The dawning of a D - part III
Life has a tendency of playing tricks on us. Not just on me, of course. I mean on all of us. Just when you least expect it, perhaps because things are going too well or simply because a lady butterfly flips her fragile colourful wings somewhere in Asia, things may suddenly turn into turbulence of some sort. A chaos, an important change. Of course it’s never simple or straightforward. Chaos theory certainly isn’t. Somehow it also really doesn’t matter if you believe in the randomness of coincidence or rather lean towards causal reason. However it may be, the ominous writing on the wall is usually there long before we - the ones directly concerned - actually notice it, let alone understand it. Instead, those very same things our subconsciousness works overtime to keep out have a mean tendency to be quite obvious, even trivial, to outsiders. I have reflected on this more than once, but probably the first time was when Kristin and I took different roads. We were doing good, but we were also young. We had met when I was twenty, she about the same. We quickly understood our military careers were to be brief. That was okay, as none of us had any regrets. In my last year of service I was flying on the Awacs, watching adversaries from high up in the the sky, keeping an eye on how his troops were moving, if there were any missile launched, if his bomber planes had come uncomfortably close again on one of those long-legged sorties along the coasts of northwestern Europe. It was a good school for a guy in his early twenties, and it made me comrades from the entire western alliance. It sort of felt cool to be part of the early warning chain, keeping a sentinel’s watch on Europe while regular folk were blissfully asleep. It mattered, somehow. But in the end it wasn’t the endless tug-of-war with the big eastern bear that got - or kept - my interest. It was the technology, the plane, the rocket, and where you could go with those things. Into deep space, for example. So, even though I literally had my wings in that period, I wanted to explore. I didn’t want to sit inside a machine built by some smart guy, using crypto-technologies and techno-talk I did not know and would never understand. No, I wanted to be amongst the few who could actually create those wonderful flying machines. Enthusiasm got me. It was a calling. And I knew that if I didn’t go that route I would regret it for a lifetime.
Kristin, on the other hand, was different. Duty in a far-away place had made her miss her family more than anything. They were close she said. She told her mom everything, and she missed her little sister. Her dad was missing his little girl, he said it many times, also in my presence. Countless hours on the phone turned into a different kind of longing. In short: she wanted to go home, back to her roots, and again be part of her local community. She started looking for courses at the nearby university. Whereas I was dreaming ever more of far-fetched stuff like fancy airplanes or satellites flying to the moons of Jupiter. I came to know all too well that this was a type of curriculum they sure as hell did not offer in our area. There was nothing like that in the whole country, for heaven’s sake, so who was I fooling. It was clear: I was in for an international adventure. And it felt weird. It gave me energy - lots of it - and a deep craving for a bigger context, far bigger than myself and my own nucleus world.
So, it went the way it had to. We didn’t shed tears, and we didn’t fight. We were sad but the drive to pursue our dreams gave us all the determination we ever needed. There were serious talks, sad love-making, but no attempt to fool ourselves - or each other. The absence of hypocritical effort to change minds sealed the agreement. By the day she told me she would quit the force, I had already decided where to go. Kristin just looked at me with her familiar wonderful eyes, ran her hand across my face, smiled, and planted a kiss on my lips. ‘Fly’, she said.
I landed in the Netherlands. Strange choice, many said, considering that I had never even been there before, didn’t speak the language, and had never even smoked a joint. But the choice was actually a cinch. Like all big choices in my life, it was made without too much consideration for those damned things called options. In fact, I never quite understood the attraction of spreading your attention over numerous options for everything. I prefer to go for the single thing that feels right, and that alone. Straight, and with the perseverance to follow it through. Either win or you learn, as Mandela said. Having too many options, on the other hand, even eliminating a few along the way, means you are willingly accepting compromise from the beginning. How’s that for a man’s dedication, his passion?
