Anticipation - 4

And so I slept. And if I dreamed, it was too deep to remember. I have 
VAGUE memories of perhaps a quiet click of a door, maybe a soft rustle
of clothing, or the slight settling of the bed as a weight eases down
on it. If I noticed them while I slept, it was most likely in the 
context of a dream.
 
I woke slowly and languidly, my body arching in a fluid, feline stretch 
as my muzzy brain tried to figure out where I was. When I remembered, I 
sat up in a flash and fixated on the space next to me. The covers had been 
thrown back, and the bed had been slept in. A dark object tugged at the 
edge of my vision, and I turned to see a large black duffle tossed on the 
easy chair. 
 
He had come back. Brian had come back. And the hushed silence of the 
room attested to the fact that he was no longer there. 
 
"SHIT!" I pounded the covers futilely, my face flushing with frustration.
I couldn't believe he had come and gone without waking me! I was livid!
I was furious! I was...
 
...deflated. As quickly as my anger flared, so it died. My intellect 
reasoned that he had probably come back late and exhausted and, seeing
me fast asleep, had decided it was the best idea for both of us. I
heaved a deep sigh, and slumped against the headboard. Last night, as
I had fallen asleep, I would have given anything to be with a man that
had no concern for my fatigue or his, a man that would not have hesitated
to wake me and ravage me immediately, him giving no quarter and me taking
none, tearing at each other like wild animals in heat...
 
I was letting my imagination, and my continued frustration, get the
better of me again. I lounged for several more moments, luxuriating in
the richness of my self-pity. The pulsing fire and need between my legs
had cooled during the night, but there was a distinct tension in my body,
a universal tautness of muscle and sinew, which betrayed my latent desire,
coiled like a spring inside me, capable at any moment to erupt into 
full-blown fuck-lust.
 
I extricated myself from the twisted sheets of the bed and freshened
myself up in the bathroom, splashing water on my face, combing my hair,
and brushing my teeth. I pulled my robe off its hanger and onto me,
tying it loosely about my waist. Now I looked decent enough to order
breakfast. I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the phone.
 
I rang room service and ordered a bowl of fresh fruit, a couple of 
muffins, and an orange juice to be sent up. Then, feeling slightly more
awake and industrious, I picked up strewn clothes and made the bed, 
tidying up here and there simply because I had nothing better to do.
When the knock at the door came, I received my food and forked over
a tip to the pimply-faced kid that delivered it, then sprawled out
again on the bed with my food, my juice, and the remote control to the
television. A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou. Hardly.
 
I thumbed on the t.v. and began flipping through the numbers, perusing
channel after channel of increasingly insipid programming, while
idly nibbling on my food. It quickly became obvious that the motel's
vaunted 'deluxe cable' was a lost cause, and I was about to turn the
t.v. off when a computerized data screen caught my attention. It was
a listing of pay-per-view offerings available by phone-order. I scanned
the listings, and noticed with some surprise that one of the p.p.v. 
channels offered was an adult movie channel. And according to the
timetable, a feature had just started.
 
I distractedly gnawed a piece of fruit, a slice of juicy honeydew melon,
while I considered this new option. As I stared blankly at the screen,
contemplating, the possibility of a little visual titillation seemed
increasingly attractive. I hesitantly picked up the receiver to the 
phone, glanced once more at the screen, and resolutely dialed the listed
number. 
 
I was answered by a computerized voice, much to my relief - thoughts of
sleazy motel managers exploiting the knowlege of my horniness and my 
room number made me extremely uneasy - and made my selection by touch
tone. Then I quickly hung up the phone. Suddenly I was seized by an
inexplicable and delicious sense of naughtiness, accompanied by a tiny
fluttering of guilt. I quickly abandoned the guilt. After all, for a 
woman in my condition, a nice cheezy porno flick could probably be
considered therapeutic. The naughtiness, however, I kept for later use.
 
I again made myself comfortable on the bed, piling both the large pillows
behind my back, leaning back against them such that I could watch the
television at a comfortable angle. Then I relaxed and sucked the juice 
out of my slice of melon while I waited for the show to begin.
 
Abruptly it did. The data screen winked out, the screen blanked for a 
moment, then flickered back on again to reveal the feature already 
in progress.
 
The scene was a game room, with a big green billiard table dominating the
center of it. Bending over the bumper board, cue stick in hand, was a
gawdily painted woman of luscious proportions, dressed in a short pink
dress. I'll call her Jane. Then a tall, lean man, whom I will call John,
clad only in a tight pair of jeans, moved into view and pressed himself 
against her rear, ostensibly to help guide her grip on the stick as she 
aimed for the cue ball. This action, of course, included the mandatory 
pelvic grind, where the young stud rubs his groin against the girl's ass.
 
I stopped eating my melon, and watched fixedly.
 
