The Trophy Case

[Subo97]

Ivan

#2

When Margeret spun around, wide eyed and panting, Ivan placed his hands on her back and slid hm dowm over her ass, spreading his fingers and squeezing her round globes. "Can you blame him," Ivan smiled and kissed her throat, first above, then below her choker.

"No, really," she continued to blurt out between deep breaths, "You've got to see this." She pushed his shoulders in the direction of the telescope. She leaned against him as he peered through the telescope, one hand on his back, the other flat on his chest and pressed against him, one firm thigh on either side of his hip. Across the way, the Benedictines were still locked together. her fingers curled around the table's edge and her lips were pulled back from her teeth. Whether from passion or pain he could not tell in the absence of sound. The man held her hips in his hands and thrust deep, throwing his head back as he arched into her. "Can you believe it?" Margaret asked, one hand squeezing his chest, the other pulling his hip tighter against her loins.

"They're lost in passion," Ivan said, rising up and turning to her. Margaret's green eyes sparkled and her tongue licked her open lips. Ivan reached up to the strap of her dress and lifted it , causing her breast to rise slightly as he pulled it down her arm to the crook of her elbow.

"Not here," she said, catching his other hand, "Someone might see us." Her eyes darted to the windows in the distance.

"All right," said and offered her his hand, drawing her into the apartment and into his arms. Bending to kiss her, he found her mouth open and eager, her tongue meeting his as he slid it inot her mouth. Her fingers dug into his shoulder blades as their tongues entwined and their bodies molded to each other. He allowed his hands to roam over her body, cupping her breast with one hand, squeezing her ass with the other while she clung to him.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned back and smiled at her. "The bedroom's over there," he pointed. "I'll meet you there after I turn down dinner, no sense in burning the lamb." She giggled softly as he went to the kitchen to adjust the oven.

When he entered the bedroom, he found her standing at the foot of the bed, surveying the room as if reading the man who lived in it. Ivan walked up to her and kissed her neck below her choker and down to her shoulders. With one hand he pulled down the zipper on the back of the dress. She allowed him to pull it off her shoulders to bare her breasts. With her own hands, she pushed it off her hips revealing a pair of black lace panties. Ivan raised a hand to cup her full breast and brushed a thumb across her hard pink nipple. She took a deep breath, raising her breasts, and turned to climb on the bed.

Ivan began undressing quickly as she mounted the bed like a cat, walking on her hands and knees across the coverlet. She paused to turn and look over her shoulder, her eyes widening as he stripped off his boxers to reveal his hard cock. Climbing on the bed, he knelt behind her and bent to kiss the back of her neck. His lips moved down her back as his hands caressed the sides of her hanging breasts until his lips met the edge of her panties. Stroking her sides with his fingertips, Ivan moved his hands down to her hips and slid her panties off, revealing her firm, round ass.

 

[Subo97]

Ivan

.

 

[soliloquy]

The images from the telescope played in Margaret's mind as she felt Ivan's hands on her body. She wanted to be Ms. Benedictine. She wanted to be worshiped and to be lost in the sensations. She licked her lips as Ivan's hands worked over her ass and thighs.

There was undeniable heat, and Margaret wanted to plunge headfirst into the fire. His finger was making its way to the cleft between her buttocks and she gasped. He hesitated and she whimpered. He chuckled and moved on until his fingers were gliding effortlessly between the wet folds of her pussy.

She pushed back against Ivan's hand, urging him to penetrate her, to quench the fire. He seemed determined to draw this out. He kissed her lower back and made his way down to one cheek as his finger circled around her clit making her wetter than she had thought possible. It wasn't enough, though.

He was torturing her, taking it so slow. Suddenly, she turned on him, wrapped her body around his and pulled him into her for a deep, searing kiss filled with nothing but lust. Her tongue was wild inside his mouth, her body pliable yet writhing against his own. His hand crushed her breast and she squealed into his mouth.

"Ivan..." she whispered before diving in for another kiss. Her nails raked over her back without sympathy.

He broke the kiss and they were both gasping for air.

"I want...I want..." she tried to put it into words.

His head sank to her breast and he took her nipple between his teeth and pulled. She screamed, but in doing so was asking for more.

Again he said against her breast, "Tell me..."

Margaret pulled his head up to hers and looked him in the eye. "I want you to worship me like he worshipped her." Her words were a growl of need and frustration, laced with just a tinge of uncertainty at her own boldness.

Before he could answer, she wrapped her hand around his cock and began to stroke him gently, pushing his head back down to her breast for more. She needed more.

 

[Subo97]

Ivan

I want you to worship me like he worshiped her

Ivan went to church. Like all converts, Margaret was eager. Her hand curled around his cock and becgan to stroke it, sliding up and down from the base to the edge of his tip. Her other hand pushed his head down upon her breast and he lost no time in partaking of the offered communion. She arched her back as his open lips sucked in a mouthful of breast. He drew back from her breast, sucking on her flesh till he held only her hard nipple in his lips. Suckling on her nipple like a nursing child, he teased the hard tip with his tongue in a decidedly non-childlike action. Her hands responded, stroking him longer, her thumb grazing his tip, spreading precum over it, curling in his hair to hold him against her breast.

A soft, "Oh my," escped her lips as he switched breasts and she added a hissing, "Yessssss" as his fingers slid up her thigh to graze against the wet folds of her pussy. Imitating the circles his tongue made around her nipple, his fingers grazed the edges of her clit.

A push on his head from her hand left him no doubt as to her non-spoken plea. he slid down her body, disengaging his cock from her hand and lowered his face to the vee between her thighs. soft red curls awaited his lips, vivid proof of the natural origins of the fire that surrounded her face. "So beautiful," he whispered and kissed his way across the soft red tendrils of her burning bush before pressing his lips against her slit. He pushed her legs apart with his hands and looked up across her body. Perched on her elbows, her green eyes danced with desire as she watched him. Her mouth was open, panting, causing her breasts to rise and fall and when he slid his tongue along her slit, she threw her head back and gasped.

Ivan licked his way to her clit, spreading her wet lips as he went, probing and tasting the erotic sacrament. Upon reaching her clit, he swirled his tongue around it, avoiding it at first, then spiraling in slowly to lick around the base. The more he licked, the more vocal she became, singing out his praises. "Oh, God, that's nice," she gasped as he whipped his tongue back and forth across her clit, "Oh, yes, Uh, uh, uh," she sang unintelligibly, raising her hips and pushing herself against his probing lips and tongue. Ivan teased her clit and lapped the juices flowing from her inner depths till she reached down, grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up.