University kept me busy, of course. I got a degree, a very good one actually. And as I developed my own sense of place, I soon grew to become more than a soldier and gentleman knowing his rank. The day I graduated the dean took me aside, said they wanted me to stay for a PhD, and to set me off to a good start he offered me the possibility to travel. And so I did. Research visits, joint lab work, conferences. It was on that kind of a trip I experienced one of those nights, the kind we all just hope we’ll never be too old to forget, that it - or rather she - seriously struck me again. She was a lady with wings, too, in many ways, and the most beautiful one I had ever seen. A night with colleagues and fellow conference participants was about to become a stellar, life-changing event for a humble viking far away from home. She went by the name of Mona.
Mona knew absolutely nothing about space technology, but she had a curious mind. She liked the psychology of space travel and had studied the life (and sometimes death) of those tasked by president Kennedy to conquer the Moon. I had noticed her dark long hair at the venue, we’d spoken over a few cups of the terrible Americano coffee they usually serve at this kind of meetings before I had the nerve to invite her for a real cup of coffee in a bar. Now a lengthy restaurant dinner with five or six others had drawn us closer, building on some inexorable need we had vainly tried to ignore for days. We were in Boulder, and this was really my first far-away space conference. Conversation had been funny, sometimes revealing, and as the hours passed I realised that the other delegates at the table were becoming a mere sideshow. Perhaps they sensed it somehow because by the end of the evening they’d all drifted away to their own things. Somehow, by chance and strange attraction we were left alone. We had some more wine, we talked and we laughed. I really liked this girl, and so I said.
‘You are beautiful, Mona. In any and all ways I can think of.’
At that moment those brownish curls paired with soft dark brown eyes and the befuddling scent of her skin certainly had me tipsier than the wine. She didn’t answer, instead lowered her gaze, run her hair through three fingers before she caught my eyes again. I won’t easily forget what she said:
‘Perhaps our real meal is only just beginning?’
How a few simple words can put a smile on a man’s face, and raise morale. That huge grin on my face probably said more than I was even remotely capable of uttering at that very instant. With no lack of neuron activity anywhere in my body, I reckoned that sometimes it is better to act than to talk, so I suggested we should walk.
Boulder is cold in winter, though probably it wasn’t really as cold as we pretended. Mona shivered as we walked back through the empty streets. It gave me the perfect chance to put my arm around her shoulder and with gratifying eagerness she snuggled close. My smile obviously isn’t as great as hers, and never will be, but as we continued down the snow-covered lane I just couldn’t get it off my face. Something important was about to happen. More precisely, it had already begun.
As we got to her hotel room she didn’t fumble with her key or hint about any darned night cap. Instead she just rotated her face towards mine, and kissed me lightly on the lips, murmuring something about the sadness of a cold bed far away from home. This was a smart girl. I respected her and certainly didn’t want to fuck it up on our first night where we accidentally ended up alone together. But there’s also a limit to how much feminine grace a man can take. I grabbed her head, kissed her long and hard, lifting her arms above her head, squeezing her against the hotel room door. It wasn’t a galant offering, by any means, it wasn’t soft at all, but it was the best way I could think of to make her feel comfortable. It made no sense to hide my intentions. Within a microsecond of catching breath she took my hand, quickly opened the door and pulled me inside. I vaguely recall noticing a typical American three-star hotel room, pick any chain, before we were entangled again. Fully clothed we sank onto the big bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, shoes still on, before she pulled that thick feather duvet around us. My hands moved beneath her thick woollen sweater under the pretext to warm her up, but firm target target was rather to undo her elegant bra. With growing fervour, literally, I discovered two soft breasts and a pair of much harder nipples, stiff and eager.
‘It’s getting really hot’, she whispered while she endeavoured to to wiggle out of her skirt, flattening her lower body against the bulge in my pants. My hands moved downward, went from hands squeezing boobs to fingers pressing between her thighs. I soon found she had a soft fleshy bulge of her own - a discovery made by letting first a finger, then a full hand, slip over the smoothness of her satin knickers. I could feel the heat in her growing moment by moment. I took this as a encouragement. She pulled her lace underwear aside and it very much seemed she sought to fill her pussy with my cock - she said her pussy was aching for it. She wanted to fuck - there was no doubt about that.