Mandatory pelvic-grind still in progress, John slid his hands up Jane's
arms and down her sides, then up her stomach to grasp her tits through 
her dress. Jane turned her attention from the targeted cue ball to the 
targeted man, looking over her shoulder with heavy-lidded eyes and 
pouting mouth. Abruptly she turned in his arms, and they went at each 
other. He lifted her easily to sit her on the edge of the pool table 
while she wrapped her arms around his neck, and they began kissing
rabidly.
 
My slice of melon still held to my lips, I began licking it slowly, my 
tongue running around the tip of the succulent, curved spear.
 
The camera flashed in for a closeup of their tongues, twining and lashing
against each other outside their mouths, then flashed back again as they
parted and began groping feverishly at each other. John took hold of
Jane's elastic scooped neckline and yanked it down, revealing full, 
pointed breasts. The neckline snapped back underneath them, framing them
and pushing them up for his inspection. Her hands, meanwhile, were
snaking down his back to clench his ass, pulling his hips into hers. He
ground his pelvis between her legs.
 
I alternated between sucking and licking my melon slice, as my eyes were
transfixed on their enmeshed hips. My pussy had begun to pulsate again,
and I could almost feel the pressure of the man's hard bulge nudging my
clit.
 
John bent to suck and lick at Jane's tits, while she made a great 
show of gasping and moaning encouragements like, "Oooh, that feels
so goooood..." John, with his arms under her back, lowered her to 
lie back on the pool table, her legs still over the edge, while the
camera graced us with a close up of his tongue flicking against her 
hard nipples.
 
With one hand I tugged at the belt of my robe, and it parted to either
side of me, baring my naked breasts and midriff. I slid the melon out of
my mouth and let it trail lightly over my chin, then down my throat, to
slide wetly between my breasts. As I watched the young stud at work, I
started to tease one nipple with the tip of the fruit, the wet, sticky
juice clinging to my turgid nozzle. I treated my other tit to the same,
and gleefully rubbed sticky melon juice all over my breasts, all the
time watching the action on the television.
 
The young stud was now bent over Jane, kissing a trail down her
body as he slowly peeled the dress off of her, pulling it under hips
and pushing it down off her legs. She writhed under his lips as he 
slobbered a path down her stomach, and was clutching his hair as his
face dove between her legs, tongue extended for lapping and diving into 
her lightly furred snatch. His hands slid under her ass and literally 
lifted her pussy to his face as he ate her. 
 
I watched rapturously, rubbing my breasts and torso down with the slice
of melon, part of my consciousness admiring the sticky shine of my 
front, almost reflecting the image of the set. As Jack continued his
oral assault and Jane thrashed and moaned and writhed on the table,
I let one hand stray down to stroke my inner thighs, feeling my moisture
covering a wide area.
 
The camera panned in on the image of John's face as it disappeared 
between the woman's legs, showing quantity if not quality of exposure.
Typical soft porn fare, but my hot and lusty mind was already filling in 
the missing picture of his tongue nudging apart her slick pussy lips
and diving inside, trenching her out, then licking her clit. All this 
in my one-track imagination while the camera maintained its almost 
demure position over the woman's belly, catching glimpses of Jack's 
head snaking back and forth, accompanied by impressive slurping
noises.
 
My slick hand was now firmly embedded between my own legs, and I stroked
myself, my index finger sliding up and down over my clit to the irregular
rhythm of the panting participants on the screen. I watched as John 
lifted one hand, pantomiming the act of slipping some fingers into Jane's
hungry cunt. Again, where the camera neglected to provide a better view,
my imagination obliged with a flashed image of two fingers pushing into
her, spearing between her pussy lips as his tongue continued to lash at
her clit, jamming all the way down to the knuckles of his meaty hand.
At the same time, I shoved two fingers of my hand up my hole, my hips
now writhing much like Jane's were, and started slowly fucking my fingers 
in and out of my cunt.
 
John continued to pretend to lap at Jane's pussy for a while, and Jane
eventually faked a melodramatic orgasm. At this point, John removed his
face and fingers from between Jane's legs, and the camera angle changed
to a shot of John's ass, discreetly and hypocritically avoiding unsightly 
full male frontal nudity, as he unfastened his jeans and pushed them off his
hips to lie in a heap around his ankles. He roughly grabbed Jane's thighs
and pulled her to the very edge of the pool table, stepped up between 
them, and 'fisted' his cock into her pussy.
 
All of it fake. All of it cheezy. But it didn't matter to me. In my mind's
eye, John revealed his prick in all its throbbing glory, and I followed
it mentally all the way to the entrance to Jane's steaming cunt, my 
imagination creating a scene so vivid I gasped as it entered her slowly,
filling her inch-by-turgid-inch.
 
