I Wish

"I wish that I'd gone riding this morning. I really miss trotting out with Pieter."

"Ah! The famous well-endowed groom."

"The very same. You sound almost jealous, Andrew."

"I know."

"We are great friends. Nothing more: no matter how splendid his endowments. Anyway," Clare shrugged. "Never mind."

"I like it when you share intimacies with me."

"Maybe that isn't a good idea," Clare smiled. "It might put you in danger of being loved by me."

Andrew stared at her, wondering what to say and then leant forward to kiss her. She responded and held him there her hands resting on his forearm as their lips melded together. The kiss lasted a good while, until with a little sigh she broke away and shuffled across into the corner, putting a little distance between them.

"That was a joke by the way."

"I love the way you tell those jokes," he grinned.

"I've never kissed anyone in a taxi before," she smiled back at him, his amusement contagious as ever. "I would have imagined it would be surreal."

"You look very attractive sitting in here with me. I could imagine you naked, Clare. There would be leatherette imprints on your flesh: on your bare tummy as you lay belly down and your upper thighs as they are splayed widely."

"Ah! No, it is your imagination that is stretched and displayed, Andrew," she giggled.

"If you like."

"I do like to giggle, unless of course, you don't like: in which case I will cease and desist immediately."

"You are very flexible."

"Do you mean double jointed, Andrew, or just sexually dextrous?"

"Actually I would hope the first a little bit, and expect the second most definitely."

"Super-heroine Miss Clare Dextrous to the rescue," she grinned. "She reaches the parts that other girls can't reach!"

"Her tongue as agile as a lizards. Her need to be beaten with left over celery sticks."

"If you please, sir," Clare cackled gleefully.

"And how long have you had these symptoms, Clare?"

"Ooh! Doctors and nurses is it now, Dr Andrew?"

"I think the taxi driver would object to being turned into an ambulance."

"Does that matter?"

"That depends on what sort of a mood he is in and whether he is prepared to sacrifice his vanity to you in your glamorous nurse's uniform."

"Even taxi drivers need to be loved, Andrew."

"You are such a generous girl, Clare."

"Well, to be excruciatingly honest, I am not in a playful mood, at least as far as taxi drivers of the world are concerned."

"I can stop pouting already then."

"Aw! Were you feeling unloved, Andrew?"

"I'm feeling tired and listless. I spent too much time out walking in the country over the weekend. The moors are so nice."

"Actually, Andrew, I once had a Moorish lover," Clare giggled infectiously. "Sometimes he was nice — so I know."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, of course. He kept wanting more."

Andrew shook his head.

"It was the way he yelled Allah Akbah when he came that finally led me to leave him."

"Now your teasing is becoming absurd."

"Yes, but you still love it, Andrew." "Yes, I do."

"Seriously. I did have a brief liaison with an Arab boy. He was a refugee from Algeria during the troubles there."

"You are so cosmopolitan, Clare. All my relationships have been with English people. I don't even have an Irish or Scottish scalp to my name."

"You poor insular man."

"Was your Arab boy really nice?"

"Yes, he was, but he was very chauvinist..." Clare paused.

"I don't think they see it as chauvinism..."

"And," Clare interrupted and added in a delicious lie:" overly fond of sherbet dip after anal sex."

"Are you trying to leave me speechless?"

"I will leave you liquorice to eat to stop your complaining," she grinned and then looked at him seriously once again. "Tell me. Andrew..."

"Yes?"

"I may be too rich a mix for you. Perhaps you should water me down?"

"I hardly need to spice you up."

"I have to admit to being a practical 'AV' though."

"What is an AV?"

"An anal virgin," Clare shrugged. "I have often wanted to. I was going to buy one of those strings of beads, but I was too shy to order them. When I come I often feel like it would heighten the experience to have something, um, 'there'."

"You have to be careful and gentle."

"Yes, that's what I've read. I don't like hurt there, which is maybe why I've not tried it. My who'd have thought that this taxi would turn into a sex therapy clinic?"

"A girlfriend told me that my kiss on the bud was nice," Andrew replied reflectively, leaning forward to close the glass panel between them and the driver, "as is the arrow point of a tongue and the soft stroke of a finger."

"Kisses anywhere round there are nice specially after a really hard "sherbet dip," she laughed.

"Or a really hard spanking, you naughty girl."

"I think the pressing of a thumb would be preferable to the calloused palm of your hand."

"I'd like to do either to you, Clare."

