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Daydreams & Distractions ☼ She Says to You

She Says To You
A Daydream & Distraction
by Redbud

‘Sometime after dinner, when it was dark, when you took my hand and your friend took the other, my orgasm began. When you kissed me, said you loved me and that I was beautiful, I felt the first warm hits of my orgasm. I shook like a leaf when I felt another man behind me. How many times had the other man visited me in my fantasies? When I felt his kisses at the back of my neck I shook. You asked but and I said, no, don’t stop. Your hand moved between my legs.

He said how lucky you were, how lucky to have a woman like me. He envied you. He made me feel beautiful and I wanted him to envy you. When he reached from behind, between us, squeezing my nipples, I couldn’t breathe. Another man pressed against me from behind. Do you remember how I took fistfuls of your hair? I kissed you. I knew I would come. I didn’t know on whose cock or how another man’s cock would feel (my womb is shaped like yours after so long) but I let you decide.

I let the men decide.

You turned me, lowered my arms, and showed him my breasts. Is there a more powerful way to offer a woman? I lowered my eyes. You pulled my panties down but left my skirt. I stepped out, left foot then right. Then you lifted the front of my skirt and showed him my pussy. You let him see how my eyes fluttered, how my back arched and my legs began to open as you displayed your wife to another man.

He came to me. He suckled at my breasts. He kissed my chin as you kissed my spine. I felt more naked than I ever had – face, shoulders, neck and eyes kissed and tongued. I closed my eyes. The warmth and wetness of another man’s lips were on my womb. ‘So tight,’ he murmured. ‘So flat.’ You bit my shoulder, pressed your finger into my ass and I rose to my toes. He stood. He slipped the head of his cock back and forth between my legs. I grunted. The head of another man pushed and begin to enter me. I leaned my head back against your shoulder. He withdrew. He teased.

You pushed me to my knees. You held my head for him, let him fill my mouth and I sucked. I submitted. When you pulled me to my feet, I was ready. You turned me. You held my face, forbidding me to look away as he entered me from behind. I rose to my toes. I struggled to take him inside, bigger than you and longer. I groaned. He rose upward, inside me, until my eyes rolled. I couldn’t look at you any longer. Another man was the thickness between my thighs. Another man was fullness in my belly.

But you wanted to see what another man’s cock did to me, how I opened my legs, how I bent over for the length of him. You unzipped. You pulled my head back by the hair. ‘Look at me,’ you said, ‘when you’re fucked by another man.’ ‘Suck me,’ you said as you filled my mouth, ‘when another man fucks you from behind.’

Your cock was meant to remind me. To you, I was a possession. To you, filling my mouth with your cock, instructing me to look in your eyes, was a way to remind me that I still belonged to you. Your fantasy was of the proud man who takes pleasure in revealing and sharing the woman who belongs to him. She affirms his power. She affirms his masculinity. Most of all, she affirms his own desirability. He is master of the woman who brings him infinite pleasure. For a women to so completely submit must be a wonderful fantasy. But for me, the experience was different. I was naked. I was a woman.

One day a girl begins to understand what must happen inside her. She must open her legs. The creative spark must be poured inside her. In exchange will come a mysterious pleasure. She fears it, yet desires the promised pleasure of surrender. Her every curve flows inwardly to the place between her legs. Some days an accidental touch, anywhere — her wrist, her foot, someone brushing her breast – will be like a marble that plummets into the contours of her desire. To be a woman means to feel life’s urgency. Someday she will open her legs.

To me, all was darkness. To me, you were no longer my lover. My lover was the dark itself, the room, the house, city and the world. I was naked. I yielded. The woman imagines, someday, finally yielding and that her dark lover will answer. I was that woman. I never felt more desired or beautiful. Your voices filled my ears. Your scents enveloped me. A man’s thumb opened and entered my ass. A man’s cock filled my mouth. A man’s cock moved in and out of my womb. The masculine possessed me in every opening. I shook. I opened my legs. I hoped you would forgive me when I closed my eyes but I no longer saw you. The pleasure of my submission overcame me.

I tasted you before you came.

Then you and the other man came together. You cannot imagine what that is like for a woman to feel your pleasure, like praise, burst in her mouth and womb together. I swallowed and arched for what poured into me from behind. I felt as though the world itself poured its pleasure into me. I tasted masculinity. My belly and womb were warm and syrupy with maleness. I was filled. How could I help it? I wanted to fall asleep between you both. And I did.

  • This story is almost the polar opposite of Through my Eyes. Hard to write. Not sure if it’s good.

