By Design

The neighbour had moved out in a hurry, and that wasn't the least of it. The movers that had come following his departure had seemed equally hurried about the transfer of his belongings. They had arrived during the day, when most people were at school, at work, or out running errands, and a dozen large men in leather jackets had moved the entire contents of the house into a truck in under an hour. On this fairly quiet suburban street, people noticed things like that.

People like Jo, curled up in her bed, getting over the flu on a school day, peeping out the window as the furniture disappeared into the white truck.

Soon enough, all that was left were twin tyre-tracks in the lawn where the truck had backed up next to the side door of the house for loading. Through the windows she could clearly see the house was devoid of any possessions at all. The curtains were gone, and scruffy floorboards were left where previously there had been carpets.

The neighbour, Paul, had been a pleasant enough guy. Friendly. Unremarkable. At 25, he'd been a good seven years older than her, but not so much older that she'd been unable to savour the occasional fantasy. Now an old couple would probably move into the house and she'd have no-one to lust after except the idiot boys back at school. The last time she'd seen Paul, he'd been wandering to the back of his garden, where a back gate gave onto a dirt road that led into the woods. The road where Paul had parked his trailer when he first arrived.

The movers hadn't gone out the back of the garden, they were probably going to tow the trailer away.

"Josephine Charlotte Emin".

"Present".

English Literature. Professor Jacobs had always, and would always, take roll call. Must be something to do with the previous generation. Jo still felt like she had cotton wool in her head, but she was definitely on the mend, and sufficiently so that her mother had decided she could make the effort and go to school today. This being the last class of the day, she only had another hour to go before going home.

Mike Cowley was sitting next to her, sweaty and fat. Sitting seemed to be an activity to him, the longer it went on, the hotter and more sweaty he seemed to get. Jo was wearing a skirt to compensate for the heat, and the way he looked at her legs was making her uncomfortable. "Everyone wants what they can't have", she thought.

Class was soon over, and true to form, the Cowley kid had scarpered, not having managed to build up the courage to exchange more than a glance with her. The thirty minute walk home was ample time for her to consider the very unattractive boys in her class. Those that weren't hideous were so obnoxious she wanted nothing to do with them. She ran through the different options while she walked, and it was soon obvious to her that she would have to look further afield if she was to find someone she could like before she left for university at the end of the year. As a senior in her class, at 18 years old, almost the entire school was now younger than her, and the few people in her year that were presentable she had eliminated as potential romantic interests ages ago.

Her thoughts were just coming to the point where she'd start thinking about Paul the neighbour and the adolescent fantasies she had on permanent repeat in her mind when she walked past the trailer.

It was long, oblong and silver coloured - like a battered metal train carriage on wheels. She only had a few meters to go before coming across the gate to her parents garden, but the trailer was right there - she really wanted to know something about Paul - something to nourish her fantasies. Anyway, the door of the trailer would inevitably be locked. All she had to do was try the handle, see that she couldn't get in, and be on her way. How hard was that?

The handle was warm in her hand, the sun had been beating down on the trailer all day and it had to be like a furnace in there now. The handle dropped, she pushed on the door. It was locked. She could see the metal latch in the gap between the door and the frame. The door was sealed. She could go home now. At least she'd tried.

Her mother would be furious. There were already mud stains on her skirt from where her knees pressed the hem into the ground, but she'd seen the reflected light from something underneath the trailer, and thinking it was a way in, had decided to get on her hands and knees and see what the light was from. After all, she had tried to get in through the door, it was only logical for her to follow through and test if there were any other exits, and Paul had left, as had his somewhat ominous and curiously efficient movers. She looked up at the underside of the trailer and saw the gap in the floor panel that would require only a little effort to pry loose.

The inside of the trailer was as hot as she had anticipated. The metal had been standing out in the blazing sun for hours and the heat had nowhere to go. The furnishings, on the other hand, were anything but what she had expected.

The trailer had been stripped - it was like an empty room. You could see where a small kitchenette had once been installed from the holes in the wall where the piping had been attached, but all the amenities had been stripped, as had any partitioning or separation - the entire inside had been fashioned into one large room with no windows and nothing to distract from the object, hidden under a heavy blanket, in the centre of the empty space.

She wasn't sure if she should touch it. It was pretty large - the size of a child's cot perhaps, but wider and shorter. It was as high has her belly button. She was also getting very warm very fast in this furnace. There were a good three hours of sunlight left before this place would start to cool down, and even then, it would do so only slowly.

She grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled, revealing a gleaming statue made of black stone.

She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but it wasn't this. The statue was of a naked man, lying on his back. There were a number of things wrong with it - quite apart from the obvious fact that he wore a prominent erection. The torso was too wide and too large in proportion to the height of his body, the chest was too small, and the legs were in a position that didn't seem to be natural for a person lying on their back, with one foot off the ground and one knee leaning inwards. His hands were at the end of a couple of slightly foreshortened forearms and his hands were halfway up his chest, as though he was holding a woman by the waist while she was astride him. His face was unnaturally beautiful.

Most of all, his erection was a strange shape. It rose proudly at forty-five degrees from his groin, before curving smoothly back towards the space between his belly-button and the root of his cock. At the base of the erection, pubic hair had been carved into the stone as sinewy patterns set into the chest above the crotch.

The entire statue was mounted on a plinth that seemed to be carved from the same piece of rock. This made the man seem to be hovering in mid-air. Overall, he was more or less life-sized, with some parts bigger and some parts smaller than a real human being.

She was utterly fascinated. Her knowledge of sex was limited to a couple of unpleasant experiences with boys and the somewhat more pleasurable fumbling she had tried out in the privacy of her own room. Looking at the statue was an education in itself. She could picture the woman he was holding, where her chest would be, how her breasts would brush against his, their nipples touching as he held her by the waist. Where her thighs would be as she straddled him, and that left no doubt at all as to exactly where the erection would be buried. Or how deep.

A small brass plaque had been prepared and was lying on the floor in readiness for attaching to this future museum exhibit - "Upon this plinth, those young girls accepted into the service of a high noble, would prostrate themselves without clothing, as a ritual of submission to their new mistress or master. Hieroglyphs indicate that she would caress them as they remained on the plinth, for as long as the she desired, before they arose, donning the robes of the royal house and serving as the queen's most loyal for the rest of their lives."

The ritual seemed unusual, and Jo had never heard of a culture such as the one described, but the words 'pleasure beyond their imagining' were certainly not lost on her, and in her mind, images of a young woman grinding against the statue were the most vivid sexual fantasy she had yet had. She was certainly not unaffected by the imagery and she anticipated having to change her panties when she returned home.

She had started pulling off her top before really giving it much thought, and she paused as she considered what she was about to do. If she was caught, she would be embarrassed beyond belief, and even if she heard someone coming it would take her at least a minute to get her clothes back on an in order before they opened the door.

On the other hand, nobody knew about the trailer except for her, nobody used the back lanes that led to the gardens except for her, Paul had left for good, and the chances of anyone else finding the loose board through which she had entered was negligible.

Her bra, shoes, socks and skirt were next, quickly followed by her panties, and she was soon standing next to the statue in her bare feet, wearing nothing except the ribbon in her hair.

She considered her actions one last time, feeling a little foolish, standing naked in the overheated trailer, a definite wetness between her legs, next to a phallic carving she was about to straddle. Then she found purchase on one corner of the plinth, climbed up over the statue and, putting her hands on its chest, gradually lowered herself so that her nipples touched his.

The statue was very warm, and she was damp with perspiration from the heat in the trailer. Holding herself in this position was effectively a press-up and she was quickly getting hotter from the effort. Wherever she touched the statue, her sweat was transferred to the smooth black stone and it became slippery. She kept having to put her weight in different places so as to get away from the parts that were now too slick to hold onto without slipping.

To take the weight off her hands, she lowered her tummy onto the statue's chest and her pert breasts ended up squashed against the statue's nipples, two of the only non-smooth parts of the statue. The warmth of the stone seeped into her chest and abdomen and she she became acutely aware of how erotic this was. She could feel the rock-hard abdominals carved into the statue massaging her tummy and the nipples digging ever so slightly into her breasts. It felt really good, and she relaxed her arms completely to let her weight carry her down onto the statue, lifting her feet off the purchase they had found on the edge of the plinth.

The statue was very slippery with her sweat, which didn't seem to be drying on the matt black surface, and as her feet came up, she found her lower body slipping to come into contact with the statue as well, her hips were guided to the centre of the man's chest by the two stone hands. She squeezed her legs together to maintain her position, but it took a great deal of effort not to slide further down, so she sought to regain her foothold. Unfortunately, her thighs having slid a few inches down the statue, she found that the positioning of the man's legs was preventing her from regaining her previous footholds. Her left leg was caught outside the bent knee, and her right leg couldn't move because her thigh was the only thing holding her up.

