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Escaping a Redundent Reality

Short story By: Dean Talbot
Erotica



A story of unfulfilled love, longing and submission.


Submitted:Aug 20, 2012    Reads: 2,091    Comments: 10    Likes: 6   


Storm clouds have moved in, a normal event in Michigan following a two day heat wave. The thought of the cool northerly winds coming in to remove the clamoring humidity justifies the theatrical light display and roaring thunder that Mother Nature throws at us during these summer months.

She lifts a hand to swish away with a deft flick of a finger that drop of perspiration which threatened to roll from her hair line and stream down her cheek.

"A change of weather would be nice and not too late" she thinks to herself, seated on comfy cushions that line the black steel framed garden chair in her backyard. She is clothed lightly, a maroon colored dress nearly transparent doesn't conceal her bra and just barely the fact that she decided not to wear panties this afternoon. It was in fact amusing for her, the moist air causing sweat to pool in her belly button until a single drop would slip down her sloped tummy, lazily zig zagging its way along her soft dark skin, finding and tickling its way between the outer folds of her vagina and her thighs. It is such a stimulating feeling that the instinct to rub the tickle away now has her caressing her most intimate of pleasure buttons. At times, she can feel herself falling, falling to that state of mind where the world around her will erupt into all the colors of a fireworks display accompanied by the uncontrollable quivering of ultimate release. It is only the thought that a stranger might be watching that keeps her nearly still. The slow rocking of her body isn't noticeable, the afternoon wind throwing her light clothing into rhythmic spams concealing the seldom met pleasure she now enjoys. Not even the drop of sweat trickling across her already bulging clit is enough to give her away, although a determined onlooker may have noticed a slight twitching of the hand in her lap....

The light touch of her middle finger glides gently across her clitoris from side to side, gently pressing against one outer vaginal lip to then again cross back to the other, with every slip from that nerve filled bump sending shivers through her belly to the very tips of her nipples. She can't cum yet, she knows from the countless times of self-stimulation in her past but she can feel the orgasm welling up in her, like the rising waves of a soon to be Hurricane, being pushed ever higher, to their utmost heights until they break at the top with a white foam and crash again into the sea. The building of and maintaining of this intense inner feeling is nearly as gratifying as the orgasm itself, even if it is not satisfying.

A slight "Mmmmm" whispers from her, lips tightly pressed together and both softly clenched between her teeth.

The sound of rubber on asphalt and murmur of the motor of a newer car as it drives by, barely heard yet interrupting makes her lose her train of thought. In an instant, even though every fiber of her body revolted against it, her inner storm is over, the damned negatives of life replacing the inner peace she so wanted to cling to. The kids will be home in an hour, the husband looking for dinner and emotional support that seems so essential to getting him or keeping him in a good mood, the frustration that she might for yet another night, not be taken into his arms and rocked to the heights of her womanly needs.

She sighs and stands, her dress, pinched between her legs is pulled loose as her hand falls to her side. Walking towards the back door of the house, the chilled touch of her clothing makes her realize that although not drenched with sweat, the afternoon heat has her feeling as though she had gone for a dip in the pool, fully clothed and not yet fully dried.

"A shower." she thinks to herself, there is enough time before her second job starts, the loving house wife and to the bone devoted mom. There is enough time to wash the grime of yet another lost day from her yearning body.

Entering the house, the cold blast of the perfectly functioning air conditioning slaps her yet wet body; it's not a wakeup call but a breath of fresh air. The chill is revitalizing, sending her quickly upstairs to the awaiting hot massage that her friendly shower head provides every time they meet.

The shower is turned on, as hot as that cold knob with "H" on it will allow. The maroon colored dress quickly slipped out of and flung to the bathroom corner, gliding through the air as filled with the invisible body of spirit till it lands and collapses to a mere nothing on the floor. Nibble fingers undo the bra clasp to follow a similar flight pattern as the dress. The icy floor makes her a little impatient as the water heats up, pacing the floor tippy toe until she finds herself in front of the mirror above the sink. The reflection she sees, a beautiful full breasted woman, desirable, wanting, womanly and sexy. She feels so sexy. Her hands press into her hips and slide down her tummy, the touch reviving memories of past love making, passionate and intense.

A white cloud of mist slowly envelopes the mirror, her attention now drawn to her invisible masseur behind the shower door. Stepping in, the white steam swims around her, heating her body at once, hotter than the weather outside but so comfortable, hot and caressing. Reaching around the spray of water careful to not get those scalding fingers on her body, she adjusts in the cold water, then slides into the downpour, her shoulders sagging into those comfortable hands that now lick across her upper back, all things wrong seem to be swept from her to flow down her back, along her curvy legs to finally leave the house via the shower drain.

