The Brass Bordello Bed

The second 'favorite' was the night she had come in very tired after her ballet lesson, still slightly sweaty. Exhausted, she had stripped and thrown herself on the bed, spread-eagled face down. She lay there for a moment, pressed against the covers, and her hands went to Mr. Bed's curlicues. No sooner had she touched them than her fingers were immobilized, almost painfully tightly.

Then something new, an entity entirely lacking the usual persuasive approach of her Force, had roughly spread her legs even wider apart, and with no further preliminaries she had been solidly penetrated, all the way to the full depth of her pussy, in a single firm stroke. It took her breath away, it was so different and unexpected. But it was an awesomely sensual experience, and she loved recalling it.

The alternative Force began a hard, fast pounding into her, some extra weight-like energy pressed against her shoulder-blades and held her trapped against the pillow and mattress. In very short order she was flowing wet, and driving her butt upwards against every thrust of her invader. She climaxed hard and fast and deep, and felt inside her the familiar throb and gush of her own and the invader's juices. Very swiftly it had withdrawn, her fingers popped free of the curls, and she lay there nearly dazed for a moment.

She reached behind her to feel the space between her legs: it was deliciously tender, and her lips were still stretched wide. Her fingers -three at once, without problem - slid easily into the slippery wetness, and felt almost lost inside.

Slightly unsteady on her feet, she walked gingerly to the bathroom. As she walked: a flood of thick juices sluiced from her to splatter on the floor, where they did their usual rapid disappearance: she thought "Good grief, what a lot of it there is!" If its quantity equated to the intensity of the Force's pleasure, she'd done very well indeed!

She studied herself in the bathroom mirror, found two very obvious white handprints on her shoulders, fading but still clear. She laid her hand on one - the prints were HUGE by comparison. She just shrugged at the continuing, evolving, ever-expanding mystery, and enjoyed studying the fading glow in her belly, savoring the tingles. She went back to Mr. Bed, and he snuggled her into himself as usual, for their sleep time.

There were other strong delights as well. One night she lit a candle and set it on the bedstand, never suspecting what it might bring about. That evening, she'd had been required to keep her eyes closed as the Presence tucked a heavy towel beneath her bottom. Then, droplets of hot, molten wax appeared, arranged in neat patterns over her belly, in lines up and across her taut nipples, and then just when she thought she couldn't stand more, she was rolled over and her back and buttocks got the same treatment.

Each drop had been so close to painful that she had to stare carefully at her emotions to see that it hadn't quite gotten over that edge... and when, after many minutes of slow near-torture the first drop had fallen right beside her entirely untouched and aching clit, she had come so hard and suddenly that she peed hard and long into the big towel, soaking it thoroughly. THAT liquid hadn't dried instantly, and Mr. Bed seemed to be smirking slightly at her as she worked to clean things up.

Afterwards, she marveled at the forethought of the towel... SOMEONE really knew what was going on! It took her several minutes in the shower with her loofah to scrub the waxy dots off her skin, and even the next morning there were a couple on her bottom which she discovered only when she went to the bathroom and found her panties stuck solidly to her butt.

Another time, Laura stood beside the mattress, feet far apart, bent forward from the waist until one hand gripped the far edge of Mr. Bed, the other was trapped in his curls. Something (her own 'usual' Force, she thought) had delicately spanked her, covering her entire widespread bottom with thin red string of thong marks, each stroke landing in an unexpected new place, intensities varying widely, some really harsh and stinging, others gentle, almost featherlike.

Her free hand buried itself deeply in the covers as the strokes finally reached in between her legs, and were laid carefully, precisely, lovingly and (as always) just short of real pain ...across her clit and lips and over the tenderness of her anus they went, making her squirm urgently. Then, too, she had come multiple times: she loved what was being given to her, but that time she wasn't permitted to return any obvious pleasure to her Force, to whatever or whoever it was that was wielding that thong.

She felt guilty and sad about not reciprocating - she loved giving pleasure now - until she realized that just maybe the Force really did enjoy being on the other end of the process... that perhaps she was giving it satisfaction merely by accepting its ministrations to her bottom.