I obliged, of course, obliged and then obliged some more. It quickly became apparent to me that to satiate this girl was almost beyond human possibility but, such was my fixity of purpose, that I resolved to try all night if need be. At around 5 a.m., she finally declared herself “completely fucked" and promptly slipped into a deep and contented sleep on my shoulder. I held her close and listened to her breathing, even and serene.
My first thought at eleven o'clock the next morning was not of the conference we were missing. It was that I desperately wanted to do it with her again - to do it with her all day and all the following night too; to eat her and drink her and breathe no air that was not filled with her scent. I suppose, being a guy, my inclinations were predictable, my needs inevitably lacking in nuance. Moreover, my equipment certainly seemed to support my thinking. I was about to discover, though, that there was no subtlety lacking about Mona’s needs.
"I've done something terrible."
She was sitting on the bed near me. She was wearing my shirt, but that was all. I couldn't imagine what terrible thing could possibly be troubling this erotic angel. I hoped it was nothing that would prevent me from fucking her to sleep again. I urgently needed to do that and I was prepared to start right now because I knew it would most certainly take all day and all evening at least. I started to investigate.
"We only missed the session on future planetary missions,” I said reassuringly. "What the hell - they'll all think we're in some splinter group.”
"It's not that," she said gravely. "Though Maria will know exactly what I've been doing and she'll tease me, but I think I can take that. I'm sure I can. Maria’s really mean when she teases. She can make me cry and she probably will, just out of jealousy. But it's not that."
She looked so deliciously vulnerable with her brown curls awry and her pointed breasts shaking. Her nipples were erect again - they seemed permanently excited - and she was sitting cross-legged which my shirt revealing the contours of her curves. Whatever the problem was, I had to solve it soon. My cock was so hard it was beginning to hurt. The tensions she awakened all through my body made it difficult even to breathe calmly.
"I promised her." She looked at me and a deep blush transformed her cheeks. "I feel ashamed of myself."
"She's so afraid I'll go wild." She lowered her eyes. "She was a little wild herself when she was young. She knows I'm not a virgin but ...when she found out, she made me promise to be…eh…restrained."
"I have to admit you weren't what I could honestly call 'restrained.' But neither was I."
"You don't have to be - you haven't promised your mom. I've been naughty - I know it. I've broken my promise. I've behaved wildly and...and the worst thing is..." Her lip trembled as she went on. "The worst thing is...I want to do it all again."
"What am I going to do?" she wailed, letting herself sink into my arms.
"Perhaps we should just do it anyway. Maybe something will occur to us like...shit, I don’t know. I need to make love to you and then I promise I'll think of something."
Then our hands were all over each other but suddenly she drew back. Almost shouting:
"No...you must punish me first, my darling, my love. You must beat me - without mercy."
I had not, until that moment, thought that my cock could get any harder but, at her words, so much of my lifeblood crowded into that one pulsing manhood, so distant from my brain, that truly I thought I would faint.
"You understand, don't you?" she asked anxiously, her eyes flickering hungrily over the disturbance in the sheets that covered me from the waist down.
"I ... I think I do," I nodded, still a little dazed but quickly coming around to the idea.
"I must be very thoroughly punished. Promise you will or I can't...you know...let you fuck me." She lowered her voice in shame. "Breaking a promise to Mom - for a girl, it's a terrible thing to do."
"Of course," I said, with all the seriousness the situation seemed to demand.
“Yesterday, " she continued, "you made me forget to keep it, but today...today I'll be breaking it deliberately. It'll become more wicked with every kiss, every touch, with every time I take you in my fingers or my mouth or push your big beautiful cock up into my slit. Will you be able to punish me enough so that I can do those things all the rest of today?"
"You might have to take it in installments."
"Yes! Punish me, then fuck me, then punish me again. I want to be a good girl - while I'm being bad. Let's start now - before breakfast."
