A Guest Submission
Stool Mates
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By BTM
Btm47in@aol.com
"Stool Mates"
We're sitting on a bar stool. Actually, I'm sitting on the stool. You're sitting on my lap. We're very snuggly. I'm nuzzling the back of your neck, feeling with my mouth the contours of your neck and shoulders, and taking just an occasional nibble at your ear.
I'm holding you very close, so close I feel the curve of your back and the curve of your ass confines my prick--that ever insistent organ--against your black silk slip and my own belly. My arms curve around to the front of you. In each of my hands I'm cradling a silky breast, and in each finger-cradle lies a silky nipple. My head buzzes with woman-warmed silk and your scent and your materiality.
Your body moves in my arms with each breath. I sense the counterpoint of your pulse and your breath, I feel your heat as if being near you were a hot, wet jungle, and when the rhythm seems to resolve itself into a panting unison, I say:
"Lean forward and lie on my knees."
As you bend, the black silk tightens over the roundness of your ass, but the stressed material doesn't lose it's rich color. I like your clothes sense and your taste. A white slip would have made your ass-rift look dark and obvious, but black reveals just a low place, promisingly vulnerable, a hinted promise of vulnerability, an entrance-way, and promises must be fulfilled. My cock acts like it does not know it's free and stays erect. The silk on your body is beautiful, but I need to see your skin. I pull up the slip-hem and the silk floats away like a cloud.
Because of the darkness of the silk, your skin is more startlingly luminous--blinding. Your ass-rift is deep, and at the center, lies your rosehole, drawn together, as if prepared for a chaste kiss. I am thrilled.
My dark, ponderous, expanded, dripping cock rises away from your ass. The cock's beastly beauty, may match that of your haired, goose-bumped, swollen cunt, but in this pink and white vision, the cock seems monstrous and gross, a beast too ugly for such a beauty as your little rosehole. But that's the way of lust. The more tender the vision against the ugliness, the greater the excitement.
I prepare the bloom with a soft amber salve on my finger. And I slide my cockhead along the length of the crevice testing its vulnerability until your tender flesh welcomes first my cock's slender accomplice who, plying with further soft circles, beckons a companion while the ominous lumbering cock remains aloof, pretending his only plan is to watch. The rose, confused and relaxed by the circling fingers, drops its inhibitions about guests just enough for the cock to intrude himself among the fingers.
You say," Oh my."
Rose is now full bloomed and curious enough to consider the whole glans and finally, a tete-a-tete. I lift you and let you slowly onto me, watching my cock disappear. I love to watch a cock disappear into your woman-flesh. You gasp, and your body convulses between my hands. Your ass-canal squeezes, now fighting to expel the offending organ.
"Just a second," you gasp. "Hold me. I'll be OK."
When I ease you down again, gasps and contractions subside.
"Better now?" I whisper against your small ear. "Better," you say. "Big and Juicy. Like back-ass-ward pregnant."
You settle with a little side-wiggle against my lap in order, I assume, to become acquainted with your new inner dimensions. Your membrane trills my cock-hood with remnant contractions.
My hands are free again to slide slowly under the silk around you. Laying my palms along your thighs, I spread them over and outside mine. I open my knees to widen you, and turn my fingers in to hook your cuntlips. Thus hooked, I pull gently outward, sliding my fingers along their edges, stretching them gently, stroking you, opening you. My fingertips pause to embrace Queen Clitoris who has appeared on her porch firm and lengthened and I feel your breath quicken. You move forward bending my cock deliciously, causing new waves to cascade down my shaft. Your ass-canal's attempts to push me out only heighten my pleasure.
You take a small mirror and hold it between our legs, and I am astonished to see that a drape of the black silk slip has covered everything I have just described.
You breathe deeply, and put down the mirror. Grasping your slip by its hems, you lift them over your head.
The face of the man who has been sitting across from us all this time, and who has watched us, changes and he sits up, erect and alert while. you, with the utmost casualness, drop the slip, turning your head. He stares at your hooked, vacant cunt, framed by my fingers and finally he rises.