After those thoughts she felt much better. She hoped she was right about it, and eventually floated off to sleep as usual, her hands entwined in Mr. Bed, her body cradled as if back in the womb. And there were many, many more nights.

Chapter Seven: The Guest

Laura was happy to get home late one afternoon, expecting that after dinner and some TV and maybe scrabble with The Parentals, as she was now calling them, she would head off for one of her special nights on Mr. Bed.

To her consternation, she entered the house and was immediately introduced to a guest... a genuinely handsome full-bearded man named John. He was passing through, and stopped to visit with her parents: he was the son of a very long-time friend of theirs. They'd all known one another back before she was even born, when he was about her present age.

She was secretly pleased to have him there, except that her parents, dammit, had decided that he could use her bedroom! But Mom had at least taken her aside and warned her, and explained that he'd only be visiting for two or three days at most, and they really did want to make him as comfortable as possible.

Laura pouted, but finally agreed to stay in the guest room on the fold-a-bed.

They'd had a long post-dinner discussion in which she and John had eyed one another more and more strongly whenever her folks were looking elsewhere. She found herself really taken with his manner and his eyes and beard. And he seemed to reciprocate: she would often catch him looking at her with the oddest, intense gaze. Her insides churned each time she caught that gaze, and he seemed to understand what she was feeling. How nice it was, and how embarrassing, too.

As the evening progressed, she'd developed an incredible urge to take advantage of the fact that they would both be using the same bathroom, her bathroom, the one with a separate door each for her room and the guest room. She became sopping wet immediately as she thought of the possibility of doing a little late-night peeping. Maybe this wasn't going to be totally bad, after all!

Later, after all of his fascinating bathroom noises had ceased (what a long, heavy splashing he made as he peed!), she had listened for a long time. When all noises from HER room had ceased, she stood up and stepped into the dark bathroom. His door wasn't latched, just barely ajar. How nice of him, she thought.

Laura dropped her nightgown on the floor, then moved carefully and silently to the bathroom door opening onto John's (HER!) room, pushed it open a crack. There before her lay John on Mr. Bed. On HER own Mr. Bed, the nerve!

And he was completely naked! "Aha! There are rewards!" she thought to herself. A most delicious shiver ran through her. He was gorgeous! Muscular, beautiful, lying there in the moonlight so bright she could see colors on the walls, dappled all over with shadows from the trees and curtains. He lay on his back, legs spread wide, heels hooked over the edges of Mr. Bed's mattress.

His eyes were shut, and his arms were up above his head, wrists deep into Mr. Bed's curlicues! She stared, realizing that he, too, just as she, had discovered some of Mr. Bed's secrets. How could this stranger have figured out Mr. Bed so quickly? A flash of jealousy was quickly smothered by curiosity and fascination.

She watched intently. His breathing was fast and shallow. From where she stood she could see the tension in his legs and belly. And not just there... rising from his crotch, surging up magnificently free and on its own, stood his erect cock. She'd never seen a fuck-ready cock before, at least outside of an occasional picture shown her by her girlfriends, and she almost gasped out loud - it was not at all what she had expected: real life was, in fact, much better than mere photographs!

Her gaze cycled from his cock to his balls to his eyes and back again... she worried that he might notice her, but his eyes remained firmly shut. The hard, bouncing cock glistened in the moonlight: it looked almost wet! His hips were thrusting slowly up and down, the tip making long slow penetrations through the warm air. John was obviously enjoying himself thoroughly.

Laura gathered up her courage, feeling beckoned by Mr. Bed's slightly grinning footboard, and carefully, slowly opened the door, crept forward, silent footfall by silent footfall, until she stood beside Mr. Bed and John, watching him driving his hard cock into the overlying empty air, very metronome-like.

His cock WAS wet, she could see that now: she wondered from what? As she watched, Laura noticed on his cock a little indentation circling it, as if an invisible ring were gripping the shaft. Shades of her own anus being held open by some invisible pleasurer! His slow thrustings moved the indentation up and down the length of his cock... his foreskin moved sensuously and wetly back and forth, covering and uncovering the beautiful, helmet-shaped end with its single-eye slit.

A very familiar odor drifted gently through her consciousness... she couldn't quite place it, but she knew she'd encountered it before... somewhere. Somehow she knew it would be okay for her to touch, and she reached out a hand towards the cock, all the time watching his eyes.