My imagination wasn't the only part of me that was active. As my fevered
mind created a scene of mind-blowing eroticism, the poor slice of honey-
dew melon was getting more mileage than any fruit deserves. After 
smearing its juice all over my body, mingling it with my own sweat, I
used it to tease my clit, the still-cool flesh of the melon sending
shivers through me, and the slightly gritty texture of it drove me
wild. After I had had all I could stand of this gourmet stimulation of
my clit, I inserted the end of the melon into my clutching snatch and
pushed it slowly in. The sensation was heavenly, and the irregular 
shape of the melon slice stretched my insides in an entirely new way. 
Again I found myself writhing like Jane, only my show was real.
 
John was now making an impressively manly display of grunts and groans,
and his ass cheeks were a sight to behold as he pounded into Jane with
blinding speed, Jane's entire body jarring with each thrust, developing,
I was sure, one hell of a felt burn on her back. I mimicked their 
mimickry by picking up the pace with my fruit , working it vigorously
in and out of my cunt. My breathing was gradually getting out of control,
and when I added my other hand again to play with my clit, I pushed 
dangerously close to orgasm very quickly.
 
On the screen though, John abruptly stopped his maniacle pummeling of 
Jane, and the camera gave the viewers a 'buns-eye' view of John turning
Jane around on the pool table, so that her head hung slightly off the
bumper, tilting backward. Jane lifted her hands to her mouth, and 
conveniently obscured the view of John's cock disappearing between her
lips and filling her oral cavity. Not so with THIS viewer; I saw John's
cock clearly, as a figment of my imagination, sliding between those 
painted, ruby-red lips of Jane's, watched Jane work her throat around
his long prick. While Jane swallowed his meat, John reached down to 
squeeze and maul her tits with his hands, and whispered lewd obscenties
as he fucked her mouth with his phantom penis.
 
I had almost cried with frustration when John had 'pulled out' of Jane's
snatch. But, remaining faithful to the action on the set, I slowly pulled
the melon slice out of my grasping pussy and, my eyes fixed on John as
he went through the motions of pushing his cock into Jane's mouth, slid
the melon spear between my own lips. I sucked on it vigorously, its
juices and mine wetting my tongue and whetting my appetite, as I flicked
my tongue against it. The taste was tangier than it had been, and of
course the fruit wuch warmer than it had been before, but it was my 
favorite part of breakfast, and I gulped it greedily.
 
My hand, however, had not stopped its action against my cunt, 
and took up the slack the melon had left by replacing it with three
fingers, digging deep inside me. I felt my orgasm approaching again,
and finally the pleasure was too much. I closed my eyes, and let the
melon slice fall forgotten from my hand, which I returned eagerly
to assist. My resolve to postpone my orgasm for Brian had completely
dissolved, and I knew that there was no stopping me this time. Jane's
theatrical cries and groans were drowned about by the pounding of my
blood in my ears and my own soft cries of pleasure. The world narrowed 
to this moment on this bed and these fingers and this pussy and I was 
cumming, oh shit, finally, I was cumming...
 
Suddenly strong hands were gripping my wrists, and I felt my arms
being lifted up and pinned by my head, and a heavy weight descended onto
me. The void left by my flying fingers was almost instantly replaced by 
something much larger, much hotter, and infinitely more satisfying as 
it plunged hard into me. I screamed, and came instantly, harder than I 
ever had in my life, and I came, and came, for what seemed like forever, 
the cock in my aching cunt driving into me relentlessly, endlessly. I
shuddered in uncontrollable waves, my body arching up against the form 
straining above me.
 
Just as my climax seemed to subside, the cock in my pussy began slamming
into me with unbelieveable force and speed, and even as my tortured 
clit screamed a protest I was cumming again. As another scream built
in my throat, a mouth descended to mine, and my unvoiced scream seemed
to crash into a similar one welling from the body thrashing against me
and, like waves, cancelled each other out, leaving us liplocked in a
kiss of mind-shattering intensity. I felt the rhythmic spasms in my 
cunt, and I knew he was cumming too, could feel the heat of the thick
jism as it blasted like a cannon inside me, and the sensory overload
of it all spun me away into a vortex of powerful eroticism. My mind
whirled madly, and my last sensation was that of absolute physical and
emotional joy as my world finally went blank in a dazzling display of
light.
 
When I came to my senses again, I was clutching his shoulders tightly
to me, and my body was shuddering, not with climax but with sobbing,
as I cried out, "Brian, oh Brian, Brian, Brian..." He held me gently, 
stroking my damp hair with touching tenderness. Gradually I calmed 
down, and I lifted my head to look into his deep hazel eyes, so full
of love.
 
"Hi," he said.
 
I choked.
 
He smiled at me, then reached behind him to pluck something off the
bed, and held it for me to see. It was my faithful and much-abused
melon slice.
 
"Is this yours?" he said. And we both laughed.
 

THE END - Anticipation
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