Despite her best efforts, she was quickly running out of strength, and her thighs were gradually sliding down the black stone. Very soon, she found herself completely astride the statue's chest, her crotch against the hot stone, unable to lever herself up either using her legs or her arms, and unable to move off to one side because of the way the statue's warm hands were positioned on either side of her waist.

Figuring she couldn't slide any closer to the statue now that she was in full contact with it, she relaxed her arms and legs for a moment to take stock of the situation and figure a way out. The second her legs relaxed she felt herself sliding down along the statue and quickly clenched her thighs together as hard as possible. She managed to stop the sliding, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't regain the lost ground. In her mind's eye she could see the statue's curving phallus that would now be no more than an inch away from her pussy. Her position, astride the statue's unnaturally large torso, with one of her legs bent away from the other by the positioning of the statue's knee, also meant that her pussy was wide open. Now she was getting seriously worried. She was also becoming aware that the situation was appealing to some previously untapped part of her mind that found the helplessness of her situation erotic beyond belief.

She twisted and threw her weight from side to side, coming into contact with the two hands on either side of her waist. She knew that once the phallus was inside her, she wouldn't even have that much room for manoeuvre. She clenched all of her muscles in an effort to lift herself up, but as her chest rose off the statue, her thighs slid further down, and suddenly she felt the hard marble cock touching the outside of her pussy.

None of her struggles had done much to cool her arousal, and she immediately felt her juices moistening the head of the phallus as it touched the precise spot necessary to penetrate her. She was acutely aware of the warmth of the statue against her crotch, and the warmth of the smooth black stone cock touching her most intimate place. Despite her fear of the situation, the effect touched some deeply ingrained genetic trigger and she felt her arousal climb at the same time as a form of surrender began to steal over her. She fought still, but her struggles were weaker now, as though part of her knew that what would follow was a foregone conclusion.

Moments later, she felt the cock separate her lips and the warm stone massaged her as it passed, slower, hotter and more deliberate than any lover. Her hips arched involuntarily upwards as her mouth opened to form a perfect 'O', her eyes wide and staring. Her hips continued to arch helping the curvature of the statue into her folds, and then the warmth was inside her, an incredible heat in her loins, her eyesight blurring as all of her attention focused on the sensation between her legs and inside her.

She continued to slide down, very slowly, her mind awash with sensations of smooth, rock-hard heat slipping into her, the stone chest beneath her massaging the muscles in her stomach, her nipples rubbing against those of the statue, her legs slightly bent by the design of the statue's lower limbs, and her thighs apart on either side of the man's pelvis. She had never felt such surrender.

She tried to pull it together despite the sensations, her mind warning her that this object had been designed to take advantage of her anatomy and her nature - that all the pleasure and submissiveness she was feeling was part of a trap. She reached up with her hands, trying to get a purchase on the statue's slick shoulders.

At that moment, she felt the tip of the heated phallus, pointing downwards with that unnatural curve, rubbing against the inside of her pussy, applying pressure just beneath the pelvic bone, like a large hooked finger inside her, rubbing upwards as she slid downwards. It felt wonderful, and she heard herself moan as her thoughts scattered, her own voice incredibly erotic in the confines of the heated room. The tip rubbed firmly against the inside of her lower belly, and came into direct contact with her G-spot.

Her sore and tired muscles, which had until now sought to help her escape, clenched and tightened involuntarily in response to the extraordinary pleasure. Her hips arched to bring the phallus back into contact with that magical spot, and as she rocked her hips forward, the tip pressed directly against her G-spot just as the curiously carved pubic hair conspired to separate the folds above her pussy and rub directly against her clitoris. Her hips rocked involuntarily the other way and she was helplessly grinding against a design carved into the pubic hair specifically intended to rub and roll her engorged clit.

Her moans became cries as her instincts and body took over, and the young girl ground and thrashed atop the statue, rocking her hips back and forth against the impassive stone, sweat pouring off her as the trap, designed more than three thousand years previously, worked exactly as originally intended. Her muscles started to tremble and the heat in her loins grew, her lithe body clenching around the cock buried deep inside her until she went pitching over the edge, every muscle spasming simultaneously again and again, before she finally collapsed atop the stone man, the cock buried deep inside her and her lower body held firmly in place by the hands on either side, her fluids dripping down her thighs and over the black stone.