☼ William Crimson October 9 2011

17 comments on “Daydreams & Distractions ☼ She Says to You

  1. ximenawrites
    October 10, 2011

    It shifted seamlessly from the purely physical into the metaphysical aspects of her submission. Her sexuality – her desire to receive, to be taken – is all-encompassing. It must be humbling for her man to see how well she can take not only him but the other man, and to realize that she can take even more.

    //Your fantasy was of the proud man who takes pleasure in revealing and sharing the woman who belongs to him. She affirms his power. She affirms his masculinity. Most of all, she affirms his own desirability. He is master of the woman who brings him infinite pleasure. For a women to so completely submit must be a wonderful fantasy.//

    This passage makes me wonder whether you were hinting at a dangerous act of hubris… does he know he’s throwing gasoline on a well-controlled flame in the name of his own masculine pride? As romantic a concept as it might seem, sharing isn’t always caring. It can be a reckless move to arouse the all-consuming hunger dormant in her – a hunger and imperative that makes a man’s supposed constant arousal seem paltry and one-dimensional in comparison. His imprint on her womb can be fucked away far easier than he can ever hearten himself to imagine…

    //Some day an accidental touch, anywhere — her wrist, her foot, someone brushing her breast – will be like a marble that plummets into the contours of her desire.//

    This sentence is so well-crafted I heard the hum and click in my head.

    • willcrimson
      October 10, 2011

      I was worried that the story was too “metaphysical” – which is what I meant by the opposite of “through my eyes”. So, what you wrote Ximena, makes me feel a little more confident. All of your comments, along with Eva’s and Paul’s, interest me. I feel like this story has gotten a strong reaction and I’m enjoying that. I get the sense that this fantasy is a compelling one?

      It must be humbling for her man to see how well she can take not only him but the other man, and to realize that she can take even more.

      Yes. Absolutely. No man, in my experience, wants to think that another man’s cock might bring his lover or wife more pleasure than his own. I included that detail, that the other man was bigger and longer, because when men usually write such D/S stories (I’ve noticed) the other man’s cock is almost always smaller. But I’m always trying to make my stories more honest and realistic. Yes, men, there is another man whose cock is bigger than yours. And yes, men, your woman might just have an orgasm on that man’s cock and not on yours because he’s bigger, fatter, stiffer and longer than you . But in the end (though I can’t speak for all women) women don’t marry men for their cocks. :-) So, the wise man knows this and, I like to think, the man in my story knows this.

      This passage makes me wonder whether you were hinting at a dangerous act of hubris… does he know he’s throwing gasoline on a well-controlled flame in the name of his own masculine pride?

      I suppose there are many sequels to this story. As the story is written, we don’t know who instigated the tryst. Originally it was her, but it could have been him. I imagine that we all, to some extent, put ourselves in the shoes of the characters we read about. When I imagine myself in the man’s place, I don’t feel threatened and I trust her. However, when I see the way you read it Ximena, I think to myself, if I ever have a lover like her (maybe in the next life), I’ll think twice before I pour gasoline on that hot little cauldron of simmering lava!

  2. paul1510
    October 10, 2011

    Will,
    I love the craft that you exhibit in this piece.
    However, I share Ximena’s doubts about the wisdom of such an act.
    Paul.

    • willcrimson
      October 10, 2011

      Yes, but Paul… good grief, man. Haven’t you ever had an erotic dream with a beautiful young (or mature and fabulously experienced) woman ready and willing to have unbridled sex with you? Haven’t you kicked yourself squarely in the ass, when you wake up, because your god damned moralistic super-ego got between you ( your ID) and that beautiful sex-starved woman? An erotic story is like a dream. Have sex! Let go! If you can’t enjoy yourself, guilt-free, in the privacy of your own dream and erotic story, then a bail of hay will be your reward in heaven. :-)

    • ximenawrites
      October 10, 2011

      Aw, Will… personally, I was just thinking too much about a beautifully written, nuanced piece of erotica. It was thought-provoking, and it’s nice to discuss these kind of things in a safe place amongst intelligent people.

      I too am surprised and delighted by all the different reactions.

      I guess I went into the metaphysics because they were such an important part of your story, but I also understand that it was her who fanned the fantasy so we shouldn’t all roast the poor fellow. It’s that spark, the fact she blocks his presence out as she’s being fucked by the other man that made me feel that warning flutter in my own belly…

    • willcrimson
      October 10, 2011

      Aw, Will… personally, I was just thinking too much about a beautifully written, nuanced piece of erotica.