They remained closed, even as her fingertips touched that beautiful rod. How interesting it felt... how peculiar the textures within it! Slowly and carefully, she wrapped her hand around it: it was DRIPPING wet!, and now so was her hand. The instrument was so beautifully, unexpectedly hard-soft! Her fingers wrapped firmly around it and her crotch went totally mushy... she sagged forward against the mattress, knees weak, and held her hand still as John's shaft slipped steadily up and down through her fingers and palm.

She felt and loved the incredible tension in his body, and the wonderful touch of his cockskin sliding over the long, blood-filled structures beneath it.

Her fingertips caught the foreskin with every thrust, tugging it firmly and snugly up over his helmet, then back down to expose the helmet's glistening rim. John began to stroke himself faster and faster through her hand now, his excitement obviously rising rapidly. She held him firmly, glancing almost fearfully back and forth between his still-closed eyes and that strutting, pounding rod... and suddenly she identified the odor. It was coming from the juices wetting his cock, and it was HER OWN private odor... exactly what she smelled like, when she was wettest and just before she came... it was delicate, sweet, musky, heavenly!

Her wonderment was cut short as John arched up off the bed and his cock pulsed hard in her hand... it felt very much like the live fish she'd held, once, returning it to the water after catching it. His breathing stopped entirely... and before she could worry about that, his balls and belly and thighs all tightened amazingly, as up through the big vein on the underside of his cock, up along her covering palm, came a roaring surge of pearly liquid: Freed, it arched high into the air before her startled eyes, a string of opalescence, liquid moonlight perhaps, shimmering in its slow-motion rise and fall through the night air, splattering an array of sparkling droplets across his chest and belly.

A second spurt, another, a pause, and a final dribbling as he relaxed slowly back onto the mattress and his breathing resumed, deep and ragged.

Laura stood there, holding his still-rigid cock in her hand, looking. He wasn't moving, but his cock was twitching. With a free finger she gently scooped up some of his offering and brought it up to look at it closely, then inhaled its musty aroma. It made her nose crinkle and tingle. Ever so carefully, she brought her wetted finger to her lips and touched it to her tongue. Salt. Plus other things, some of them identifiable... earth, dampness, laundry. She liked it, and was surprised at herself. Her crotch and insides seemed to curl at the scent.

Forward she leaned... there was the source before her, in her hand, one final mislaid drop still hanging from the exit slit, the cock's single eye. The drop had a tiny moon reflection in it. Moon juice. She glanced at John one more time: his eyes were still closed, hands firmly in the curls.

Her head dipped and her tongue extended, removing the droplet, savoring it, feeling its warmth and musk spread over tongue and palate to fill her taste buds and the back of her nose.

Her palate itched, and without even thinking about it, Laura opened her mouth wide and slid the helmet deep inside, washing over it with her tongue, feeling it caress and fill her entire mouth. Trapped warmly between tongue and palate, the head twitched steadily as she sucked gently, her eyes riveted on John's face.

He sighed and thrust gently against her tongue... and out onto her palate squeezed one more final dram of his personal essence. John Juice, it was, not Moon Juice! Slowly she raised her head off his cock, leaving a brief spiderweb of saliva and come connecting her lips and the tip. She watched as it slowly stretched, gave in to gravity and sagged, thinned, and broke.

Laura was aching down between her legs: all she really wanted to do was to rub herself to a climax NOW, urgently, with her hands, the mattress, a pillow, anything whatever. And as she thought about her own needs, she felt a pressure from behind her, a gentle pressure urging her forward, almost helping lift her leg up onto the bed, her knee beside John's hip. Not sure whether she was moving of her own volition or not, she yielded to the push. It had to be her Force, and she had always done as the Force suggested.

The mattress welcomed her knee and shin and foot, and her other leg left the floor, swung over John to rest against his other hip, until she was fully aboard Mr. Bed and astraddle his crotch, her wet and throbbing pussy poised delicately above his erection. The mattress seemed to shift and flow slightly, accommodating her weight perfectly, lovingly. Not merely nice, but EXQUISITE!

