Evening Social Drinks Then Frenzy

Those that laugh eventually will cry for one precedes the other as sure as autumn heralds winter and daylight foretells night. I see the tears in eyes that twinkle like diamonds, recognize sadness in faces brimmed with joy, I am the canker slowly creeping, for even as I gift happiness the seeds of misery are germinating beneath fragile skin.

The bar was well lit, clean, full enough to be welcoming yet empty enough to whisper without being overheard. I had passed the establishment several times and wondered, considered making a stop for food, or drink, or work. Tonight perhaps all three would be successfully combined. I sat upon a stool and perused the menu, watched with peripheral vision as a glass of iced water appeared at my place, with cutlery carefully rolled in a beige printed cotton serviette.

I delight in aiding innocents transpose to wanton harlots, forever doomed to feed their whetted appetite for worldly pleasure yet never fill the cavernous gulf of their need. It is no cruelty to cage the songbird when she is young, for never knowing freedom and having all her meager needs fulfilled she is happy to sing and thrive within the confines of the tiny universe inhabited. Evil comes from he who frees that seeming content creature, illustrates that all she ever saw or tasted was but the tiniest glimpse within the endless azure of unmeasurable sky. Watch her soar as if to touch the sun, flying free and unfettered as meant to be then smiling, always smiling, lure her back with soft coos and precious tasty treats, emboldening promises of ever expanding vistas till she is entrapped anew, never more allowed release from confining bars. So the devil, the antichrist, the prophet, the visionary snares the unwary but ever willing in his web of golden strangulating strands. So I, the most unfortunate and unworthy of adventurers, through the subtleties of will and selfishness alone, mold beauty into a form that only true practitioners can recognize and enjoy.

I lifted my chin and gazed into her eyes, drank their wine of loneliness and need and with a gentle knowing smile and slight inclination of my head cast my lure embellished line across the narrow space between us certain in the knowledge that momentarily she would nibble, bite then swallow hard and inescapably.

Golden hair loosely tied in French plaits. Golden hair, sweet smelling and glistening in the artificial light, needing to be touched, pulled, held tight and controlling in my fists. Golden hair framing pale skin, wide open eyes, piercing blue, begging me to dive to taste their depth and have them melt into pools of moist desire. Golden hair, pulled back just enough to show an ear, a ring, no two rings, gold and small, just enough for teeth to grip and tease with gentle nips before biting hard and feeling sanguine joy. Golden hair, swept back from cheekbones high and proud, framing a full lipped mouth that smiled innocently enough but teased with subtle abandon, begging to be taken, filled deep and hard. Golden hair, promising the equally soft touch of a perfumed downy caress from wanton labia, waiting swollen and parted.

She was no ballerina. Her hips were wide enough to have passed a child or two, breasts rounded as only milk will make them and moved with a catlike naturalness that suggested athleticism in carnal exercise. So easy to imagine her bent over the bar she manned so happily, thighs spread and ass thrust out to be rutted as she moaned gutturally. A virgin drink ready to be sullied with a touch of olive juice around her not previously taken sphincter to make the plundering easier, or at least more probable without splitting her asunder.

Conversation is easy with barmaids, they ooze joviality whilst their eyes absorb the essence of those who give them more than cursory attention. Like waitresses they oft are made invisible by their patrons, just beasts of burden dutifully fielding and delivering casually thrown orders and almost always unacknowledged except for the accepted annoyance of some pittance in false gratitude. I have always been a sponge for good service, the little things that others might expect as normalcy from those they perceive as in some way lower on the pecking order, endlessly smiling, thanking, praising if only for the delight of exposing their molten core to my gaze.

The fast clearance of a used plate, the attention to my desire for clean cutlery, even that little extra sparkle a clean cloth gives a glass before pouring all make me inwardly feel special and treasured and equally make me want to reciprocate in any and every way I can. If indeed this small interaction might lead to something of larger consequence I will double down to bring the participant to unforgettable completion. True this is to a degree unfair, to open a person to the possibilities of extraordinary pleasure is a journey to a realm they will probably never visit again but who am I to deny them one ascension to the magical summit of physical bliss. Does such honesty sound boastful? Is it too direct to say that most woman have never truly been loved? Does it tear at the psyche of average male participants in the games of Eros to find them guilty of being seekers of only marginal and normal relief as opposed to the comets tail of sublime copulation?

