Salome and Ishmael

She came, hard, in his hand, then pulled his bottom to her one more time and they shivered together as both pleasures peaked and slowly began to subside. She needed air, but didn't want him to leave, it was such an amazing sensation having that curved hot rod so far into this very different place so unexpectedly loaded with nerves.

But the need for oxygen won. Before she could begin to push him back, he sensed the timing and began to pull slowly out. She consciously clamped her throat down around him as he moved. To Ishmael, it felt as if someone had a finger-lock on his cock, through which he was squeegeeing the tube. Milking the big vein. The squeezing wrenched every last drop of male juices from his cock, and sent lightning bolts to his brain.

When at last he cleared her throat and mouth Salome lay there gasping for breath, muttering "God! I had no idea I could come so hard!" Ishmael dropped to his knees on the rug, their faces upside down to one another, and bent to kiss her. She met him wide-open, and then they were far inside one another again. Their lips made a perfect seal, and her next gasp sucked a gust of air in through his nose, then back out. He echoed the process. Their tongues tangoed: he could taste and smell himself on her. It was earthy, exciting.

They breathed through one another until she recovered her control. Finally, she pushed him away and sat up, then tugged him over to sit beside her. She took his face in her hands and looked hard at him from very close, stared for a long time, then finally said "Goddamn! You know, every man wants a blowjob, but then they always refuse to kiss you afterwards. It's like they think the woman is dirty, and don't want to kiss her mouth after it just spent so much time on their precious cock! Some of them will even tell a woman to go brush her teeth if she wants any more kissing! YOU, sir, are so different in so many ways that it's hard for me to believe. You are my own terra incognita, Ishmael!"

Then: "And oh, by the way, Thank You!"

They lay together, cuddling, stroking, talking into one another's ears in semi-whispers, cooling slowly from their mutual white heat. As they talked, Salome idly toyed with Ishmael's cock and balls, investigated his nipples with her tongue and teeth, and bemoaned his nipples' lack of real sensitivity – reciprocity would have been nice, she thought. But at least it as an objective example of separating her own erotic thoughts about his nipples from the sensual reality!

It wasn't too long before Ishmael was rampant again, and she sat up beside him to stare and fondle, and to make friendly snide remarks about how perhaps her performance wasn't up to his standards if he was back again so soon... to which he replied that no, it was the other way around, her performance was so good that he was ready for a rematch, most unusually quickly, too.

Then he went slightly pensive for a moment, looked up at her and asked "My turn?"

She looked quizzically at him, then nodded silently.

He smiled: "I, too, have a fantasy, one that I'd love to indulge with you, if you can get into it with me. A little mutual fantasizing and some amateur psychologizing... are you up for it? Trust me?"

She eyed him, cocked her head, and grinned. "You haven't hurt me yet, White Boy... very much the opposite. And... yes, frankly, I really do trust you, although it's probably pretty silly for a woman to feel so comfortable so quickly. For all I know you're a mass-murderer in some alternate persona. What's the idea?"

Ishmael hopped out of bed, erection bouncing, and disappeared briefly into the bathroom. He reappeared with her tube of lubricant, a towel, and her large green dildo in his hands.

Her face went hot as she flushed beneath her melanin blanket, but Ishmael hadn't been at all upset over the vibrator–-quite the contrary–- and seemed to be totally accepting of her green toy as well. Didn't anything threaten him? Her face slowly calmed. The possibilities spread before them like a sea: what, of the infinite suite of possibles, would actually surface? She liked the mystery.

Ishmael inspected the dildo, waggled it in the air, handed it to her. She looked noncommittal. Then he turned from he and knelt on the bed frog-like, knees widespread, chest on the mattress. His cock-tip dragged on the sheet: he was screamingly erect despite having just come so hard. He reached behind himself, and with his hands spread wide his buttocks, pointed right at her.

She stared at his exposed anus, then at his eyes, just visible over his shoulder. She'd never really seen one of these, up close like this, so openly. Except her own, which she'd inspected with flashlight and mirror, but her tissues were far too dark to let her see any details. This was very different, very visible. And talk about exposed and vulnerable! He really did trust her, apparently. That was special.