"Now," she gasped, hooking her heels in the back of his knees and kissing him deeply, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. Ivan moved his hips and easily slid into the wet sanctum of her body, stretching her wet walls with the girth of his cock. Her hips rose to help pull him in and with one final thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

She broke their kiss and moved her mouth to his shoulder as he began moving inside her. she bit down on his flesh as he increased the length of his strokes, crying out as he moved harder and faster. Her first time came quickly, "Yes, yes, yes," she scrreamed, shuddering around his cock, her inner depth churning, before falling limp underneath him.

"That was glorious," she cooed, wrapping her legs around his back. "Now let me make an offering to you." She rolled him over, with his assistance, impaling herself on him with a groan. She straddled him, hands on his shoulders, breasts dangling before his face, her red hair falling down around him like unburning fire.

 

[soliloquy]

Margaret began to roll her hips forward and back as she felt Ivan fill her yet again. She was concentrating on rubbing her clit against his skin, on building the fire inside her. It wasn't that she wasn't trying to please Ivan, nor that she was using him like a live dildo; it was simply that she needed like she never needed before. Usually orgasms made her feel sedate and spent. The glorious orgasm Ivan gave her was like pouring fuel on a raging fire. "More," she whispered, her body taking over and sending messages to her voice and mouth moreso than her brain was doing.

He lifted his head to take her nipple in his mouth and she jumped, rising on his cock. Cradling his head in her hand, keeping him to her breast, she began to rise and fall, each downward movement causing her clit to slap and rub against his body. He took her nipple between his teeth just as she was pushing his head away from her. The pain was sudden, but did not quench the pleasure inside. In fact, the pain seemed to intensify the moment, and she took advantage of the message her body was sending her. She pinched the already sore nipple and cried out as her whole body jarred with sensation.

She rose, sitting up as she straddled him. His legs rose so that his feet were flat on the bed and he pushed up inside her as she fell on his cock. "Oh god oh god oh god oh god" she repeated in rhythm with their lovemaking. Her hair hung in her face and she squeezed her eyes shut, seeing collages of Cherise, the Benedictines, and Ivan behind her lids. Bodies, flesh, mortal sin all washed away by worship of the basest kind.

She felt his hands filling with her breasts and she moaned as if in prayer. Her second orgasm was closing in and she wanted it.

"Tell me more about what you see in your telescope, Ivan" she managed to croak out as his fingers manipulated her tight nipples with great mastery. She put her hands on his knees and used them as leverage to rise and fall on his prick. Faster and harder she rode, each thrust and flex of his cock inside her threatening to make her explode.

 

[Subo97]

Ivan

Tell me more about what you see in your telescope, Ivan

Margaret's voice was husky as she rode him, her words punctuated by moans and gasps. From his vantage point below her, she looked and felt magnificent, like an erotic angel. Naked except for her star studded choker, she rode him, grinding her clit against him, leaning back with her hands on his knees, twisting her hips to pleasure herself.

"I've seen many things, Maggie," Ivan answered, moving his hands over her breasts. "I saw Cherise pleasure herself with a gold vibrator."

"Oooh," Margaret responded, twisting her hips to grind on him.

Ivan rolled her nipples with his fingers and raised his hips. "I watched a busty youg girl kneel between her boyfriend's knees and suck him till her was hard. Then put his cock between her breasts and massage him till he came all over them."

"Mmmmmmmm," Margaret hummed, and pushed his ass back down on the bed, impaling him as she twisted her hips, spiraling down on him.

"I watched a threesome one night, two men and a woman. She took one from behind as she went down on the other." Margaret clinched her buttocks, squeezing his cock, and Ivan risked a step forward. "I was with a woman that night. I lifted her skirts and did her from behind while she watched. She came when the man at the rear squirted over the girls's ass." Margaret moaned, and Ivan continued, "When the two men changed positions, my friend and I switched, too. I watched the trio while she knelt on the balcony floor and sucked my cock.."

"Oh yeah..." Margaret was losin herself. "Mmmm...maybe...maybe we can do that sometime." Ivan moved withing her and slid a hand up to stroke her face, brushing her lips with his thumb. She sucked his thumb into her mouth, rolling her tongue around it.

"My favorite was the Benedictine's."

"Tell me," she urged after pulling her lips off his thumb.

"She got on top, facing away from him."

"Oooh, I can do that," she cooed and raised herself off Ivan to turn around. She grasped his cock in one hand and lowered herself on him again, leaning forward to hold his knees. Ivan reached up to hold the round globes of her ass in his hands.

"He played with her ass while she fucked him," Ivan said squeezing margaret's cheeks.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," was her only answer. Ivan spread the cheeks of Margaret's ass and pressed his thumb, slick with her saliva against the rosebud of her ass. "Oh, God, yesss," she groaned, her insides churning on his cock. Ivan swirled his wet thumb around her tight opening. Margaret screamed and lowered her head, reaching with her hand to cup Ivan's balls.

"He worships her ass," Ivan said, pressing wwith his thumb. "Just like I worship yours."

 

[soliloquy]

A feral moan escaped her as Ivan's thumb penetrated her puckered hole. Margaret was finding it difficult to concentrate on her rhythm as the heat from his words and his touch inflamed her.

Grinding into him, she placed her hands on his legs to maintain balance. "How does he worship her ass, Ivan?" Her voice was coming in slow, protracted pants along with her breath.

"How does one worship, Margaret?" His voice sounded only slightly strained, and Margaret felt the need to have him as incapacitated as she was. She began to ride him faster, urging his cock deeper inside her.

"Adoring, prayer, and annointment..." she gasped as her clit pulsed and her pussy contracted briefly around his cock. She thought she heard him groan, but the throbbing of her clit seemed to muffle all other senses.

Ivan grabbed her by the hips and surged up into her, his body connecting with hers almost violently. "Fuuuuuckkkkkk..." Margaret nearly screamed.

"Yes, Margaret, that's a much better idea." And then she was lifted off his magnificent cock, and she whimpered in protest.

"Shhh..." Ivan comforted her. "Now on your hands and knees. Let me worship you."

Margaret giggled, and crawled across the bed until her ass was in his face. There was no more talking, just a need that rang through the air. His hands stroked over her ass slowly, his nails barely touching her skin. Margaret slipped a finger between her pussy lips and pressed against her clit as if to try to stop it from pulsing so.

Ivan began squeezing her ass cheeks, and she groaned in need. He was massaging her within an inch of her orgasm. Her finger began to rub against her clit, despite her desire to ward off her impending convulsions. And then his tongue was running over the flesh of her ass, and Margaret didn't know how much longer she could hold back. But she wanted to feel him inside her before she came.