Golden hair was enamored. She began to move with that particular motion that shows her body was totally aware of my eyes as they feasted on her every breathe. Her scent took on that particular essence that no perfume can cover, the tell-tale involuntary release of estrogen that quickens heartbeat and hardens pricks. Her hand touched my shoulder as she passed behind me, a momentary contact but enough, sufficient time for untold sparks of lust to jump from one to another and seal the inevitable consummation that fate obliged to follow.

The soup was good, the bread fresh baked even better. The slight salt taste of butter on my tongue bought saliva flooding and the pureed asparagus puckered the inside of my cheek. My mouth was watering for cunt, I knew it, she knew it, the time was upon us and nodding tellingly I made for the restrooms. She entered but a step behind me, hands outstretched as if to fend off the inevitable event but with a glazed expression that told she was already wet and wanting penetration. Her shift dress, worn more to imitate a blouse than anything was short enough that my hand found her pelvic bone with no hindrance, the thick grey cotton tights she wore giving evidence to her heat and without a thought began to grind her vulva against my open palm. The yoke of her dress covered too much shoulder for my liking and pushing the wide strap to one side I sunk my teeth into her flesh. She whimpered momentarily then leaning back against the enclosed sink began to shudder and ripple like a fragile flower stem in a spring downpour.

Romance is not a bathroom phenomenon. Lust exists there, depravity almost certainly, decadent carnality always but love has little or no place to foster or grow. The purpose of our congress was simple, to join two bodies in frenzied physicality till exchanges of bodily fluids had both pleasured and expunged the raging storm that was upon us. She turned to face the mirror and gripped the utilitarian faucets tightly in sweating palms. I pealed down the tights, akin to flaying living flesh to expose both bare legs to the knee and the rather slutty leopard print briefs she was wearing. I caught a momentarily almost apologetic expression reflected in the mirror and indicating as best I could from over her shoulder that the underwear was not totally inappropriate peeled them down as well. Her ass was well shaped, gladly the mounds held their form nicely without support and quivered slightly as she breathed. I slapped her right ass cheek hard, the sharp contact echoing around the small room. Just one was sufficiently stimulating for me to smell the immediate release of a rush of juices that would lubricate her openings satisfactorily.

The moment arrived. She was braced, open, her ass cheeks splayed, eyes tight shut in readiness for penetration and I was suddenly filled with the overwhelming weight of boredom. Fucking itself is mere physical exercise, the result of a far more meaningful psychological interplay than sweat or ejaculation can express. Countless times I had seduced, convinced, manipulated to this point of taking and long realized it was the journey, the process that excited me not the act. Beasts rut from pure animal need, to procreate, to obtain power through physical domination, I was perhaps more subtle, less easily satisfied by such basic sublimation. The meal was too easy, too laid open and agreeably accepting of my appetites. I needed something more.

I pressed the head of my engorged cock against her ass and wonderfully her eyes lost their dreaminess and opened wide in shock. Pressure against her sphincter brought a guttural moan, rising from the depths of her soul to coat the mirrors surface in condensation. The mushroom broke her asses as yet virginal hymen and she shuddered, arching her back like some prostrate mare pissing for the stallion licking her hindquarters. I was alive, engorged as only true depravity can cause and thrusting deeper till she was forced to stand on tiptoe to accommodate the length and was skewered fully.

I waited, the head of my cock throbbing against her slick walls as her abdomen starting to tighten and ripple as only precedes the magic of female orgasm. The heat around my member was intense and her muscles gripped me perfectly seeming to begin an autonomous milking motion. Her body began to shiver, head lolled back, mouth open and the reflection of her breasts in the mirror showed nipples hard and elongated begging to be twisted or suckled.

Waiting to stroke that magnificent tunnel was excruciatingly difficult enough but when she started slowly to grind her ass in tight circles clasping my shaft tightly I was lost. Her eyes were shut tight again and a parted lipped half smile gave her the expression of a temptress siren calling any nearby mariner to destruction. My first stroke was long and slow, easing almost entirely from her before pistoning back till my abdomen slapped her buttocks hard enough to make her feet momentarily leave the floor.