Her belly did an unexpected little dance as she studied the new, intimate view. The very bottom of his crack was bright red, the color lay in the floor of the fleshy valley like a thick thread. The crinkles of his sphincter twitched as she stared. It was, she thought, almost as if his butt could actually FEEL her gaze... just the way her nipples could feel his. Action at a distance, Mr Physicist?

She reached forward and laid a fingertip gently in the bottom of the vee above his anus, slid it downward until it touched the pucker. He twitched and sighed. Her fingertip traced the little midline ridge that marked our species' bilateral symmetry, traced it from the front of his anus down the length of his taut ball-sack. She stroked and wiggled his balls in their chicken-skin pouch. It was fun, having complete freedom to explore. More than fun. Her other hand went to caress his cock: he was as hard as a horny teenager on an overdose of Viagra! She supposed she should be flattered, shouldn't she? Or was he this way with every woman he encountered? It didn't matter, she decided quickly: it was a great compliment and she was going to just accept it, not question a gift horse!

She slid the finger up and down the length of his entire crack. There was a fine furze of hair over his buttocks, but none within the crack, not a single hair near the sphincter. Shaved, was he? Even down here, in this impossible location? Her fingertip stroked, and she could feel the tiny burr of half-day stubble beneath it. Yep, shaved. She wondered how he did it. Must be awkward. But there were no visible nicks, so he clearly was good at it. What it would feel like to watch him? Her belly twisted again. That was very, very odd, she thought, her reaction.

He muttered "Lube. Then go inside..."

The slippery stuff was cold - she wondered what his reaction would be?

She delicately pressed a fingertip loaded with slippery against the bulls-eye of his anus. This was genuinely scary territory. No man in her experience would have let her touch his anus, much less suggested something like this! Was Ishmael some sort of strange variety of gay-guy? That didn't compute, did it? Probably he was just exactly what he seemed: a man unafraid of acknowledging his nerves, regardless of their locations, and totally into enjoying himself.

He sighed again and pressed backwards, and she was inside him fingernail-deep. Obviously the cold lube hadn't been a problem, and now she was deeply embedded in hot, snug new territory. She didn't know what to do, so held still, let him push back and engulf her finger, slowly, steadily. She watched as her finger disappeared into his bottom. Sensations swarmed through her, and she studied them: hot, velvety smoothness. Tight. He relaxed downwards onto the sheets, pushed back against her pressure. She withdrew a bit, then slid all the way up inside him again. The sensations brought a flow of adjectives - warm, just short of hot. Tight again. Smooth. Slippery. Strong-delicate. Delicious. Forbidden. New. Instantly sensual, totally and forever erotic.

She'd never been inside another human being this way (or ANY way!): perhaps, she thought to herself as she explored, just perhaps these nifty sensations are a little taste of why men are so driven to enter women? If, of course, a rectum feels anything at all like a pussy. She wondered. She could feel him contracting around her just like her pussy did around a cock.

She slid a finger of her free hand deep into her pussy, closed her eyes and concentrated: delicious. Compare them? Hard to do. Similar, yet very different. Her fingertip bumped against her cervix – she probed deeply into Ishmael's butt with the other hand, suddenly realized that there really WAS a difference, there was no end to his opening, nothing to stop her from advancing as far as she chose. In fact, she was really INSIDE him, but her pussy was a closed depression, not truly an opening into her deepest insides, as is an anus. Maybe that was why it felt so intimate, this being inside his ass? Sensual in the extreme.

She wiggled her embedded finger experimentally, got a satisfied and extremely erotic groan from Ishmael. When she stopped stroking and held still, he took over, stroked himself over her digit, finger-fucking himself, her hand passive, his ass active. Then he whispered "Use two!" and she added the requested second. Tighter now. Much. But obviously not a problem to Ishmael. Inside him, she wiggled the fingers independently. Ishmael groaned again. She wondered, was this nifty sensation of rectum enclosing her fingers at all similar to what a man felt when a woman was wrapped around his cock?