"I know, Andrew but while you were away and after Pieter left, I still had my hairbrush."

You be careful with the hairbrush handle."

"I will. I you don't want to look like a total fuck bunny."

"Or a stuck bunny."

"Maybe you do," she giggled perversely. "You know, when I get home, I'm going to look in the cupboard for my fancy dress Easter bunny ears."

"Hey, I've just realised. We wrote a poem."

"We did?"

"Yes, I'll have to remember to write it down when we get to your apartment. Listen:

A kiss on the bud is nice And the arrow point of a tongue And the soft stroke of a finger And the soft stroke of a finger

"And the moan of the fuck bunny?"

"No, you silly Bimbette! And the pressing of a thumb."

"Andrew, you are making me moist again," she laughed. "I do so love it when you tell me off."

"Is that so misguided of me?"

"Less misguided that the shaped carrots and aubergines I've used," Clare blushed.

"Is that what you call 'vegging' in?"

Clare giggled again, but said nothing, looking down at the floor of the Taxi as it drew to a halt.

"Softer than a hairbrush I should think," Andrew mused. "You get out. I'll pay"

"Thank you Andrew," she smiled, reaching for the door handle and pausing to gaze down at her fine manicured fingers. "And no nasty, sharp finger nails either."

"A blessing I suppose though that may depends on how boiled the vegetable is?" He grinned over his shoulder as he handed over £15.

"Noooooo! Raw and fresh and yielding of course; smooth and slick and sweating cool carrot or aubergine juice ... peeled naturally, Andrew."

"And lightly shrouded in the darkness of your oblivion?"

"Along those lines, yes."

"A profoundly empty solitude where you won't sit down for weeks?"

"Um...that's what I might be afraid of."

"Actually, Clare..."

"Yes?"

"You'd look very strange with florets of broccoli sticking out there."

Her mobile phone rang and she fumbled in her handbag for it, talking away to him as she hunted: "Two former boyfriends wanted to do it to me there and a girlfriend, but I wouldn't let any on them...not with broccoli I hasten to add."

"Don't spoil my deliberate misunderstandings with your haste," he pouted and reached over to pull the mobile from her coat pocket and place it in her hand. "Are you saving yourself for the wombat you truly love?"

"Nope! I'm just saving my arse! Hey look at this text message. It's Pieter - he wants to know if I'm home alone."

"Tell him it's just you and your seven bore shot gun tonight."

"Shan't."

"Clare."

"Yes?"

"Turn it off and look at me."

"Okay."

"I could lay with you in a field and count cloud shapes forever."

"Andrew! That is so romantic," she melted and reached over to kiss him again.

"Be careful. You might make me want to lick your body until you scream loud enough to frighten all the ducks."

"With the arrow of your tongue?" She giggled, pushing the key into the familiar white door and pressing the heavy wood open.

"Yes," he said, patting her bum. "I will pull up your blouse and help you to wriggle out of your jeans and kiss you on the crotch of your panties and on the hollow of your belly and hover over you barely touching you."

"Shhh! The neighbours."

"It's okay. I'll leave your panties on. Decorum, decorum, decorum."

They slid into the apartment together, his hands pulling her blouse from her jeans, touching the warm flesh; her hands reaching up to scuffle his hair. Andrew stood still and slid his hands down to her flanks, looking at her admiringly.

Clare reached up to kiss his throat as he unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off her shoulder blades, pausing to kiss each one. He felt the swell of her breast gliding against his shirt and wanted to press her down onto the sofa bed to roll her over onto her tummy to massage her slowly.

He was impatient now. He pulled the blouse up and unclipped her brassiere, pushing his hands in place to cup the soft, welcoming breasts, while he breathed in the perfume of her recently washed hair. She lay back and enjoyed the press of the cheap fabric of the cushions and the musty smell of the place — unused for longer than the last time she felt that clasp loosen and give or her breasts cupped from behind, the nipples tender between splayed fingers.

Andrew reached down to her lower back and planted kisses one after another until she was trembling and wriggling her bottom eagerly — wanting the touch. Clare's hands brushed the fabric and then touched his hands as she responded with a low, soft moan, arching her back up, impatient and needy, desiring and so far unrequited.

She lifted her bottom up, parting her thighs slightly as Andrew slid lower to kiss the tops of her thighs. His hands stole round to unbutton her jeans and pull them down over the backs of her hips and then all the way down to the soles of her feet in one smooth unwrapping gesture. Clare felt the whisper of his hair at her feet: dark sleek hair that tickled her ankles, her calves as his fingers crept up to her intimate parts.