Our chances of getting breakfast at this hour were nil, but it seemed irrelevant. My appetites were all for her anyway, and I knew we could send out for lunch after twelve. I balanced myself on the edge of the bed and waited for her to stand up. When she did we accidentally embraced passionately - which wasn’t the original plan but demonstrated that the laws of chance were still in play.
She proceeded to disentangle her body from mine and prepared to present herself for chastisement, a simple matter made slightly more complicated by the intrusion of my rampant cock. Politely, she moved it out of the way as she laid herself gracefully over my lap.
Mona’s back was, without exception, the most elegant expanse of human anatomy I have ever beheld. Even over my knee, she seemed effortlessly to hold perfect poise, delicately curved and rounded. A drop of sweat ran down her convexly curved spine. Between her legs and her back, both marvellously toned, were sculpted hips and a neat firm fleshy bottom, naked and entirely hairless. It seemed it was just begging to be smacked. Gazing avidly at her wildly inviting buttocks, quivering slightly in anticipation, I couldn't imagine why I hadn't thought of this myself. It wasn’t the first time a girl had eagerly offered her butt-cheeks for correction. How could I have spent an entire night kissing and caressing this same willing flesh without having realised how desperately it needed to be spanked? I decided to make up for my oversight immediately and decisively.
I raised my hand and gave Mona a good hard smack on her right buttock. She bounced. This wasn't so much her flesh, which was very firm, but rather a shudder, which passed through her whole body. I gave her four more, alternating right and left, and realised that the shock I felt in her body was renewed with every slap. There was something enormously satisfying about the immediacy of her response. The reward came from the unfathomable sounds that escaped from her mouth. I redoubled my efforts: resounding slaps echoed around the room. Mona yelped each time my hand smacked. She was really feeling this but that was as it should be, I was convinced. She felt she had been naughty and, clearly, a half-hearted spanking was not going to suffice.
"Ouch! Ouch! Ow! Ooh, yes," she squealed. "That's right...Ow! Ow! Yes, I need it. Yeow!"
“Mona,” I said, pausing for a moment. "I'm going to pull my shirt aside.”
"Oh, yes," she mumbled, struggling up. "Smack my bare bottom."
I suppose I could simply have grasped the sides and tugged but somehow it was not to be. Accidentally, I happened to run my fingers up the inside of her thigh several times, getting a little closer to her pussy each moment. I could feel her holding her breath. Realising that was not a situation that could endure for long, I caressed the delicate mound of her pussy. Immediately, she began to breathe again - in fact she began to breathe deeply. In appreciation, I let the back of them brush the folds of flesh that covered her slit. She breathed more - in fact she almost panted. She was also dripping wet which I in fact thought naughty of her since she was supposed to in a state of penitence. I think she realised from my happy frown that she was not behaving as her mother would have wanted.
"I think I'd better get the hairbrush," she breathed, although she didn't move.
"Wait a moment," I murmured, even though she wasn't showing any signs of going anywhere.
I continued to stroke her pussy, pressing my knuckles into the slippery wetness; with the other hand I made sure her cheeks got redder for each stroke. She moaned, her body shifting with the discomfort of desire.
"Now," I said. "The hairbrush."
She moaned again, but hurried to her bag. She looked so pretty with her bottom bare and rosy. From her bag, she took one of the finest wooden hairbrushes I have ever seen. It was an antique from an age when, clearly, the true purpose of hairbrushes was better understood than today.
"It was my grandmother's," she mumbled as she brought it to me. "She used to spank my mum and my mum's cousins with it. Now I use it to spank myself when I'm naughty. And to brush my hair."
"Show me," I murmured, my mind immediately filled with images of Mona lying on a bed, spanking herself red-raw and crying.
She slowly raised the hairbrush and rearranged her hair, brushing it back out of her eyes. I suspect from the sparkle in her eyes that she knew this wasn't quite what I meant; but it was charming, so I let it pass.
"Bend over, my darling. Give me the hairbrush."
