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Watersheds
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Archive-name: watersheds
This is slightly more explicit...I think.
Watersheds
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Sometimes it feels like time stops. Times after which senses, shocked,
assume a formal stillness. A trapped, immobilising coldness while the
distracted head furiously conjures images. Then...the slow tick of
awareness. A realisation of suffocation, compensatory ragged breaths
and the loud pulsing forced by a noisy, frightened heart.
Times when a pause for sane thought is crucial and actions are watersheds.
These occur in the course of ordinary lives and alter them so profoundly
that the mundane is thereafter obsolete.
As happened to Faun one ordinary October evening. Faun, with her wounded
pools of eyes, leaning blindly against the bedroom door. Her head swimming,
and afterimages tearing into shreds her ordered life. Her head creating and
ripping half-forms. Victim feelings of castrated rage, betrayal...
Not at all as she was prepared to be...too conventional. A common reaction
to an unexpected event. And Faun was never conventional.
It was dusk. She had arrived, mounted the elegant well of stairs in the
silvered autumn light. Paused on the landing to gaze through the cold
panes at the shadow-fingered garden, then approached, pushed the door ajar,
stepped inside.
It was as if staged. The woman in a frozen rise, arch-backed in soft,
golden highlights. Her hair curled darkly, sticky wet tendrils on the
sweat of her forehead...swept, jumbly in ringlets, over one pale shoulder.
Her eyes slit...mouth a parted passion gash. Large breasts, thrusting,
smoothly pendulous; nippled brown ponds. Tart buttons pinched between
his fingers as his hands pulled furiously at the great, bulging orbs.
She was plump. A tyre of jellying flesh gave way to bulge of stomach,
a smoothly rounding, quivering...alive and flushed, mound. The terse
statement of wiry curls.
His penis was buried, thickly tucked in redly welcoming labia. It's
shaft, drawn from her by her rise, gleamed stickily. It testified...
half-submerged in her oily cave. Her swollen clitoris peeked eagerly,
offensive from between her damp flaps. His purple cock, sucked and
veined in hungry entry, a gobbling stranger seeking fodder in her dank
spaces.
A tableau from which Faun recoiled...bumped hard against the wardrobe
doors, and fled. To pause, frozen...leaning on the hard ridges of the
fresh-slammed door.
But Faun was never conventional...
Despite the acute-flushing pain she felt the roused, moist awareness and
sick clutch. Her small, hard palm gripped the whine of swollen pundendum,
aching with demand. Complicity...and challenge.
She slipped the handle and slid in, her eyes hard.
The scene was little altered. He had quit the woman, who, though
still astride was rising to leave. His penis was lowering...it's proud
arc humbling. They viewed Faun with still-glazed confusion.
She stripped her city suit. It crumpled softly, puddling the carpet,
trampled with stockinged feet. A soft rush of silk...torn buttons and
release of small, hard breasts. Faun stood, pale and slim, drawing her
hand slowly to cup her mound...easing her fingers to spreadvulva,
flick its small captive to frenzy. She parted her soft thighs, stood
spread-legged...then she beckoned the woman.
The woman came, kneeled before her and put her pursing lips on Faun's
crisp patch...her tongue sliding hard, fingers seeking the pale, crepe
folds and hidden tunnel. Faun, triumphant, gazed widely while his
hand sought his cock, comforting its arching length with angel strokes.
She rode the woman, slipping her silk across chin, cheeks, knees dipping
and hips circling, and all the while she smiled. The room was caught...
alert in the eager, wet slurp and suck.
Faun pivoted, the woman scrambled. Faun widened her spread and leaned
straight-armed, butt out, on the wardrobe. Cheeks parted, buttocks taut,
she muscled the still-feeding woman. He could see the fingers working...a
bundling in the pearly pink swolleness...tapping on the puckered anal button.
A fingertip, pressing the tight frill, wiggling then tucked...a small, quick
forbidden pricking. Sly exploration and withdrawal.
Faun moaned...a deep, sharp crescendo and quick expulsion. She turned,
eyes huge and ablaze and he was swift to reach her, his cock straining
his grasp. With a single, oily stroke he plunged between Faun's flushed
cheeks and drove his member hard, feeling her softness suddenly meet the
his hard pelvis. He was stilled by her keening, until loose acceptance.
Faun buckled, eased to the carpet, eagerly joined. She dipped...forcing
the woman back, sliding to the plump vagina with its moist fishiness and
foreign convolutions.
He rode Faun hard and she feasted with broken feints and dunks to the
husky rhythm of the woman. The golden light shattered, grotesque monsters
plunging the walls in harsh shadowplay. When she felt a tight throb, Faun
stopped breathing and forced back. A fimiliar suffocation, sweeping
dizziness and ringing before the harsh, thrilled tide pulsed...and he
gouted in her.
They collapsed. He heavy with the tremor of his spending penis still
tucked in her tight ring. Faun's face buried in the greasy crotch.
The woman grasped Faun's head, crushed her face in the swamping crease
until she wailed her come.
They rose when breath and quiver quieted. Faun collapsed, sodden and
thick with musk and soiled earth smells. The woman dressed, neither
watched, nor seen to leave. She never looked back.
Complicity...the wounded conspiracy.
There is a time when choice is crucial and watersheds precede a seachange.
--
Copyright 1993 Pat O'Brien
All permissions reserved except for the right to distribute in
electronic text form across computer networks.
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