A Tell-Tale Coc

A little silly, a little creepy...you'll recognize this from Edgar Allan Poe's "A Tell-Tale Heart" Just a hotter version in honor of Halloween and gothic artists.

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True! Tense, very, very deliciously tense I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? Yes, the heat burning inside my skin gives me unending energy and unbearable sensitivity. Yet the autumn chill seeping into the house cools my skin and no longer able to bear the sensation of fabric against my skin, I have removed all my clothes.

And rising to direct my path, the cock, free of restraint. The pulse of the cock echoes inside my head, marking the passage of time, measuring my endurance.

It is impossible to say how the desire first started, but once the spark warmed my body, I was always hard. Just a taste I thought and thought, just a taste and I could be satisfied. Then my appetite could be satisfied. Until then, I can think of nothing else.

I think it was the nipple. That red nipple sprouting from the smooth white skin of her breast. Believe me, I have seen many breasts and her breast was not remarkable from that of any other woman. But what I could not escape was the wrinkled red button resting on her white, creamy skin.

Every night, just about midnight, I turned the latch of her door and opened it, ever so quietly, every so gently. And then when I made an opening sufficient for my head, and I watched. And watching her so, the white of her exposed flesh bright in the darkened room; I might have sought my release.

But that nipple remained hidden, curled under her arm, swathed in blankets. On the third night, I stepped into the room, leaving the door ajar. Step by every so slow step, I reached the end of the bed. So careful was I, she did not even stir in her sleep.

I stood there, just for a moment, listening to the pounding drum of the hard cock. I slid my hand along the curve of her lower leg, very, very lightly. She murmured softly and turned in her sleep.

How careful I was, how deliberate I was, I did not rush. I considered the autumn chill. It caressed me, and the icy air felt delicious on my burning skin. But the frigid wind also left her and that delicious red spot wrapped in blankets.

I heated the room by tiny increments and by the fifth night, she was more restless and had nearly tossed the blanket entirely aside. With the lightest touch of my finger tips, I traced the curve of her white ass. She sighed softly at my touch but did not awaken. No further could I go and instead I watched her sleep.

And in the morning, when the day broke, we spoke pleasantly. Nothing did she suspect, although I could not imagine how she did not hear the drumming of my aching cock, beating out its demands.

Upon the eighth night, I was more cautious in opening the door. I could scarily contain my excitement. And when I stood in the room, completely naked, I looked at her.

There she was, sleeping on her back tonight; her body ready for my consumption. That hard red nipple -- there is only one - guides me to my place over her. I suck that hard little button, savoring the sweet, salty taste.

She does not awaken; cleverly I have warmed her body to me with my patience. Her legs open up and I have found her cunt is moist. The cock slides in easily. Now I am past patience, and I pump enthusiastically to the sound of the drum. Her body tightens underneath me and she groans. I look down and she is awake and I come.

In the morning, I cook breakfast. She speaks of groans in the night and strange dreams. I speak of Freud and of how our dreams take the shapes of our desires. My cooking is undisturbed -the toast is perfect, crisp but not burnt and the yolk of the egg yellow and runny.

This morning she is wearing an old tank top. I try to look away but there is a hint of color showing through the fabric. The red nipple is seeking my attentions again, calling for my cock again.

I forget breakfast, I forget my careful plans. I pull her to her feet and push her against the wall. I push the tank top up; the nipple is hard and sweet. She gasps and weakly tries to push me away.

I kiss the lost side, the scar; I know the nipple misses its twin. She is still and I slide my hands down her ass, removing her shorts and her panties. At last, she is naked before me in the light and she is as naked as I am.