviting that which I had feared. I heard a tiny gasp as he understood my message, and again guided his missile, but to another orifice, one already tight, but loosened by my cumming so that I was ready for invasion. He stormed my beaches and claimed my anus for his own. Deep within me he pushed, and I propelled myself against him to take him in completely.

Over and over he filled my asshole, and over and over he slithered out. The angle with which he struck me differed from my vagina, but because I had reached a plateau of limpness, it stuck true. Soon I exceeded him in speed, and fucked my ass onto his dick with urgency. He strove to stay with me, but could not.

Could I have spoken, I would have screamed "Fuck me, fuck me, scopami!" But I had been forbidden. When I passed the point of no return, and clutched his maleness with all the power of my rectum, I pulled every sperm he had into my waiting darkness.

We collapsed, he above me, and we breathed each other's air until our hearts were slowed (but never stilled). Eventually, he rolled aside, and the video of his entrance ran in reverse until the door closed and he was gone. My body wept tears of many sorts from multiple orifi.

I gave George a glowing report, and said I was ready for a repeat at any occasion.

"Some other time, perhaps," he said.

Several weeks later, I was in comparative anatomy class, and had to ask Dr. Felder a few questions about the latest quiz. He stood at the podium, engrossed in another student, and I lightly touched his arm. It was a hairy forelimb that was muscular and tight. I sniffed in surprise, and inhaled the smells of sun and wind and smiles and soap. My eyes went wide, and I turned and walked away without a word. Some other time, perhaps.