She didn't do it immediately. Instead she pushed the tip of its handle against her soaking pussy and then, with very little manipulation, up into her cunt. She pushed it right up, gasping and shuddering slightly and, for a few moments, she gave serious attention to carefully working it in and out. There was a wonderfully distant expression on her face as if she was listening to a voice from long ago and far away. She must have used her hairbrush this way before. And often. Finally, she took it out, licked it clean and gave it to me.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I forgot to tell you that I masturbate with it, too."
It was delightfully sticky to hold. 'All the better,' I thought. 'That will help to keep a good grip.' Mona bent and placed her hands on the bed. It made her bottom very round. Her breasts were pointed directly downwards, their nipples like tiny arrowtips. I stood and from behind, I let my eyes rest on the glistening inner lips of her pussy, on the sweet puckering of her anus and the round pinkness of her buttocks. She really was enough to make even the best of men quite giddy. I stepped to the side of her and, without further ceremony, smacked the hairbrush on her nearest buttock. The intense and instant satisfaction of it steadied me. She screeched nicely, but not as loud as the screech she gave when I did the same, twice as sharply, on the other side.
I set to with a will. A really firm will and determination.
It was the fact that she had asked that made it so enjoyable. Giving it to her now - firmly - meant that she would always remember to ask whenever she needed a thorough spanking; she only had to get on the phone and there would be someone - me - willing and strict who would give her one. And there would be the bonus of endless fucking. It made me feel as if, with every smack of the hairbrush, I was offering her a lifetime of dedicated service; with every agonised cry, she was accepting it. I whacked each buttock over and over. Screeches became wails. I feasted my eyes as her agile passionate writhing exposed her pussy to me over and over again and showed me the little trail of moisture down her inner thigh. Both cheeks of her ass were more red than pink.
Finally I could bear it no longer. I dropped the hairbrush and grabbed her buttocks, pressing my cock between her thighs. Hungrily, she stuffed it into the endless wetness of her cunt.
“Will you spank me again?" she panted, thrusting back earnestly.
"Yes...of course. Later."
"No, do it now. Please..."
She had said "please" So I couldn't refuse. In time to our wild cavorting, I raised my hand and slapped her flanks as hard as I could. She squealed and bucked. She was weeping and moaning, consumed with desire and the gratification of desire. I could see what her mother had been afraid of. I slapped harder, admonishing her to think of restraint, which predictably by now had exactly the opposite effect. She thrust herself back on my cock so hard that I had to grasp her hips again to avoid falling. By this time, she was beyond noticing. She came, with a series of gasping cries, her body arching against me. I kept going more softly, keeping her orgasm alive until she wept and said she thought she would go crazy. Then I came inside her, which felt like drowning in warm honey, there, deep in her body. We collapsed onto the bed.
For around five minutes, we lay still. Then she licked my fingers and let me taste our juices from her lips and tongue.
"Will you be my partner?" she murmured, finally.
"Maybe. I think you're the one who can keep me from going wild."
"You could have fooled me."
"I know. That's not difficult."
I like a girl who doesn't put me on a pedestal. I like a girl who is prepared to bend over the pedestal instead and bare her backside. Be herself. I like a girl who needs things like that and uses them to generate a desire to fuck that could power the international space station. The problem is that girls like that are hard to find. It may be, in fact, that Mona is the only one - and she's beautiful and funny and believes in the kind of chance that led us to collapse over that bed that morning - so I pulled her close once more. What clinched it for me was that, five minutes after having proposed to me, she found another astonishing coincidence.
"You have a leather belt in your pants, don't you?" she murmured.
Her face clouded with sweet shame.
"It's just that...my pussy's been really naughty and...an inch is perfect."
I cannot say how deeply and eternally grateful I was that, at that moment, I could just reach down and grab my everyday calf leather belt. Right there, right then, it was the only relevant motherfucking leather belt on Planet Earth - or in the entire universe for that matter.
I had met Her. She was definitely little, but she more than deserved the capitals in her name. Lovely Mona. And the odds that I would ever meet Her had been just as great as the chance of that Asian lady butterfly creating chaos in my life years ago - long before my space adventure started.
2087
vaporwave
ellievsbear