Andrew pushed her legs apart and sat on the bed cross legged behind her, watching her breathing in and out, pressing her face into the pillow. He observed her until he decided that she was ready to have her thighs parted and the gusset of her panties pulled to one side, so that the 'arrow of his tongue' might slip where none have been allowed to slip before.

Clare raised her arms, palms flat on the bed, moulding herself into the mattress, pressing down and then lifting alternately. She felt the arousal in her nipples, her face suffused with the a red blush, warmed by the sensation of rubbing...

"Do it Andrew," she moaned softly, then more insistently: "pull them aside."

He pressed his face into the soft crease of her lovely bottom, sensing how she was ready- moist...wet even. As she felt the elastic tugged aside, she sensed the air on her wetness and her thighs splayed all the more widely. Andrew began to lick and tease and caress until Clare was sopping with moisture and unable to resist reaching down to touch herself through the material.

Andrew watched as she reached under both of them, raising her tummy up off the bed as her fingers slipped onto her fabric covered clit. Meanwhile, he pressed his hands down on her buttocks and placed his fingers in the elastic to draw them down slowly over her cheeks. He smiled as they sat empty at the top of your thighs. And Clare could feel every sensation — the descending thin fabric, pressing at her swollen need.

Lifting her thighs again and pressing her face into the darkness of the pillow, she sensed his quick, wicked tongue gliding and probing. Andrew promised himself that he would kiss every centimetre of the pale flesh until he could not resist the impulse to press his mouth and nose into the pliant crease. He let his lips play on her manipulating fingers, as she toyed with herself enraptured.

"And the arrow of the tongue finds the tightness of the bud," he murmured.

"Shhhh! Just do it!"

Clare felt so exposed, imagining being him, looking down on that dark puckered, untouched place. As she did so, unconsciously her fingers began to move faster in the top of her thick dark bush.

"Oh my!"

"What is it, Andrew?"

"There is a taste of carrot and coriander lingering in the locus."

"Hush."

He chuckled and bent down to his task, watching once more as she rotated her hips in tune to the oscillations of his tongue, trying to lose the image of absurdly overpriced Covent Garden soup and enjoying the sight of her sex lifting to allow her whole hand to press and cup — her palm sliding and rubbing over the slit. Her pushed his palms down, watching the imprint on her wide, open bottom. Then he let his left hand drift down to allow two fingers reach down to join hers, pushing in to the sucking slit to add to her excitement.

"Yes, yes," Clare moaned softly into the warm pillow, her breath making little beads of moisture on the fabric as she panted and squirmed under him.

"Understanding without effort," he recited quietly, "the language of moist existence."

Her panties were stretched almost to breaking as she spread her thighs wider still. The way she was slightly raised up on her knees, allowed him to see the full swell of her mound and her open lips. Her fingers brushed his, as she masturbated herself faster, panting harder now...

She wanted his tongue to lick the surplus juices from her inner thigh. She wanted him to deposit a little load of saliva and secretion around the pertness of her behind in a perverse benediction of her flesh. He would make her nether parts atone for her pleasure, letting the punishment fit the crime in the sweetest of fashions.

Clare was undulating by then, thrusting up and down on her own hand, making little moans and gasps of pleasure as each spasm moves from her tight tummy down to the V of her pussy. She could feel the roll of your saliva on her sensitive hot place...

"Yes Andrew ... mmmmm...fuck me," she whispered as he rolled under her, pulling her up and over him so that she straddled him, her hands reaching down to unbutton and unzip. The loose boxers were scarcely an obstacle, the smile on his face concealed from the world as she leant over him and pushed back, forcing his lips up against her furry cunt.

A warmth of sensation enveloped him- the warmth of the world between her thighs, as she reciprocated reaching down to touch him with one hand, a prickling sensation adding to the heat and musk between her legs.

Clare's mouth opened to take him in as he began to lick and tease and pull her hips apart, his head rest on the back of her calves as her limbs crossed under the back of his neck, pulling his head up, so that he could reach up and slide his fingers from the wetness of her sex to the tightness of her crease.

"Clare?"

"Mm?" Looking back at him over her shoulder crouched as she was, with his erection in her hand.

"Do you have any handy discarded vegetables of the genus carrot?"

"No, but I have got a nice, fat cock in my hands."

