Daydreams & Distractions ☼ Precious

March 8, 2011 25 Comments by willcrimson Consensual

Precious
A Daydream & Distraction by Redbud

She couldn’t explain how it came over her.

She had bought the toy… OK, a strap-on. Why does she blush when she says it?

She had kept it hidden. Her lover is a younger woman, 23 and gorgeous. Unlike herself, her girl is slight and fragile looking, with deep dark eyes like shaded pools in darker forest. Maybe it was her lover’s fragility that made her do it. She’s not big, but her curves are fuller, her long hair is red and she likes life big.

Some dykes are cool with cocks.

Others aren’t, so she hid the toy. She was embarrassed by it. It was bigger than she expected. It could have looked like a dildo but in an inexplicable moment of light headedness she ordered the strap-on that looked like a cock.

And she hid it.

She kept in her sock drawer, buried it. Every so often, when her lover was out of the house, she dug it out. She studied it. She laughed at it. She stood it on the kitchen table with a morning coffee. She flower arranged the big black cock. She stood it up in the a pot with paper whites. It was lovely. It was like a tall black mushroom.

And she imagined the cock in the wild, growing out of the soil like Venus Fly Trap, just waiting for the unsuspecting girl, the girl who needs to take a leak. Maybe the girl would wander into the dark shadows so she wouldn’t be seen. Yes, the perfect camouflage for the well-adapted black cock. The girl would drop her hiking shorts to her knees. She would squat over the richly scented flowers and piss on the black cock hiding just under the petals.

That’s all the black cock needs.

That piss would be like a fly plucking the spider’s silk. Before the girl had emptied her bladder, the black cock, like a malignant mushroom, would shoot upward. She imagined the girl’s cry, like the pitched chirp of a bird just before it’s been caught and how, by some magic or pleasurable venom leaking from the tip, the girl would be helpless to pull it out. She would fall forward onto her knees and hands, her fingers digging into the dirt with the groan of rolling eyes.

The girl would raise her ass as the venom took control.

The piss would be a surprised stream at first, arcing behind her, then a dribble down her thighs and into her shorts as the black mushroom did its embedded work.

The thrusts would be hard. She would moan, wanting to call for help but somehow unable to.

The black cock knows the girl needs to orgasm. (That’s only fair.) When she does, her helpless bird-like cries and her involuntarily clenching belly are like a signal. The black cock spurts its seeds deeply into the hapless girl before it slips out, shrunken and lifeless.

Yes.

That’s a hot fantasy, she thinks to herself. Then, her face red, she robs the black cock of its patient hiding place among the paper whites and returns him to the sock drawer. And she kept it hidden like this for a month, but the black cock was like it’s own pleasurable venom. She heard it whispering dirty words at night when her lover was sleeping next to her. She was reminded of the one ring, the ring to rule them all. She needed to destroy it, but she couldn’t.

When her lover leaned against the kitchen, she could hear the black cock in the distant room.

The cock whispered and whispered to her. The words were dirtier and more vile by the day. They were the kind of words men use. The words dripped with suggestiveness. They objectified her beautiful lover. They described what a man would do. The words were ugly, explicit and possessive. They were jealous and dominating. The words were like malignant little paint brushes making explicit what the black cock wanted to possess.

She should have destroyed the black cock.

The whispering of it was like an eye in a great tower. No matter where she went, no matter how far away she was, she could hear the black cock whispering. It said things about the women she worked with, girls with their boyfriends, women, young and old, and strangers – all of them. The black cock would rule all of them.

It happened in the morning.

Her lover was leaning against the rail of the balcony. She wore a loose, long sleeved button-down pajama top that fell to her knees. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Nothing. The soft linen of the top billowed over her beautiful young breasts in the warm morning breeze.

The black cock spoke to her and she went to it.

She opened the drawer and took off her panties. With a glazed inevitability she put on the black cock. It fit perfectly and suddenly it was beautiful. She took KY Jelly from the bed side table and smeared the black cock. It felt warm. It glistened. The fingers of her hand barely rounded the girth of it. Her heart beat, her rib-cage felt tight, but she felt relieved. She could see things in a way she never had. When she quietly walked into the living room and gazed at her lover, her back still turned to her, everything the black cock had ever whispered, and was whispering now, made perfect sense.

Yes, she understood.