She was granted her wish, but not in the manner in which she had expected. His tongue penetrated her ass just a bit. Margaret had never felt anything like it in her life. Her whole body jumped, and began to shake. He licked up to the small of her back and then began nibbling downwards again, letting his teeth graze her skin.

"Ivan..." Margaret moaned. His finger was circling her asshole, teasing her. "Please, more."

His finger sank into her ass, and Margaret was beyond control. Her body was racked with convulsions as her pussy seemingly exploded. She cried out loudly as she buried her face in the sheets on the bed. And all the while, he kept fucking her ass with his finger. Wait, now two fingers. Her orgasm was subsiding, but another wave of heat was rising. This had never happened to Margaret before, this insatiability, this need for more and more and more.

Soon, she was rocking back against his hand, uninhibited and wild.

"I think it's time for annointment, Ivan."

 

[Subo97]

Ivan

I think it's time for annointment, Ivan

Margaret pushed her ass back against Ivan's hands and clenched her muscles to squeeze the fingers that stroke her insides. Ivan bent to kiss the small of her back just at the point where the cleavage of her ass began. Tongueing the spot gently, he slowly pulled his fingers out of her ass.

"Anointing requires holy oil," he said and got up to walk to his bedside table and picked up a cruet of oil. She watched him, eyes wide and lips apart as he walked up and stood before her. "Behold, the instrument of your baptism," he smiled and rubbed the tip of his cock across her lips, coating them with his precum. Responding she swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock and, moving her head, reached out with her lips to draw him in her mouth, but he pulled back and uncorked the cruet. he poured a small line of oil on the upper side of his cock. "use your hand to coat me with the oil," he instructed and she obeyed, sliding her fingers around his girth and stroking up and down the length of his cock till it glistened with oil. Her other hand remained between her legs, her fingers in her wet pussy and pressed against her clit.


"And now, our acolyte only needs one more thing," he whispered, taking a step away. "Do you know what it is?"

"Nooooo," she moaned, reaching out for his cock. "Please, I need it now, what is it?"

"A congregation," he answered and pulled the strng to open his blinds

"Oh, my" she gasped, "I don't know....."

"I want you to imagine the benedictines," he said, noting how her eyes lit up at the mention of the other couple's name. "She's watching you with binoculars, nipples swollen, her pussy churning with excitement. He's between her legs, taking communion of the juices that flow from her. She offered herself up for you. What will you offer her?"

Margaret moaned, "Everything," and buried her face in the sheets, spreading her legs apart for Ivan, her feet hanging off the end of the bed. Ivan stood behind her and placed one hand on the small of her back, pushing the top of her body gently down. He tilted the cruet of oil and poured it slowly on the crack of her ass. The oil flowed down, over her puckered rosebud, pooling a bit there, then down across her pussy and her fingers.

Putting the oil aside, Ivan took hold of the round globes of her ass and spread them apart, moving his hips forward to touch her opening with the tip of his cock.

"OH, Oh, God," she gasped as his cock pressed against her tight opening. "Ohhhhhhhhh, yessssssss" she moaned as his head slowly slid into her, spreading her ass apart. he stopped with just his tip inside, to gauge her response. "More, Oh God, more....please..." she groaned and pressed back against him. having her approval, he moved his hips forward and slid into her till he felt his balls press against her fingers as they moved on her wetness.

He began moving in her, slowly at first and more quickly as she responded with hip movements of her own, eventually taking his whole length with each stroke. She quivered, her tight insides clinging to his well oiled shaft as he moved in her.

Reaching under her, his finger found her wet slit and slid up to join her own fingers as they worked her clit. he thruat deep inside her and held himself there as he felt her climax arriving. He jerked inside her, and exploded as the tremors shook her body.

Easing her down to the bed, he lay spooned against her till he softened and slid out of her. He kissed her neck underneath her choker and cupped her breast in his and. "You are anointed, Stargazer," he said warmly.

"You're quite the astonomer," she giggled.

"And you're quite the student. Come," he said, rising and offering her his hand. "We'll share a hot shower, and when we're all done I'll show you why the sign of Pisces looks like a 69."


****************************************************

Ivan pushed himself off the patio chair with his cane and retrieved the rhinestone choker from around the telescope. Dragging his cast-laden leg back to the bedroom, he kissed the choker and placed it back in the drawer.

 

[Subo97]

new partner

OOC: It's my great fortune to be joined by the very talented Maid of Marvels for our next vignette


IC:

Unable to find anything watchable on the television, Ivan sorted through his CD's looking for something to help him relax. He was already too antsy for rock, had too many good memories for the Blues, and was too distracted for jazz. A woman's voice, considering his recent walks down memory lane, somebody sensual. Ahh, his favorite lovemaking music, the French Chanteuse, Edith Piaf.

Stretching out on the bed, Ivan relaxed to the husky smoothness of the Little Sparrow's voice. Turning to the drawer, he searched for a moment before finding what he was looking for: a white garter, trimmed in lace. Ivan smiled, remembering the graceful thigh from which it came.

And do you, Kayte, take this man, to love and obey...........

OOC: Ldies and Gentlemen, all dressed in white, I give you Maid of Marvels

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"And do you, Kayte, take this man, to love and obey... "

Kayte smiled into her lover's eyes as the priest spoke the words. She never thought things would end up like this. Getting married to Ivan was something she had only hoped for in her dreams. In dreams she had packed away when she'd left him on that rainy afternoon a year ago.

She'd sat at the desk, tears streaming down her face as she composed the note she was going to leave.

My Dearest Love,

I know that you will never understand, but you must believe that leaving here and now is the best thing for both of us. I know, my heart. I can hear your voice now: "How in the hell is our being apart good?" It just is, Ivan. You have to take my word for it.

I know, you'll feel angry and hurt that I didn't have the nerve to tell you in person. I just can't. To see the hurt in your eyes. Listen to your arguments against me going... Well, they would have only made me stay. And go I must. For me. For you. For both of us.

Please remember me fondly. And know that I do love you with every breath I take.

Forevermore,
Kayte

Kayte read and reread what she had written. There was no nice way to say what she had said. Changing the words would not make it any better. She set the pen down before folding the sheet of paper and propping it against the lamp. He'd see it first thing when he came in.

Taking one last, long look around the apartment, she whispered. "Goodbye, Ivan. God speed." Lifting her bags, Kayte Roth let herself out the door and ran for the taxi whose driver was impatiently blowing the horn at the curb.