"I couldn't help but notice."

"Me too."

"Surprising that."

"Hardly."

"Andrew?"

"Mm?"

"Fuck me."

He pretended to look dubiously at the imaginary vegetable clenched in his fist.

"Andrew," she laughed. "I need to come here."

"What, now?"

"Please, Mr Andrew, sir, I want to be a very naughty girl."

"You are very much so, young lady," he grinned and reached up to slap her posterior. "Playing with the invisible vegetable rack without permission."

"Fuck me, Andrew. Please," she begged, leaning down to kiss the head of his cock.

"And what should I fuck my sweet little darling Clare with?" He taunted, reaching up each side of her hips, his hands playing over her bare cheeks, slapping and pinching lightly and then pulling her down to his face to bite her lightly

"Your cock, Andrew; your tongue; the vegetable; anything."

"Oooooooh! Desperation. Goodie!"

So saying he pulled her wet, hot, musky cunt hard down onto his mouth forcefully, as if wanting to consecrate her cunt on the pyre of her burning desires.

"Mmmmmm, Andrew. I really do need to come now," she blushed

"You need my tongue in your cute little arsehole pressing into the dry and unexplored interior?"

"Do it! Yes," she moaned as she began to masturbate his fine upstanding prick with one hand reaching down to caress her so wet cunt with the other.

"A hunter lost in the tight little cavern, seeking a way into the maze of your desires."

"Enough with the poetry already!" She squealed, rubbing cunt and cock faster. "Just fuck my arse, Andrew."

"Fuck (lick) your nice round (lick) buggerable bottom, Clare?"

"Torturer."

"The tight little enclave that you save just for me?"

"Yes, Mr Andrew, sir...you can have it...tight and hot."

"Kneel on the floor, girl."

"Yes, sir."

She slid off him and crawled down onto the carpet as he raised himself up on one elbow, watching her catlike movements.

"Bend down and play with your puffy cunt lips."

"Yes, Andrew."

"Arse up, girl."

"Yes, sir."

"Nice."

He watched her hands hover around the velvety slit, fingers reaching up to expose the musky darkness to him. He saw her start as her index finger made contact with the crinkly folds of her vagina, exposing the secrets of her sex. Then he pulled himself onto the edge of the bed and pushed up to crouch behind her, listening to her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Oh god!" she murmured as she felt the stab of his hardness into her untried behind.

"Nice and tight," he muttered happily as he pushed in more firmly, impaling her on his saliva covered cock, listening out for the light gasping as he winged his way into her fundament, ramming her hot little hole, filling her entire universe. He looked down to see her knickers perched precariously around your ankles — all dignity gone in her search for a little death on the shores of eternity.

And as he fucked her, she could only pant harder and think to herself how she was so very near to the oblivion she sought. She tried to keep as still as she could to amplify their respective pleasure by the tense connection between them.

"Clare?"

"Mm so near, Andrew. So very near."

"Come for me, Clare. Come you lovely slut. Let me hear the burning sob of your desire."

He pushed into her as deep as he could and then withdrew, just leaving his cock-head nesting in her tightness. And then repeated the gesture, creating excruciating feelings in the woman.

"Oh fuck I am going to, Andrew. I want to be your ass slut...cunt slut...your wanton hot girl."

He reached round to her tits and cupped her, squeezing and feeling her big heart pounding, stretching her anus on his embedded prick, his gestures smooth and forceful like his words, now he was fully in control.

"Come, girl. Come Clare. Scream my name as you give yourself away."

"Andrew - do me — do my arse...do my hot slutty cunt now! I'm going to...

"You know where you belong, Clare, You sultry little cuntlet."

He pressed into her, slapping her buttocks as he sodomised her, murmuring meaningless endearments, as she yammered her excitement in front of him. Perspiration beaded both their faces as she squeezed him and came.

"Ohhh myy goddddd! Andrew, Andrew, Andrew"

"You poor...you innocent... you little...bum fucked...child," he smiled, pausing to press home after each word, watching her get her breath back and then, suddenly realising from the blind stare she gave him over her shoulder that she was not finished.

She needed more brutal thrusting into her arse to make her complete her quest and he was going to give it to her, again and again and again, until she could never, ever hope to regain her sense of equilibrium. "I will have to spank you very hard indeed you realise, naughty girl," he intoned, trying not to chuckle at her helpless surrender, knowing that his words and his embedded prick would bring her over the edge, "on your freshly fucked posterior..."