Then, with a rush and shiver, she wondered if perhaps this was the very sensation her uncle had been so eager to get... was THIS the sort of pleasure she had given him, so unwillingly? Vaguely, she could feel some sort of empathy for him if it was... and she angrily shook that feeling off, there was NO excuse for what he had done to her!

At Ishmael's request, she added a third finger: he was seriously full of her now. She took over the rhythm, driving the triad of long, slender fingers deep inside his bottom, over and over again. This being in charge of things was new, too. Why was her pussy so juicy?

He showed her how to find and manipulate his prostate. The pressure made him gasp and his cock jump. In and out: nearly fucking, wasn't it? Her eyes were closed now, she was deeply into the sensations. Her spare fingers found her clit, pinched and played in time with her driving hand. Ishmael really, truly trusted her, didn't he? She was INSIDE her man! It wasn't far from her hand to his heart, not really. Talk about vulnerable. She opened her eyes and watched her fingers cycling in and out. Her forearm and hand looked like the world's largest black cock trying with only partial success to get into Ishmael's warm private place.

Then, finally, Ishmael moved: he shoved the green dildo around to lie beside her knee, and then spoke. "Fuck me, Woman! My bottom is sensitive, I fuck myself with a dildo sometimes, but that little pucker you're up into is virgin to being fucked by anyone other than me. You can take a virginity from me, right here, right now. And... I would love it!"

She pulled her hand free of his bottom, picked up the toy, looked at him, tapping the dildo shaft against her palm: why the hell was her belly suddenly so much warmer and so slithery inside?

He kept on: "And... well, I know I'm probably not the right color, but neither is that dildo. You could be returning the favor to your uncle Gerald, after all these years. Use your imagination. Fuck him right back for what he did to you. He deserves it, you know. Care to try? Maybe it'll help..."

She debated for a moment. Ishmael had certainly taken care of HER, so here was a chance at the reciprocity thing, no? But she couldn't just ram this big thing into him, it was bigger than his own cock, dangling enticingly down there between his widespread legs. And the idea of somehow "getting even" with her uncle... what an interesting thought that was. Interesting, but silly. Stupid... you couldn't get even for something like that, could you? Or was it possible, at least in one's own mind?

Then, abruptly, way down inside her, something psychological gave way with an almost audible 'snap.'

"Shut up, Gerald!"

Her voice dropped a full octave, and her choir training let her imitate her uncle's voice, from so long ago and far away, almost perfectly. She'd bought into the program now: Ishmael had hit a nerve, hadn't he?

She let herself be startlingly rough. She slid the dildo through her greasy fingers until it glistened, all-over oily, in the light. She studied the instrument, then set the tip against Ishmael's anus. Impossible! Way, way too big. But her mind didn't care: impossible was relative. He'd invited this, hadn't he?

She pondered... "blame the victim" was the normal game... she had always wondered, when she could think about it at all, whether perhaps in some unknown way and without knowing what she was doing she had invited her uncle to invade her?

She shook her head – NO! Dammit, she wasn't going to blame herself for HIS actions. No way!

She squeezed more lube onto the long green cock, coated it, knelt behind him. He waggled his butt at her slightly, expectantly. Had she done something similar with Gerald? She doubted it: her memories were of distress, not anticipation or enjoyment.

As she knelt behind Ishmael, a sudden surge of long-suppressed memories washed through her.

Gerald. Uncle Gerald, a visitor.

She and Gerald had found themselves alone together that morning. He was a big man, handsome, youngish, powerfully muscular. A very attractive man, Uncle Gerald. She had flirted outrageously with him all the previous day, and again that morning. And he had flirted back, too! That had at first nonplussed her, then warmed her insides, precisely why she did not yet know, but it was very exciting.

Alone together late in the day, their banter had continued for half an hour, then suddenly he had her in his arms, was picking her bodily up off the floor and trying to kiss her! He was nice enough about it, and very insistent. Her belly fluttered, and finally she acquiesced. His tongue and mouth tasted like coffee. And having him inside her mouth like that was a very peculiar and rather nice thing. Curiosity satisfied, finally! So THIS was what couples did in those clinches in the movies!