Through a mist, she peers at the wall in front of her, the smell of roses and honey tingling her sense of smell. The haze around her slowly moves and swirls, her vision no longer catching the sharp details of the white tiled walls but that of the form of two people. Those forms, unrecognizable at first come steadily into view, naked and entwined with each other, the bodies move further apart connected only where their mouths and genitals might be. A man and a woman, naked and in a shower tiled in grey, beige and brown, are making love. His left arm is wrapped up over the ladies shoulder, the crook of his elbow at her neck, his hand on the flat of her mid back. His right hand is on her buttocks caressing and pulling at her. At first it seemed they were having intercourse until the fine lines finally formed. She could now see the girls left hand on the man's butt check as well, squeezing with obvious delight. The body of the man is blocking the view of the girls right arm and hand but from the man's actions, his legs placed between hers where they stand, he is slowly making love to her where they stand, the steady rocking of his hips, the woman's body being pressed to the wall of the shower, an unmistakable and relentless need that requires attention once aroused. It isn't until they turn slightly and the woman reaches to a niche in the wall to retrieve and pour some hair conditioner in her hand that it was plain to see, her hand smeared with that smooth cool gel reaching again for the hard appendage of the man in front of her, that she realizes there was no penetration between the two. She is slowly jacking him off, guiding the head of his penis such that it spreads the fingers of her hand wide then parts her pussy lips to plow over her clit, a sequence of delightful motions that they have again taken up and repeated again and again.

The memory of the weekend before comes to her like a long lost dream. Now every fine line, the very taste of the honey rose conditioner in the shower surrounds her, awakens her inner woman. She is crying for more, begging for it. Her hand slips forward between her legs sliding fingers gingerly over her slit then into the crack of her ass, gently but deliberately opening her anus to slide out again and dive into her hot dripping box. Seeing those two in their foreplay was amazing, touching and almost overwhelming, the air now becoming so thick in her shower that she thought she may pass out for the lack of oxygen, a feeling that must be akin to asphyxiation. Those two loved each other and every move, every touch they made conveyed to her, would have conveyed to any onlooker, their love for one another.

She positions herself so she can see better between the two , see the length of his red rod pull nearly completely leaving the grip of the ladies hand to then dive slowly forward, extending those slender fingers outward till the head reappears and splits those lips wide disappearing between the girls thighs. A tantalizing sight, appealing in every aspect, especially as the girl before her gets to her toes, slightly cocking one leg to the side so that she may guide that throbbing head into her slickened cunt. The man is shaken, visibly his body takes on a quaking and his breath is held as he presses his body onto the woman before him, his manhood delving deep into the welcoming snatch that presses forward to accept him.

She is excited now, her fingers slipping between her own vulva, first one finger, followed by two, deep into her blissfully sopping box where her finger tips tickle her G-spot and her palm presses tightly to her clit. Yet again, every fiber of her body aches for feeling of release. The trembling of the man's body alone, it is as though she can feel him inside of her, the walls of her vagina being spread wide, the head of his cock cramming itself into her, filling her.

"It's not enough" she unconsciously feels the need for more, a penis, a hard penis. A quick glance at her own array of plastic bottles being searched for something she could use. There, a body wash bottle with its green slender cap, tall and long with the diameter about the size of a quarter attached to a wavy round bottle that expands to the girth of a good sized cucumber to slender down then widen again at the base. Her free hand grabs it, her mind's eye back on the duo where she at once begins to rub the length of the bottle between her own pussy lips, envisioning that hot, hard cock before her being swept between her own legs. With every thrust of his body, that bottle pushes closer to the entry of her box, the cap slipping ever further into her willing flesh until the wider body of the bottle is pressed to her snatch but no longer can pass.

He has now lifted her leg, his hips slapping at her groin, she can clearly see that shaft driving deep in that woman's stretched cunt, balls swaying back and forth in rhythm with every thrust, that wet vagina forming neatly to the differing girths along the length of his plunging prick. The face of the lady before her is distorted in one of agony and ecstasy as she is nearly lifted from the tiled floor, his rod shoved hard and with instinctive desire, disappearing completely from sight behind those frothing white coated lips. Deep within that pussy, his body begins to shake followed by short piston thrusts, he is cumming, the white jiz seeping from between their genitals to worm down his slack hanging balls and ultimately splash to the wet shower floor beneath them.

The sight of this aggressive and intense ejaculation of the man in front of her, the sticky cum streaming from that woman's stretched and white bathed cunt, swaying this way and that before flinging itself to the floor is too much for her. She can formally feel his molten hot cock and flowing lava gushing inside her, burning her very innards, driving her to an orgasm that has long been craved for. The bottle is thrust into her own box, now also smeared in her thick slippery cum, expanding her womanhood to the point that it feels as though her very skin will give and tear, the upper bottle body bursts into her, its creamy white surface plunging seven inches to its rounded base with a slap of her forearm to her wet belly, a feeling as though heaven and hell clashing overcomes her and a second volcanic orgasm rushes over and through her body, her weak knees nearly sending her to the floor. She pisses from a tightly squeezed urethra drenching the exposed bottle and the hand that holds it, involuntary and nearly unnoticed with the exception of the burning that comes with being pressed so tightly.

A deep moan escapes her, not dissimilar to the one from the man she imagines before her, an admission of total satisfaction, total submission, an escape from reality so desperately needed. The quivering of her body subsiding, the figures dissolve back into the thick fog of the shower, the fleeting images of those two lovers, a memory given to her late that night one long week ago come and now gone. The bottle still inside her, she can feel the tingling of those moments in their bed, in their dressing room and the floor of their living room, memories of sharing in their love making, beautiful and pure, sensual, intimate and raw.

The bottle pops painfully from her plump pussy, its slick surface nearly causing it to slip from her tired fingers. With trembling knees and shaky hands, she proceeds to wash herself. The wet, hot hands of her personal masseur not able to knead the weakness from her body nor change the fact that she must again return to her life of submission, forced celibacy and ultimately unsatisfying masturbation. She wonders if there might be a next time.





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