I see his cock in his boxer shorts, swinging and bobing around the opening. Could it be that he thought I had gone into your cunt from behind instead of into your rosehole, and could the cause of his amazement have been your wide open and empty vulva?
He pushes my knees apart, and shoves himself against us. I feel his prick jam against the fingers that have hooked you, and I see him planning a kiss and wonder if it's aimed at me, but he grasps your head--scraping my face with his fingernails. I watch him press his lips on you, tighten and point them so that he can pry your lips apart to open your mouth.
I glimpse his intruding tongue, and being close like this, I get a deeper sense of the violation of his kiss, though it's not revulsion I feel, but excitment, because I am very nearly, at this point, you.
I am fascinated to watch this kiss. The rudeness of it is what excites me. His mouth moving hard and deep and quick. This kiss looks cruel, yet I can feel your vibrations and tensions and secretions. You're aroused. I am being told something about being a woman. I notice a sudden falling of resistance, a leaning inward....even as he hardens against you, probes into you, eats at you, even as you know he is exploring and testing your defenses, you weaken. As he becomes more relentless, you swell you open.
You women. What is your submission? When do you hold? Where do you stand? He's consuming you and you do not take offense, you give in, give what's demanded and offer more as he spreads you and occupies you. You only seem to want him more.
He lays his large, hairy arms over your shoulders, immobilizing them in his hard muscle. His hands rove freely on your back and rudely grab at your ass-cheeks, pullling them apart.
He reaches betweeen your thighs and takes my balls into the palm of his hand. He leans over your shoulder, and as he grabs the back of my neck, he pulls my mouth onto his and forces himself into me even as he rolls my balls between his fingers.
I am forced onto your back. He releases me and with his hand free again, he pushes down on your head, bringing your mouth onto his hard cock, and I'm pissed that this goddam barbarian lover has taken over like this.
As if the savagery of his kisses and his embrace weren't enough, he grasps handfuls of your hair to control the pumping motion of your head on his cock.
I wonder if he will come, but suddenly, he pulls your head off him and backwards while I feel him shove his cock into your tenderest of tender flesh, and those boxers are far from silk. But he's not really paying attention, and neither are you. It's left to me to pull his cock free of the boxers for him. I shimmy his cockhead into your cunt's vestibule.
Now, my own cock, which has been feeling neglected even in such a place as your rosehole, has suddenly revived. I still have hold of his cock, but although I am familiar with mine, his foreskinned glans feels strange especially from this angle, and he's pointed toward me instead of away. Although I am awkward, I manage to get it between your cuntlips to introduce its silky, and very presentable pink and properly cowled head to Queen Clitoris, who rises, obviously delighted and desiring a more intimate, prolonged interview, so I mediate the two of you while above, your mouths become audibly more fervent.
Just as I am about to direct him into your cunt-chamber, the man steps back, removing himself from my sponsorship. He looks annoyed.
"Then fuck her yourself,"I say gruffly.
He pushes off his boxers. You and I stare at his erect cock which he dramatizes by grasping it and jerking back his foreskin.
"Yes, yes," I say blandly, "that seems to be a capable cock."
You shock me by saying, "and it's a pretty one, too."
His glans is blunt and ruddy and glistening moist. We all continue to stare, even he stares, somewhat in awe now that you've said it's pretty. It is fully alert in the direction of your nubbly-hooded, still-hooked cunt. The cock's shaft looks made of the same nubbly ridged flesh, but it is the color of delicate doeskin. A drop of come, bright as a diamond, appears at the tip. He smears the bright little drop over his glans--like he's polishing a corvette--until it glistens, then he shoves my knees apart once more--this time more rudely and impatiently than last time--and he places his candy-maroon cock heart into the center of your cunt.
"Ah," he says.
"Eee," you say.
"Could I at least watch?" I say.
"What?" he asks.
"Lean back so I can watch."
"I gotta get in and get a beat going," he says. "
You say, "Yes, do that."