      No you weren’t. :-) I loved your comment. And I’m glad you went into the metaphysical aspect. The story invites it.

    • willcrimson
      October 10, 2011

      By the way Paul, I was not referring to your god damned moralistic superego, but my own. I can’t tell you how many times it’s gotten between me and my beautiful dream-lover.

    • paul1510
      October 10, 2011

      Will,
      that’s not a problem, at my age I don’t take offence, it’s too much like hard work. :D ;)
      Paul.

    • willcrimson
      October 10, 2011

      At the end of the workday I came home and saw my comment. Thought to myself: Now that doesn’t read, at all, the way I heard it. I need to straighten that one out.

  3. Eva St. James
    October 10, 2011

    The experience, the relative foolishness or worth of such an act, I cannot speak to. However, it is a beautifully written piece. In erotica or any other fiction, for a man to write from a woman’s POV is almost never successful. You have done it well.
    Again, gorgeous imagery, a wonder piece.

    • willcrimson
      October 10, 2011

      All of your responses were unexpected. :-) The one subject I’ve steered clear of is infidelity, which can be tremendously exciting but also terribly sad and destructive. That play is almost always a tragedy and anything erotic is merely the first act.

      This was her fantasy. This is what originally began the story. Her telling him how it affected her was her way of thanking him. That still doesn’t make the tryst any less (potentially) foolish. But (stepping outside of the story) if a relationship is strong and the couple communicative enough, such experiences can just as easily enhance a relationship or marriage. But the beauty of erotica is that it allows us to safely imagine and imaginatively enjoy something we’d be better off just imagining.

      If you think I’ve written convincingly from a woman’s point of view, then that’s a high compliment. Thank you. I just try to keep it real. I know from my own experience that what goes on between the sheets is one thing, between the ears another. A man and woman can walk away from sex with completely different experiences. The man’s experience of sexual conquest and dominance can be the woman’s fantasy of seduction and expert manipulation! (I should write that story.)

  4. vanillamom
    October 11, 2011

    i am so late to the party here, but i’m finally catching up with this side of my life…and i found myself panting as i came to the end of the tale.

    Well crafted, to be sure.

    The whole image, him offering her tits, her nipples, to the other, *gifting* her away…but still holding on, still retaining the ultimate prize (her)…he will share, but not give away completely, and (to me), the act of using her mouth brings that fully into focus.

    He made her look at the guy taking her from behind (oh such a wicked fantasy, yes indeed!!) but when a guys cock is in your mouth? All you think of is him…his familiar taste, mouthfeel, scent…reminding her, i think, that while her pussy may occasionally shared property…

    she is, ultimately, *his*.

    Bravo,

    nilla

    • willcrimson
      October 11, 2011

      Thanks Nilla. :-) I’m glad you liked it. I really didn’t, and still, can’t judge the story myself.

      And now I’m going to stop typing because every other response I’ve written to poor Paul, Ximena and Eva wound up, in text, all wrong – they look testy, short tempered, and crotchety. [Rolls Eyes.] Not what I was hearing in my head.

    • vanillamom
      October 11, 2011

      mebbe you just hate the idea of sharing….

      nilla

    • willcrimson
      October 11, 2011

      :-) Nah, I think I hate waking up so early in the morning.

    • vanillamom
      October 11, 2011

      He hated waking early. She wasn’t beside him; that side of the bed was doubly cold for the loss of her soft warmth…the night came back to him with a waterfall of memories, and his smile slid from his rising cock to his lips…

      bodies, heat, her warm wet mouth serving as a receptical for his hard thickness….

      The door opened, dissipating his memories, as she brought light, and coffee, into the room. Clad in his rumpled shirt, she slid carefully into the bed, and passed him a steaming cup.

      Suddenly the day was better.

  5. tina
    November 6, 2012

    I’m very late to comment on your stories, being new to this blog. (A million thanks to nilla for the Tentacle recommendation that brought me here!)
    But I kind of feel compelled to say that, you got it so right. On so many levels. My husband has shared me, and the experience was… well. You describe it here so much better than I could. His view or fantasy as the owner/controller of a desired commodity that he is choosing to share. Her reality, as it happens, and the headspace that just keeps expanding to make it about so much more than just the act of sex with another man.
    Beautifully written, and it brings back more than a few happy memories for me.

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The Obsidian Lens and Crimsonian contain links to password-protected stories from the Erotic Writers with darker themes. For more information on Obsidian Lens, click here. Email William Crimson directly for admission to the Crimsonian.

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