As he held her he rubbed their bellies together: down between them there was some strange lumpiness that she didn't understand, but the rubbing seemed important to him, so she didn't see any reason to try to stop it. Besides, it was nice being held so warmly and closely.

"Shall we go upstairs, to your room, for a little while?"

She didn't really answer, she had decided she'd liked the kiss very much and was hoping for more. The next thing she knew was the soft click of her bedroom door closing behind them.

Her heart was going machine-gun speed. She didn't know quite what to expect, but this business was awfully exciting.

Then Gerald stood her on her feet beside the bed and stepped back an arm's length to look down at her. He had the strangest expression on his face - she recalled it clearly now. Strained, taut, devilish, not soft and friendly as before. He eyed her for a moment, up and down, and that made her slightly uneasy. Being studied like an animal on a selling-block was embarrassing.

He slipped his hands down to her waist, toyed with the hem of her pullover, and said "My, but you've developed into a genuinely big young lady, now, haven't you? All interested in kissing and such! What a difference from my last visit, huh?"

She was flustered, disengaged her eyes from his, didn't respond.

He harrumphed and she looked at him again. "Well, grown-up-girl, you're already a really beautiful woman! An adult now, that's what you are. And I just bet you're hot as a pistol, ready and waiting for the right man, aren't you?"

She didn't really understand what he meant, but it sounded complimentary, so she preened slightly and felt herself heat from a blush hidden beneath her pigment. His eyes swept over her again: she could almost feel where his gaze settled, it was so strong.

Then he said "Why, now you have titties and nice round hips and all those womanly things! How much hair do you have between those pretty long legs?

She was completely flustered now: did he REALLY expect her to answer his question? This wasn't going quite the way she would have wanted.

Before she could do anything, his hands lifted the front of her blouse and exposed her whole chest, and bingo, he was leaning down and his mouth had inhaled her nipple.

She just stood there, thunderstruck, unable to move. Slowly, she realized that he was nibbling and sucking, and more than that, it felt – what? Well, it felt tingly, not ticklish, rather nice, actually. Certainly it was a more 'forbidden' feeling than just mouth-kissing! She caught her breath and studied the sensations. With some practice, this might even be better than kissing, mightn't it?

Then Gerald was saying something else. "Missy, I do believe it's about time you learned what men and women do when they're together in private. If they like one another. You do like me, don't you?"

She thought for a moment: the question was simple, but it seemed as if the answer might lead to something much more complex. While she thought about it, she nodded her agreement: after all, she certainly DID like him, or else why would she have been kissing him in the first place? It was a sort of silly question, wasn't it?

What happened next took her even more completely completely by surprise.

Gerald took the nod to mean full agreement about anything, everything, he had in mind - a blanket 'okay to go!'

That was hardly what she would have, or even COULD have, meant.

Instantly he was fumbling with her denim shorts, unfastening the waist snap, trying to push them down her long smooth legs, and mumbling about how much she was going to enjoy this, whatever "this" might be.

She really had no idea what was happening. Things were now going far too fast for her comfort. He was getting rough, using his strength as she tried to slow him or stop him. This wasn't what was supposed to happen, things were supposed to continue all warm and glowing and friendly and soft, not this coarse rush into something she didn't understand.

But even in the midst of trying to stop him, at least slow him down enough so she could breathe and think a little, and despite his crude, rough rush, there was a knot, a very pleasant knot, way down deep in her belly.

When she tried to hold onto his hands, just to slow him down - she wasn't certain she wanted things to stop, just slow down a bit - Gerald got mad, and rougher. He was very, very strong, and held her with one hand on her shoulder while he pulled her shorts completely off, tossed them over in the corner.

Then he stood, towering over her, and said "Take off those goddamned panties!"

She gasped, looked up at him, and did what he ordered. She felt as if she had no choice whatever, and no will with which to oppose his wishes.

He smirked at her: the situation wasn't at all romantic now, and she was quickly getting thoroughly frightened. He stood before her and undid his buckle, then his waistband, and dropped his trousers and underwear around his ankles.