Like a bolero our rhythm started slow, almost sedate, steady, bodies colliding in an anarchical motion yet fixed forever around a single rigid pole. Deeper was impossible from the first thrust but harder and faster were easily accomplished. My pelvis pounding on her ass-cheeks like some demented drummer following an ever spiraling satanic beat, her gift the willing sublimation of her flesh as a sacrificial alter to the raging force of my pillage.

She orgasm-ed heavily and often, literally soaking me with her fluid as if spurted hard from her cunt. There seemed no emptying this well of human discharge that fed the rippling abdomen, ran through tube and passage, breached ring and muscle, till sprayed hot and rancid like some feral cats marking as she howls at the moon in lustful salutation.

She began to hiss and spit in a caricature of her real nature, lips pulled back from her teeth and eyes wild and frenzied searching for a final crippling exultation. Her anus gaped from constant arching and pushing, a fiery red open target for my escalating missile strikes. It was easy now to withdraw completely and thrust again and again deep into her core without the least physical constraint. Her ring was flared to my ministrations and if my cock head could have reached her stomach she would still have still begged for more.

My ball sack tightened and I knew soon I would seal her fate. No longer a simple little cunt fuck would stir her blood, no sensual kiss and manual stimulation of her vulva would make the blood pound in her temples. Her cocoon was laid open to show beneath the sugar coat of female normalcy a risen slut, the newborn anal whore totally exposed and glorious. This was my joy, my caviar, my raison d'etre, the priceless vintage champagne spewing inebriating bubbles to my every cell and flooding carnal lust till no possible expedient exists but explosive expulsion, ejaculation and impregnation, infusing her being with my fiery seed.

She shuddered, pushed back hard to place my throbbing tip even deeper in her turgid canal. I could feel her sphincter gape, begin to slowly turn itself inside like a mouth wanting to be stretched till its naturally hidden cheek flesh tumbles out in a depraved prolapse of normal anatomy. My balls pumped, shooting individual sperm in a stream of viscous fluid that filled her darkest cavern with living germs of iniquity. Her climaxes had merged into one continuous stream of wrenching agony, her face contorted to a witch's mask of orgiastic delight. Skewered, almost butchered, her breathe stolen from her lungs, her blood pumped to swell any and every erogenous extremity.

My stomach ceased its writhing, my testicles loosened slightly from their rigidity, my cock ceased its constant pump into her cave of desolation. Her head dropped, muscles only recently so taught relaxing into puppet like inanimate form, creating a spent force supported only by the phallus of still swollen meat drilling her completely.

Withdrawing that last vestige of support I let her slip semi-conscious to the floor to half sit half squat in a pool of her own discharge and the rapidly growing stream of my wad that oozed from her still stretched and pulsing asshole. A kiss would have been appropriate, but I was never been a great admirer of simple petting, that endless lingual fencing merely a hors d'oeuvres heightening appetites better served by other actions. Rather I swayed forward just enough to allow my still semi erect cock to graze her lips and even in her sated state she reacted with eagerness licking and sucking the soiled member clean, smacking her lips like some delighted epicurean at a feast.

I left her reclining, wishing not to burden her with sad goodbyes or false thanks. We had served each others purposes, coupled lustily and with a passion warranting memories future delectation rather than present unnecessary words. My steps to the outside air were light and luxuriant, still floating on the cloud of delight she had imbued, the fragrant orchard welcoming me as seducer and conqueror. Tomorrow I will return I promised to the Orcas pear trees flowering there, call again and see her glow in all her new-found whorishness, but of course I lied.

Ten years have passed and standing at the entrance I think back and wonder how the intermittent time has treated her. I recognized the voice that took my reservation for dinner, perhaps noticed a sudden change in hers as my accent filtered down the line. Strange how fate had bought me back, no plan, not even a thought until the road presented me atop a hill overlooking the crescent shaped bay. The decade seemed like a moment to me, life, death, fortune, fame and infamy, all had touched my hair until its once fair locks were gray and thinning. The face reflected every morning was no longer mine but magically transmuted to my father's staring out with saddened eyes.

The entrance was the same, opening into a reception area just large enough for one desk and chair. Glancing to the right I saw the door I sought most eagerly, the restroom.