I think, resentfully, that I'm sitting back here, pinned down, I can't move, and he's going to take his own sweet time and do just what he wants, the way he wants it and he's got your complete approval.
I un-hook your cuntlips.
You say, "No. Put your hands back. I get more feeling with everything open."
He smirks, waiting for me to re-hook.
"Hold them yourself," I growl.
"No. I have other plans," she says. "Be nice."
I re-hook. He leans forward planting his cock into you, but what's surprising, and frankly pleasing, changing my angry mood, is I feel his cock slide toward me, against my own cock which has been idly couched in you all this time. The seeing and the feeling of a cock sliding toward me become violent in me, and I yearn to move my cock so very badly, but here I am stuck against the back of this barstool, held down under you with him climbing all over you.
You pick up the mirror again.
You say, "lean back. I want to see your handsome cock. I meant handsome before."
He laughs, "I know what you meant. You meant it feels pretty but it looks handsome."
You say:"Yeah. That's what I meant, so lean back."
I'm thinking: I'm the only one here who's not having fun. Whenever he goes all the way in, our two scrotums bump, and you make a rhythmic "uh" sound in your throat. You sound like a person who's lost her mind.
He has braced his hands on my knees, and he thrusts his cock in and out while, obedient to you, he leans backwards, moving his weight by rotating himself over his hips. You reach down and push Queen Clitoris' head down so his pistoning shaft catches it on each thrust, and in between you knead it.
He sees--I can't--that you're about to come gigantically. He begins a kind of chant:
"Baby, baby, baby, come to me, oh, baby, pretty cock's got you fucked, baby, so good...."
How poetic, I think. but all I can come up with is fucking flesh.
"Fucking flesh, fucking flesh...."
You tremble, suddenly stiffen, clutch his shoulder with your free hand, growl deeply, shake yourself, now with both hands you grab the arms of the barstool, and throw your pelvis into him, pulling my dick half out of your ass. But, I'm not about to lose my hard-won rose. I go up with you.
Then he lifts your knees and lays your calves on his shoulders.
"This OK, baby?" he whispers hoarsly, slowing and gentling his stroke.
I'm thinking: I hope so since you didn't ask before you went ahead and did it.
"Oh yeah," you gasp, grunting ,"Good and tight. Go fast."
He bursts out a breathless laugh.
"My cock can't fuck so fast when it's bent."
I'm thinking sarcastically that's your tough luck, but I do get one benefit. Your ass-canal and your cunt-canal are now pushed together, so I feel every inch of every stroke, and I lift and thrust forward as much as I can to get the full effect.
"Both do it hard," you shriek.
"Ra, lift up!" I shout.
You lift yourself up on the arms of the barstool like a gymnast over the pommel horse, I thrust up your rosehole from behind while he thrusts in front. We are banging on both cylinders now, Our balls slam together like ball bearings. That should hurt like hell.
We alternate in-thrusts, out-thrusts. We in-thrust at the same time. We syncopate....we howl like dogs. He feels himself coming, and so he can get deep, he throws his arms around both of us . I'm shoved to the back of the barstool again, and this time we may go over backward with me on the bottom.
I push forward hard, and he staggers back taking you with him, because you won't let go of his hot, coming cock , you cling to him and he pulls you off the barstool.
You, amazingly agile, and strong, in mid-air, hook both your ankles and wrists around his neck as he fallsbackward. My hands are ripped away from you, but you don't care. You don't care where you're going or where you will land. You don't care that my cock has lost its rosehole. You don't care that I myself am coming. You only care about that doeskin-colored cock, so I am left to pursue your naked ass, which I so recently and so sweetly occupied. There's a single cock-root, his cock-root, holding you up as you fall away from me.
In hot pursuit, I hit you both like a charging freight train, and he goes down on the sofa on his back, you on him and me on you. I jam in my cock as we fall. And when we land, I come, the last to finish.
The first to rise, I see your full rift, flanked by your rounded white hips, and in the center of your rift, your rosehole, and underneath, in shadow, your cunthole. You are panting, and both your holes are burbling over with semen, and I say:"Now that's pretty."
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