Breathlessly she looked about her, at the walls and patterns of light flickering across her and John's bodies. Something important was happening here, she knew that. She was frightened, a little, and very, very horny. A perfect combination, really!

In the moonlight, Mr. Bed's curls seemed to move and shift, almost giving instructions, perhaps even they were orders. Her uncertainty vanished abruptly: she knew what to do. How nice! She reached back and raised John's hard cock up, up, against its tendency to drop onto his belly. It was so solid that she found it difficult to keep it from escaping her grasp and springing back. Nonetheless, she managed to control it, placed the head gently against exactly the right spot there -oh YES!!- between her legs, and pushed herself slowly backwards and down.

The perfectly marvelous bit of male anatomy slid deep into her ready and receptive body, effortlessly spreading her innermost parts wide and stirring her belly and brain into a roaring fire with that very first thrust, ending with her clit pressed firmly against his pubes, making lightening again.

THIS was what she wanted and needed! "GOD how good it feels!" Laura thought to herself as she drove him as deep as possible, her crotch so incredibly and wonderfully spitted on his beautiful protuberance. She gasped, and stretched herself out against him, chest to chest, seeking the absolute maximum of skin contact in addition to the penetration, as if she were trying to blend completely with him into a single entity. He was so much bigger than she - her attempt to cover him up necessarily failed, but deliciously. Her fingertips clawed gently, instinctively, up along his sides and through the curly hairs of his armpits... he arched hard upwards, but his eyes remained shut... she sent her fingertips along his upstretched arms, to join with his hands amongst Mr. Bed's curlicues. The brass was warm and welcoming indeed, and seemed to twine tightly around her and John together, guiding their hands until their fingers intertwined and gripped powerfully.

Laura looked at John's face: their lips were so close that she had to pull back to focus. His eyes were still closed. She closed her own. Still trapped in Mr. Bed's curls, John's hands opened, and her fingertips traced their way across his palms as she gently dropped her head until their mouths finally touched.

Now their breaths mingled, and tongues began a delicate exploration of one another's mouths. Her heart was thundering, trying to get free of her ribs, as she felt the renewal of John's preliminary gentle, firm, quietly powerful thrustings. She studied his rhythm, joined in, and in moments they were sliding him fully in, then almost but not completely out, all nerves quivering with every spreading and delicious thrust, tension rising rapidly in them both. The sense of simultaneous freedom and being totally controlled and also entirely out of control was extraordinary.

As Laura began her final drive for climax, she felt something stirring behind her, something spreading her buttocks wide apart, wider even than her squatting had caused, wider than John's cock was stretching her. But her and John's hands were intertwined with one another as well as tangled in the headboard's curls, so HOW?

Actually, she realized, what was happening wasn't very mysterious, not much of a mystery. It was her Force, of course: she was certain that she actually recognized the Presence's signature touches on her body. Interesting, she thought, that the one, single Force seemed fully capable of handling either male or female, or both simultaneously ... a major puzzlement for later examination and thought.

Meanwhile, she lost herself totally in the sensations as something pressed against her anus, something wonderfully hard-soft, something familiar, sensuous, commanding, demanding, loving, was pulsing gently against her in perfect synchrony with her and John's movements, a minute increase in pressure with each pulsation urged her body to relax, accept.

Something else tickled her sides, too, scratching and slipping through the wetness of her armpits to pinch hard on her nipples. Suspicions confirmed - her and John's hands were utterly and fully intertwined - completely immobilized by the curls, the perfectly delicious pinching couldn't come from either of themselves, hence clearly came from the Force. The touches generated lightning bolts, then moved back along her sides to cup her buttocks, spreading them oh so wonderfully wide for the pulsating intruder. She yearned to look, to see if this was really the dream it probably was, that it had to be, but she knew the game now, and she kept her eyes firmly closed... she would do nothing that might jeopardize this connection!

John was deep inside her mouth and deep inside her cunt, sweat mingling between their chests, and the unseen mystery behind her, great and warm and superbly RIGHT in everything it did, was stretching her rear opening so very, very nicely. Wider, more pressure, wider still, added pressure, a profound sense that this Force could actually FEEL what SHE was feeling and respond to it perfectly.