 

[Subo97]

Ivan

#1

It was like getting kicked in the groin.

Ivan sat with the letter in his hand, oblivious to the universe and time passing around him.

This could not be. Even with the evidence of her letter, he cpuld not believe what was happening. It was so unreal, so unlike her. There was no warning. No arguments, no deceptions uncovered, nothing to presage her dissappearence. Their passion had not cooled. Just the night before they had made love at her instigation, leaving the bed in total dishevelment after their passion. How could that not have been real? Afterwards, she had wrapped her arms and legs around him and held him close, kissing him as they both fell into a deep sleep.

Sometime after the denial came the anger, throbbing at his temples. What an arrogant bitch! he told the uncaring walls of his apartment, then felt remorse at his words. No, she had loved him, he was sure of that, but she was gone. Each re-reading of the letter made his blood boil. She didn't trust him. She didn't have faith in him. She didn't consider how he'd feel. Somehow she had convinced herself hurting him was in both their interests. He imagined her there and told her off, over and over, finally grabbing her by her imaginary shirt and tossing her to the sofa, demanding an explanation.

If he could talk to her, they could overcome the difficulties, he was sure. He called her friends who did not know or pretended to not know her whereabouts. "If I could just talk to her," he bargained, "I know we could work it out." But , although expressing sympathy, none had been helpful. I'll do anything, he thought and said and even went so far as to implore the Almighty.

Where is she?, he thought, unready to accept his loss. Stepping to the balcony of his apartment. Looking up at the heavens filled with a billion unnamed stars, he pleaded with the powers that shaped the universe. Admitting powerlessness brought the precious gift of serenity, but his soul held on to the memory of Kayte and peace eluded him.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

First stop... Paris

For months, Kayte wandered alone in a city meant for lovers, staying in a quiet little pension on the outskirts of the city proper. She visited all the sights -- from the Arc de Triomphe to the Champs Elysees. She spent a day at the Louvre. An afternoon at the Chateau de Versailles. She ate dinner at Altitude 95 in the Eiffel Tower. Went to the Trocadéro. Cruised the Seine. All the things she and Ivan had talked about doing... together.

This evening, Kayte sat at a table for one at the Moulin Rouge. She'd barely tasted the Foie Gras or the braised Angler Fish "Dugléré" and the blood orange mousse might as well have been Jell-O with Cool Whip for all the enjoyment it gave her. In fact, everything about Paris was decidedly lackluster. Hype. Propaganda and story book nonsense.

Then again... Kayte gestured for the garçon and asked for her bill. He immediately became patronizing, asking what had displeased her and reminding her that the show would begin soon. She nodded and made some small talk to assure him that it was just jet lag, which he seemed to accept with an almost theatrical sigh of relief.

Leaving a tip, she made her way out of the restaurant, stopping to ask the maître d'hôtel, "Où puis-je prendre un taxi?"

The dignified looking gentleman surprised her by opening the door and placing two fingers in his mouth to whistle shrilly. "Là," he said with a grin as a cab rounded the corner. Kayte thanked him and climbed in, giving the address of her pension.

She had made a mistake thinking she could do this alone. A big one. And she hoped it wasn't too late to fix it.

 

[Subo97]

Ivan

#2


Leaning back in his seat, unable to sleep, Ivan glanced around the cabin at his fellow flyers. Each had their untold story, each was writing their own chapter unknown to the others. What were they doing here? What was he doing here? Caught between fear of never seeing Kayte again and the rage of abandonment, Ivan chose to fly to Paris. not to confront her, but to comfort her. Her flight was still a mystery, her telegram had said merely, "Come to Paris, I need you." That and a hotel room number. She had not answered his telephone calls. The best that he had been able to do was leave his flight information with the concierge. He would find out within the hour if she would be there to meet him.

Racing toward's the rising sun, the plane's interior lightened as the hour passed. Around him, his fellow travelers stirred. The lovers across the aisle were both exhausted from their antics during the night. Twice they had snuck into the rest room, no longer willing to limit themselves to surreptitious gropings under a blanket. Ivan had heard their grunts emanating from the small bathroom cubicle and had pretended to be asleep as they snuck back to their seats. He smiled, remembering similar behaviors when he and Kayte had been unable to keep their hands off each other, their hunger arising in hte most peculiar of places. Before she had left.

Still no indication of why she left but until he found out, Ivan was unable to find the peace of mind to move on. Hope springs eternal, never more so than in the heart of a spurned lover. Whatever had driven Kayte off, was at least still unresolved in her mind as well. Overcoming his trepidation toward's the unknown, Ivan had flown to Paris , hoping for a solution, good or bad.

After landing at Paris, Ivan walked down the long tunnel, stomach churning. Entering the terminal, he walked past reuniting lovers, family reunions and sign carrying limo drivers. But no Kayte. Shrugging, he walked toward's baggage, wondering if she would be at the Hotel as well. somewhere in the back of his mind, he had begun to prepare a solo vacation in Paris. finding his way to the baggage carousel, Ivan waited for his luggage, when, from behind a large pillar, Kayte stepped out to look at him, a wry smile smile on her face, her eyes running the gamut of emotions from fear to hope. Leaving his fear and anger behind, Ivan raised an eyebrow and spread his arms.

 

[Subo97]

introducing shereads

OOC: pending the return of Maid of Marvels, I've prevailed upon shereads to join me in an interlude of five posts.

IC:

Ivan placed the white garter back in his drawer with a gentle sigh.

The loss of his wife had been hard and had sent him on a journey of discovery, motorcycling across America that summer, losing himself in grand vistas and cheap whiskey. Feeling hungry, Ivan got up and hobbled to his kitchen. Leaning against his refrigerator, he scanned the contents and settled for an omelet, a Western omelet with peppers and jalapeno cheese fit the bill and Ivan tended to his needs.

That last summer, he remembered, he had come in from the cold, physically and spiritually in the wilds of Idaho. Eleanor was her name, he remembered as he finished his eggs and dragged his heavy cast laden leg to the bedroom. Where was it? There in the bottom of the drawer, a lace edged apron, a relic of recovery. she had worn it that night when he came in out of the cold and rain, looking for coffee and comfort. He had seen the flourescent EATS sign a mile away as he wound his way through the wooded valley to the Diner. Flickering in the night, it had promised relief from the hard ride. A promise of hot coffee and maybe some homemade apple pie, he had no idea she would feed his soul.