It all made sense. The black cock was right. Why had she waited so long to put it on?

She stepped quietly through the living room and onto the narrow balcony. Her lover still hadn’t turned. She stepped behind her lover. She lifted the back of her lover’s jammy shirt.

“What are you doing?”

“I have a surprise for you,” she whispered in her lover’s ear.

“Here?”

“Yes,” she answered, and her voice sounded strange to her. “Just open your legs.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, my precious,” she answered, nibbling her ear. She moved her hands to her lover’s hands and pressed them to the balcony rail. “Are you ready?’

“Mmmm…”

She thrust and her lover’s small, fragile body arched and she rose to her toes. Her eyes and mouth opened wide. Yes! – that heavy, thick, grunt; that sound of a woman being filled, suddenly and undissuadably from behind. Yes! She was still on her toes. Was she trying to breathe? Was she trying to climb off? No. She kept her lover’s hands tightly against the rail.

She thrust.

Yes! – those squeals, those gasps, those half-stopped intakes of breath.

Was she struggling?

Her lover’s small body twisted on the huge black cock that filled it. She held her lover’s hands to the rail as if to tie them there.

Was she trying to get away? She was on her toes, her back was arching and she was leaning forward. Yes! That’s it. She let go of her lover’s hands and pressed with one hand at the small of her back, bending her forward. She roughly took her hair in the other hand, yanking back her head, subduing her, taking her.

“Look at me!”

Her lover tried to turn. Yes. That look: shock, surprise, the pitiable question that knotted her eyebrows. But there was also her half-lidded eyes, her parted lips and the bending acknowledgement of her body, her parted legs that didn’t close, her lifted ass that surrendered her cunt to the rounding heft of the cock, her hands that still whitely gripped the rail.

She was getting drunk on her lover’s long punctuated groans.

And even though she couldn’t feel the tender darkness of her lover’s belly, she could feel it. She could feel it in the taught muscles of her slender legs, her knotted abdomen, her uneven exhalations,

When her lover, for whatever, pushed herself off the rail, she yanked back on her head.

No, this wasn’t over.

She knew what she wanted. She walked her sweet girl into the living toom, still bent over and black cock in her belly. She pushed her down to their floor mattress, ass in the air, elbows up, fingers spread and clutching. “Give it to me!”

“Oh God!” she heard her girl cry.

“That’s it!” She said again. “Give it!” Yes. She was liberated. She could use both her hands. She could stand up or kneel upright. Her hips and the black cock were one. She understood what it was like. She understood the cock. Everything the cock had ever said, everything that she thought she hated about the cock, was true.

The cock was showing her the way.

She pushed her lover’s cheek down against the mattress pillows, driving her ass higher and her legs wider. Her pajama top bunched at her armpits. The black cock changed her lover’s feathery voice into dark, heavy grunts.

Yes. Finally. Her lover’s eyes rolled.

It wasn’t fingers. It wasn’t hands. It wasn’t a tongue. It wasn’t minute after minute and minute of feathery cajoling, persuasion, and convincing. It wasn’t the tender lavishment of lips and nipples or breasts against breasts.

It was the deep, bulbous blunt of the black cock.

Her lover came with a the rhythmically interrupted cries of surprise, surrender, dismay and recognition.

When it was over, she stood and watched the long glistening black cock slide out – like a satisfied being. She hadn’t come yet, but she would. Her lover pushed herself upright and sat back on her heals. The dark lovely pools of her eyes gazed up at her with a kind of wide-eyed and willing obedience that was as wickedly black as the cock.

She kissed the black cock.

Both of them could hear it whispering.

And she knew she would never give up her toy. Never. She would never destroy her precious. The black cock was right about everything.

William Crimson
☼ March 8 2011

Categories: Consensual, Dominance & Submission, Erotica, First Time, Forced Orgasm, Lesbian, Quickie, RedBud, Reluctance, Rough Sex, Sex ToyTags: Daydreams & Distractions: Precious, Doggy Style, Dominance & Submission, Erotic Daydream, Erotic Daydreams & Distractions, Erotic Distraction by willcrimson, Erotic Fairy Tale, Erotic Fantasy, Erotic Fiction, Erotic Short Fiction, Erotic Story, Erotic Writer, Erotica, Forced Orgasm, Lesbian, Quickie, RedBud's Erotica, reluctance, William Crimson's