Ivan had walked into the diner, pulling off his leather gloves and placing them in his helmet, and sat himself dowwn at the counter. He was the only patron in the small diner and as he truned over the coffee cup that already lay on the counter, the young waitress walked up to him with a steaming pot of coffee in her hand, a warm smile driving away the cold and ennui from his bones.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>> shereads, all decked out in her diner finery, you're next........................................

 

[shereads]

>>deleted double post<<

 

[shereads]

Post #1

He loves the tits; he hates the bubble.

Odd how something can jar her memory of him. Even a man completely unlike him, and after all this time. Ever cognizant of her customers' body language, Ellie recognizes this one's raised eyebrow and wan half-smile as an expression of distaste for one of three plump pink globes.

With the swift, strong suck of an expert blower, she draws Bazooka Joe back inside her mouth and indulges in a single, luscious smack before filling the new guy’s coffee cup.

“Pardon the gum, Sugar,” she coos, leaning low and pouring with exquisite slowness. Ellie isn’t vindictive by nature, but Prep School here has just caused her to abort the day’s most promising bubble. So she gives him a good, long look at the perfect swell of her breasts – demure yet flirtatious as they peek from their veil of white nylon lace – and when Prep School abandons his manners in favor of a direct stare, she takes her girls away.

He doesn’t know he’s been punished, and he’ll feel compelled to add an extra buck to the tip. As always, it pays to be nice.

Always. Even if it's nice for just a while.

Setting up to make a fresh pot of decaf, Ellie shares a wistful moment with the counter crowd. Her regulars.

“Did I ever tell you about the guy who stole my apron?”

“Lord, Ellie. Not again.”

“Stole it? You used to say he took it.”

These are rookie customers, as regulars go. They haven’t learned the routine.

You can recognize the long-timers by the way their butts match the shapes imprinted upon the vinyl cushions of their favorite stools. These customers know when to ask questions and when to listen. None of them gets cold toast or the dregs from the bottom of the pot.

A proper question would be:

“Ellie, you say this fella stole your apron?. Whatever possessed him to do such a thing?” That’s Mayor Koontz, demonstrating the tact of a born leader and skillfully giving the floor back to Ellie. (Mayor Koontz held the office for three months in 1996, between the conviction of one and the election of another. He likes the title, and it’s worth an extra 50 cents.)

For the first time since her break, Ellie stops bustling about, and contemplates the rich, deceptively satisfying color of hot decaf streaming from filter to pot. Ellie is constantly in motion unless she’s coming down with the flu, returning from a funeral, or telling the apron story.

Ellie laughs; not the hearty laugh she invests in big tippers, but a soft laugh that is entirely her own. With a private smile of heart-stopping sweetness, she savors rare seconds of silence from her audience.

One or two have never heard about the apron guy, and are curious about this new, non-bustling version of Ellie. She looks beautiful, the way movie stars do in old movies when they use some special filter to soften the years.

She also grows still when she hums a certain song. But that only happens at home. And yesterday at the park, watching a couple’s first kiss – the tentative taste, the meeting of tongues, then the hungry mating of mouths - there was a moment when she couldn’t move at all, or she'd have been moved to tears. Nobody saw her, so that stillness doesn’t count.

“Well, Mayor,” she begins, “I had a customer come in one day who looked at me like I was Julia Roberts. Good looking guy, nice manners, the kind I don't mind staring at me. Made me feel like God's gift to men - right up until he noticed the bubblegum. Loved the tits, hated the bubble…This’ll have to wait a minute. Prep School over there wants his check.”

 

[Subo97]

Ivan

post #1

Ivan unzipped his leather jacket and let the warm air caress his chest as the waitress poured the coffee. "Thank's Ellie," he said, reading the name tag perched on the round swell of her uniform. She had enough buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of cleavage, a strategy Ivan was sure was worth an extra tip or two during a hard day. Rather than stare, his eyes slid up to her face and looked into a pair of challenging eyes, almost daring him to say the wrong thing.

Ivan was quiet. a woman in her position probably heard a lot of wrong things and Ivan knew what it was like to have a bad day.

Placing the coffee urn back on it's warmer, Ellie blue a bubble, popped it and asked, "Need a menu?"

"Nope," he answered, watching her, "Just a piece of pie and something to keep me warm. Chile maybe?"

Ellie leaned back against the counter and blew another bubble. It grew out of her mouth, her red lips sliding over the thin membrane until it obscured half her face. Upon reaching maximum size, she drew it back in, her mouth opening and her lips sliding around it again until it popped with a loud crack. Before it could stick to her chin or nose, her tongue swirled out and drew it back into her mouth.

Ivan just raised an eyebrow in an "OK, what's next" gesture.

"In that order?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yep," he answered. "No sense in delaying the pleasure any longer than necessary."

"Suit yourself," she said and turned to enter the kitchen through a pair of stainless steel swinging doors with glass portals, her hips swaying. her dress was tight and Ivan allowed himself a glance as the globes of her ass moved under the fabric.

"ala mode," he added as she went through the door. she didn't answer directly, only waved her hand in a "whatever" manner. Ivan slid his jacket off and draped it on the adjoining stool. He heard some clattering in the kitchen and Ellie sooned returned carrying a try. She placed the pie, hot as evidenced by the melting ice cream, in front of him and a bowl of chile off to the side. She plopped down a jar of tabasco and a handful of saltines beside the chile. She was quick and efficient if not friendly. Beautiful, too. Ivan thought of Bette Davis in Petrified Forest. Though Ellie was much better endowed up top than Bette was, she wasn't quite as witty. No matter, he was no Leslie Howard, either.

As he helped himself to a forkfull of hot apple pie, Ellie leaned her elbows on the counter, allowing him a better view of her rich cleavage. "So," she said, "What are you doing in this hole this time of night?" She puckered her lips and blew another bubble. Out of the side of his eye, Ivan watched it expand, growing larger and larger, further and further into his vision. He cocked his head, smiled and poked it with his fork.

 

[shereads]

Ellie Post #2

"HAA-A! HAA-A! HAA-A!"

Mayor Koontz was a good audience. One time when he laughed like that, Ellie had needed the help of two customers to stop a third one from administering the Heimlich maneuver.

"I love the thing with the fork," the Mayor explained (perhaps unnecessarily). "As God is my witness, I love that."

Ellie fixed him with a stare of feigned indignation, and when his expression was appropriately sheepish and his color back to normal, she went back to sorting silverware and continued her tale.

"Had I known at the time that a good Christian man like Mayor Koontz would find my predicament so amusing, I would have enjoyed it more myself."

"Sorry, Ellie." They went through this routine every time.

She'd never admit it, but the Mayor's reaction was part of what made stories worth telling. It helped keep the others' attention from drifting, too.

"Well, it would have been funny if it happened to somebody else," Ellie conceded. "He popped a seven-incher right in my face. I thought for a second that I'd been shot...

"Then I reached up and peeled off the top part of the bubble. When I found out I could still see, I was relieved. Then I saw one of my false eyelashes stuck to the gum, and I was ready to do violence..."

---------------------------------

Ellie has never told a dirty story that was true.

Making private things public is like wearing your underwear on the outside of your clothes. For stories that start out true, there is always a fork in the road. A place where the narrative veers off in a direction that will keep it clean, keep it funny and keep her secrets.

She had never worn false eyelashes, for one thing. But the Mayor liked that part so she left it in.

The good-looking stranger had in fact burst her bubble, plastering her face with pink for no good reason at all - not thirty seconds after Ellie had gone to the trouble to heat the man's pie! Everybody knew that "Hot Apple Pie" was just menu-talk. If you didn't ask, you ate it cold. Unless you were a good-looking stranger who had come in from the rain.

Those were the last true parts of the public version of Ellie's apron story, which continues with a slug to the stranger's jaw that made his stool spin. Eventually that version arrives at the same conclusion, regarding the apron. But this is where the road forks.

In the version that Ellie keeps private, she doesn't slug him. Doesn't even haul back her fist.

She might have, if his eyes hadn't been wide with shock and dismay. Best of all, his fork-hand was frozen in mid-air, sinking by centimeters, as if to signal, "If you want me to hold this position until they photograph the crime scene, I will; just don't cry or do anything rash."

There was something about a man who'd do a thing like that on impulse, to a woman he didn't know from Eve's house cat...And if he looked this comical, Ellie could only imagine what she must look like, the top of the mask having flopped below her chin like a limp pink beard.

He had looked so relieved when she started to laugh. At first she had laughed at the absurdity of this, and then she had laughed because it felt so good. So rare! Ellie hardly ever laughed except for tips anymore; she'd been growing old before her time. A 23-year-old curmudgeon.

She'd have stopped laughing if she could, long enough to tell Fork Man that he could lower his arm now, but months of unused laughter were spilling out. The man from the cold relaxed at last, and his smile could have lit up Idaho. Then he started laughing too, and Ellie knew she was his.

It felt nice. Even if only for a while.

 

[Subo97]

post #2

Ivan

Putting his fork down, Ivan wiped a tear from his cheek that had flowed out of him along with thte laughter. "Thanks," he gasped, "It's been a while since I lauged that hard, laughed at all if I have to tell you the truth. I shouldna' done it, but I couldn't help myself." Ellie shook her finger at him in mock reproval.

"You owe me," she said, "Now you gottat tell me what brings you here, after bursting my bubble and all."

"Just going between here and there." he replied. ellie arched her eyebrows. "No, really," he added. "I guess eventually I have to end in Florida. That's where home is. But that's a ways off."

"You drove up here from there?" she asked.

"No, from Paris." She gave him the look. "New York," he laughed. "I flew from Paris, but the journey started there."

"I can't imagine Paris," she sighed, placing her chin on both hands. she apparently forgave him the glance at the deep valley her breasts formed as her eyes were still sparkling when he looked back up. "I ain't ever been to Boise, let alone Paris. What's it like?"

"It's beautiful, the City of Lights, they call it." His smile was wan. Ivan had ridden his bike thousands of miles, using the wind in his face to scour the memory of Paris from his heart and now this girl in a diner in Idaho was dragging him back. But she had never been there and everyone should go to Paris at least once, if only in the mind.

"It's old," he started, " Not in a run down way, but a venerable way. Like an old woman sitting on a porch, full of wisdom, one you can still see the beuty that never fades."

"You talk like a writer," Ellie interjected.

"Yeah, not a good one, though," he smiled. "at least not like the others that walked the streets of Paris. I still think Paris like that. When I walk the streets around Notre Dame, I think of the Hunchback everytime the great bells toll, dying of a broken heart. Or Jean ValJean fleeing the sewers beneath my feet."

"I saw some of that at the movies." Ellie sighed.

Ivan smiled and told her about the city, about the great monuments and buildings, the famous names and infamous haunts, about the everyday sights like the men and women scurrying home from work with baguettes under their arms. He talked about the bistros and cafes, sipping pernod under the summer sky, strolling the left bank arm in arm with a lover.

"It sounds romantic," Ellie sighed, "you're so lucky."

"I guess I am," Ivan answered. "I sometimes forget that. Thank you."

"I wish I could go. Nothing romantic ever happens here."

"Don't be too sure," Ivan whispered and reached his index finger forward, sliding it down to hook it in the middle of her bra and pulling her forward to kiss her. Her lips stayed fim for a moment, then yielded under his, moving slightly as his kiss persisted. he spread her lips apart under pressure of his own and slid his tongue between them-- and brushed against her bubblegum.

 

[shereads]

Ellie #3

Damn if this one didn't have more gumption than any six men she knew. Of course, any man Ellie knew would have heard by now that a hand stuck in a wolverine's jaws had better survival odds than one that touched Ellie's "girls" without permission.

The stranger didn't know that, and she was glad.

She had heard the Paris bit done much worse, and less credibly. This man had probably been there. The part about the old lady being beautiful, that struck a chord. Ellie had never known a man who saw beauty in old things.

She kissed him shyly at first, or so it must have seemed to the stranger. In fact, Ellie wanted to get rid of the gum so he wouldn't think he was kissing a rube.

This was a hard kiss to break off, though. He was gentle and bossy at the same time, eager to take more but in no hurry to end the newness of their kiss. Ellie wanted to melt into the wet warmth of his tongue; wanted to nibble the rough-soft lips. God in heaven, she wanted the heat of this man's fingertips to explore beneath her bra -- but first, the gum had to go.

She opened more fully to him just for a moment and teased the surface of his tongue with the tip of her own - so you'll know I want it too - and then withdrew, with a reluctant shiver.

Her eyes were closed, and so they remained for a few seconds while she collected her wits. She shouldn't want this so much. Men who have dined in Paris can't be satisfied for long with apple pie. A man who has loved a girl in Paris, and has to cross another continent to escape the memory, was likely to forget this pit stop before the next county.

Ellie opened her eyes and saw the heat in his, and loneliness. He has his romantic memory; this will be mine.

She saw a question in his eyes, too, and was uncharacteristically quick to answer it. She usually liked to torture the guys a little.

"You finish your food...Then I'll take your order."

Before he could speak, she hushed him with the tender touch of a finger on his lips. He watched her close the blinds and flip the "closed" sign at the door, and didn't eat a bite of pie.

Before she headed for the ladies' room to fix herself up, Ellie stood beside her stranger, and held his beautiful face for a moment. With a gentle hand, she stroked the damp hair back from his forehead. It had been a long time since Ellie had made love; she would wait a long time after this.

When she spoke, her voice was low and husky with need: "Your name can be Jean ValJean. I don't want to know the real one. And my name...I'd like it if you called me Eleanor."

 

[Subo97]

Ivan

The husky timber of Eleanor's voice and the implicit promise it contained lingered in Ivan's brain as he leaned back against the counter and watched her walk to the ladies room. She walked sensuously with a self assurance that comes from being pursued by a hundered country boys. There was no doubt in her mind that he'd still be there when she came out. No doubt in his either.

She was wiser than she pretended. Wiser than he, at any rate. It was time to stop riding from something and start finding something to drive to. It took a slip of a girl in a diner in Idaho to teach him that. Maybe he'd seen too much to see the obvious.

Elaeanor came out of the restroom and walked across the floor to him, hips swaying, her eyes never leaving his, eyes full of confidence. She had let her hair down, touched up her lipstick and opened one more button on her dress. She came in a straight line, purposely and without doubt to stand before him. she reached out and took his head in her hands once again to kiss, her full lips pressing against his own. His lips opened to accept her probing tongue as she leaned against him. He closed his hands around her back and started to slide them down to her delightful ass when his fingers ran across the bow of her apron. Ivan paused to untie it and toss it on to his jacket, an impressive feat considering the activity of her tongue in his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, Eleanor sat slowly down on Ivan's thigh, his leg trapped between her own. Her warm eyes stayed on his as she slowly unbuttoned her dress to reveal her bra covered breasts. Ivan reached up to move the sleeves off her shoulder and down her arms. Elaeanor shrugged her shoulders to help him and, once her arms were free, reached out with her arms to pull his face to her breasts.

"Oh, magnafique " Ivan whipsered just before his lips touched the upper curves of her full breasts.

 

[shereads]

Ellie #4

There will be nights when I don’t think of you at all. Even on rainy nights like this one, when I’m left to close the diner alone, I won’t always watch for a lone headlight in the dark, or listen at the door for the distant sound of your bike, or hesitate to turn the “closed” sign. There may even be nights of freezing rain when I won’t save the last piece of pie for you, because it won't occur to me that you might be out there in the cold.

There will be nights when I don't wish other men were you. Maybe not a lot of nights, and maybe none in the beginning. But I know I won't always long for you. Or I couldn't bear the beauty of this moment.

The taste of your mouth is too good to let go, until your lips touch the swell of my breast above my bra. That’s when I know I can wait for more kisses. Wait a lifetime, if it means your hands will lift and fold the fabric of my bra, your knuckles grazing the soft flesh - yes, touch me softly, just like that – so my nipples are exposed to your nipping teeth and tender, seeking tongue.

I can wait forever for your delicious kisses, if you’ll let me tighten my thighs on either side of your leg, like this, and if you'll grit your teeth and moan as if in anguish while I make these lewd little circles with my hips. I can live with the certainty of never seeing Paris, in exchange for your low growl of pleasure when I close my eyes and ride you, loving the feel of rough denim through the thin fabric of my too-wet panties.

Say sweet things to me in French, and I’ll step back and strip for you, my eyes never leaving yours, so I can memorize the hunger you feel for me alone. Naked now, I’ll press my palm to you so I can feel the hard flesh straining against the unforgiving denim. I can feel your pulse; you can taste mine, at the place where your tongue dampens the flesh beneath my nipple, and where all my feeling is suddenly focused.

There will be a lover someday whose breathing sounds like yours, harsh and broken, when he feels my hands at work on the buttons of his tight Levis. And when I whisper, “Show me,” he’ll pull his cock out for me, proud of his beautiful erection, and humble in response to my appreciative, lip-licking smile.

His cock will probably leap and jerk and demand to be touched, just like yours. And just as I do now, I'll hold it in both hands and murmer, “Yes, baby, let me love it for you. Let me love it real nice.”

I'll ask my lover to stand up straight so I can push his jeans down around his knees, and like you he’ll be happy to cooperate. He might look like you a little, even smell like you when his skin is wet from cold rain and hot sweat. And maybe his hard-muscled thighs will quiver like yours when I place my hands there for balance as I kneel at his feet.

But when I lean against his legs for just a moment, my eyes closed and my heart pounding as I prepare to love him real nice, as promised – I’ll be imagining he’s you.

I’ll take his hard penis in my hands and lick its length, then my tongue will tease a circle around the ridged base of his glans. I’ll remember how you tasted, and how quickly you rewarded me with a trickle of clear precum, and how I lost myself in lapping you and pumping you and sucking you.

When I’m in my trance, he’ll truly be you and I’ll relive my special moment with handsome Jean ValJean. My sad, romantic hero, whose cock I worship as no other woman ever has or ever will. You'll fuck my mouth, taking your hero’s due, and I’ll pump my head up and down your slick shaft in a rhythm of your choosing. With one hand I’ll grip the flesh of your buttocks, a fingertip teasing its way into the crease between, And with the other hand I’ll gently lift your sac, keeping the skin there taut as you struggle toward your release.

My lover's fists entangled in my hair will remind me of yours. I’ll time the moment of his climax by my memory of yours, and maybe I’ll feel his balls tighten the way yours are tightening now, and I’ll ready myself for you, relaxing my throat and tightening my lips so I won’t waste a single drop of you.

Will he call out my name, like you, as he pumps the first explosive bursts into my sucking mouth? Will he pull my hair like this, forgetting his gentleness for a moment – forgetting everything, old lovers and lovers-to-be, as he takes comfort in the woman who took him in from the cold?

“Eleanor,” I hear you pant, as your fists release my hair so you can grip the countertop behind you with both hands. Your legs are shaking violently. How tired you must be, my good-looking stranger. You were hungry when you came in, and I hardly gave you time to eat a bite.

 

[Subo97]

Ivan #4

"Eleanore," Ivan moaned as he emptied himself in the wet sheath of her mouth. Quivering he sat down on the bar stool as she stood up and leaned over to kiss him, full breasts hanging in front of him. He reached up to cup them once again in his hands as she sat on his leg once more, rubbing her sex on his thigh. "Cheri, that was wonderful," he whispered just before thier lips met. Ivan rolled her hard nipples in his fingers as his lips opened to her eager tongue.

He had awakened something in her, just as she had reawakened him. Over 2,000 miles of road, riding to forget and this mountain Madonna had taught him there was more value in remembering: remembering a city of beauty and charm, remembering the freedom of the road instead of its imprisonment and, most of all, remembering the joy of a passionate woman in his arms. For that she deserved more than she was getting.

Ivan spun around on the diner stool and Eleanore giggled, finally reaching out with a hand to stop the spinning. Ivan reached out with his own hand and pushed the plates and silverware aside, then lifted Eleanor up on to the bar. "I do believe it's madamoiselle's turn," he said. Smiling her spread her legs with his hands against her thighs. She assisted him by leaning back on the bar and throwing one leg over his shoulder. "Oh jean," she moaned softly as he bent to kiss the golden thatch between her legs, and a deeper, "Ohhh" as he pressed his lips against her tender slit.

Eleanore's moans increased as he kissed up and down the length of her slit, pausing only to use his fingers to spread her open for his tongue. Her hand reached out to curl around his neck and he could feel her thigh quiver against his bearded cheek as he began to lick her. "yes, Jean, yes," she vocalized as he lapped her wetness, feeding himself with the juices that flowed out of her. When his tongue reached her clit and begn to swirl around it, she let go of his neck to brace herself with both hands and began humping upwards with her hips. When he held her clit in his lips and whipped his tongue back and forth, she screamed and drummed her heel against his back, her juices flowing out to soak his beard.

Eleanore fell back on her elbows, gasping, her breasts upthrust and jiggling with her panting breaths. Ivan slid her leg off his shoulder and stood upthen reached out to pick her up by the hips and turn her over before placing one knee on the bar stool and one foot on the floor. Gently Ivan pushed on the back of her neck and Eleanore bent over willingly, opening herself to his approaching hardness. When the tip of his cock touched the wet opening of the girl's pussy, Ivan took the girls shapely hips in his hand and thrust himself into her. sliding his hands up to cup her breasts, Ivan leaned against her back and kissed her neck. Moving his hips so his cock slid in and out of her, he whispered into her ear, " Oh that's sweet, that's sweet redemption."

 

[shereads]

Ellie #5

Ellie always pauses at the part of her story where the French biker steals a single, teasing kiss before riding out of her life with her pink-and-white apron. She won't know it's missing until she goes to take it off after closing up for the night, and she'll wonder how he managed to get part of her clothes off without her even knowing.

This is the part of the apron story where her listeners get quiet for a while. Mayor Koontz likes to think that the apron ended up on the body of a Parisian dancer, the Frenchman's winsome, pouting whore. Maybe she wore it with nothing else on the night of his return from America, and maybe he thought tenderly of Ellie, the innocent young girl whose heart he had stolen with a kiss. Like all of the long-time regulars, the Mayor knows that Ellie never had time to be young, and never bothered to be innocent. But the story is better this way, and retains its PG rating.

For Ellie, the break comes at the part of the story where she needs to be alone with her secret. Her hands are clearing tables and gathering tips; her heart is reliving the one romantic night of her life. The night of Jean ValJean, Florida native and emissary to Idaho from Paris and the wide world.

Drinker of Pernod.

Writer of stories. Maybe even one about her.

The laughing young man who had burst her bubble, at the risk of being slugged.

----------------------------------------

She had been licked and tongued before, but never like this. He was hungry and tender at the same time, his moans of delight mingling with her own.

The music of shared joy. She would listen for it, and even mimic her part, with a lover or two after Jean ValJean. But you can't will a romance into being. A lapping tongue, even when it delivers the promised release, isn't always a lover's kiss.

When the pleasure was nearly too much to bear, Ellie's stranger lifted and turned her, gently urging her face down against the countertop. Her heart pounded with anticipation as she opened her legs for him, presenting her melted-butter pussy like a special dessert for his marvelous cock.

"Do it," she moaned. "Sweet Jesus, please do it now."

His hands on her hips were gentle but uncompromising as he adjusted the position of her legs and ass. Frantic to be stretched and filled, the girl was wriggling and writhing so hard, if Ivan hadn't known better he'd have thought she was struggling to get away.

"Hurry...Dammit, hurry. Fuck me hard." No, she definitely wasn't trying to get away.

He'd been with women who thought they had to direct the action or risk disappointment, and few things were more satisfying than proving them wrong.

Her stranger entered Ellie with a patience that was both thrilling and infuriating. But instinctively, Ellie trusted his experience and let him set the pace. It wasn't easy to relax and follow, but with his mouth he had shown her how good he'd be with his penis.

"Oh, that's sweet," she heard him murmer as he pushed into the soft, quivering pinkness that promised to ease his aching erection. "Sweet redemption."

"Yes, baby. So sweet," she sighed. He was stretching her, filling her, part of her now. Recalling the feel of him in her mouth, and imagining two of him filling her mouth and cunt, Ellie lay with her head on the cool formica counter and closed her eyes, nibbling and tasting her index finger in a near dream-state of erotic bliss.

"Talk to me, Jean," she whispered, so quietly he barely made out the words. "Talk French." And he did, indulging her dream as he pleasured her fuck-hungry flesh.

----------------------------------------

There is a song that Ellie hums when she's alone. Nobody would know this one, unless they grew up with an aunt like Becky whose music collection was all vinyl. Little Ellie had liked this one song in particular, because it sounded like fairy tales and because Judith, the lady on the album cover, had the sweet-sad look of a princess.

Aunt Becky played Ellie's song as often as she was asked, and praised the child for knowing the difference between "real music" and "crap," or sometimes "shit," if Aunt Becky had been partying. When the record fell and shattered, Aunt Becky insisted that vinyl was still the best way to hear real music.

"Bullshit," said the eight-year-old. "We can't hear it at all now." But in truth, the version she heard in her imagination grew more beautiful with the years, and she loved the original version all the more for its having been lost.

'Come on,' you say, 'Come with me
I'm going to the castle
All the bells are ringing
The weddings have begun.'
But I can only stand here
I cannot move to follow
I'm burning in the shadows
I'm freezing in the sun.

You were always flying
Nightingale of sorrow
Singing bird
With rainbows on your wings *

Ellie loves Judith too much to futz around with her lyrics, but she knows the princess' story doesn't end here.

Princes come back. Love endures.





*From "Houses," by Judy Collins. 1975


OOC: Thank you, Subo. You may keep the apron; just keep this lovely thread going.

S

 

[Subo97]

coming to a thread near you

a shameles bump to annonce that the lovely and talented Delicious maiden will be joining me in one more nostalgic trip to the Trophy Case.