SKIRT I never really knew what I wanted with Pill, except that I wanted her in my bed. Her constant refusals to my advances only fed desire—the challenge might have been part of it, though it was dwarfed by my simple hunger to kiss and bite her beautiful full lips and caress her lovely long dancer legs. Sadly, she also had an excellent mind and strong resolve not to sleep with me. I was living in a house of celibacy, and Pill was my roommate. She was first to answer the ad for the apartment, so I ended up with the little room. It was a small room for Manhattan; in any other city it would have been a very small tool shed. I sometimes wear a skirt in the summer. It was a gift from a roommate and catches breezes in the crippling heat like no other clothing. Stumpy gave it to me about a year ago. She was going to a female-only party; Moe and I, considering our chances for serious attention from many females at a party like this, demanded we be allowed to crash. Stumpy agreed only if we went in drag. Skirts were the compromise, with no underwear as our final concession. We never found the party, but instead circled West Los Angeles for two hours, all of us hitting tequila straight from the bottle as Stumpy drove and drove her 64 Dodge, seemingly without direction . We finally ended up at an Italian restaurant in Santa Monica, all of us feeling magic by then with tequila, and Moe and I both feeling very manly indeed in our skirts. I had never spent an evening around so many people with such an easy public access to my sex. Stumpy enjoyed our skirty manliness as well, and would repeatedly demand, "SHOW ME!" We would oblige and lift our skirts, which she let us keep. I was loathe to discontinue my pursuit of Pill. Even though she refused every invitation to lovemaking, she teased me for months with the possibility. "You'll never end up in my bed," I pouted, badly wanting to feel her nakedness. "I never said that," she'd respond, leaving me enraged with tiny miserable hope. Other times she'd let me caress her stomach or play with her hair, slapping me when I began to show the slightest sign of arousal or make the smallest noise of pleasure. Even during the times I tried to give up on her or was sleeping with someone else, we still spent much time together. We got along well. She was good company, or we shared similar sour brain chemicals; I don't think either of us was sure which. It didn't really matter. I was constantly around her, and I could not kill my desire. It was evening on an evil hot Thursday, the kind of Thursday that would soak me with stinking thick humidity, making me feel drugged all day long, and when I would take drugs, make me feel like a brick, left with only the desire and appreciation for the most base sensations, and barely the drive to pursue even those. I was wrecked, and I was wearing my skirt. Pill came home with a headache which grew worse as we drank in her air conditioned room. My shed had only a borrowed fan, and so we spent most of our time in Pill's room, which I had begun to think of as an oasis in the insanity of August in Manhattan. We talked for a long time and drank a lot, and her headache grew worse. I felt a little better with the air conditioning and vodka she brought home, and offered to massage her shoulders. She accepted. I thought the offer had been entirely platonic, the alcohol and climate not doing much to combat my languor. As I ran my hands over her neck and shoulders and back, I found myself again becoming aroused, keeping silent so as to not incur slapping and disturbance. I took much pleasure in her skin, which she managed to keep very pale even in summer. Pill was wearing a clingy dress which had only thin straps over her shoulders, so nearly half of her back was exposed. Sitting behind her on her futon in the godly air conditioning, I could easily imagine her naked from her shoulders to her lovely ass, and had to fight to keep my noise to light sighs. I stroked her neck, massaged her shoulders and sent my fingers through her hair. I slid a single finger lightly along her cheek, and she seemed to be enjoying my touch, occasionally making the soft moans I was working hard to suppress. Pill's skin was enticingly soft, and her smell would drive away any thought other than those of her, and her skin, and the feel of her. The heat and vodka already worked me; the sensuality of Pill kicked my ass. I knocked off one of her straps as I ran my open palms from her fingers to her neck. I was enjoying myself too much to fuck up the massage with my usual overplayed and meaty grabs, and so continued as I was, lost in the touch. I kept my pleasure in her body to myself, making no sound, and as her back was to me, she could not see me becoming erect, though I was easily visible through the thin folds of my skirt. I was still so engrossed in Pill's tasty flesh, and almost conditioned by that time to expect no response from her, that I at first didn't register her action of sliding her remaining strap off her shoulder. It was all she did; the dress still held its shape, and she made no other motion. I wasn't sure what to do, or whether I should do anything. After a second, I couldn't be sure whether I'd seen it at all. I concentrated on doing nothing that I hadn't been doing before she slid off her strap, or doing whatever I had done to influence her. I began to run my hands back over her shoulders, arms, back and neck in case I had hit, casually and inadvertently, some sexual trigger. Mine is behind the knees. She began to move with my caresses. I followed her rhythm, and rocked with her as I stroked. Rebuke at this point seemed unlikely, so I pulled off my shirt and leaned against her as I explored her body. I was insane with the feel of the skin of her back against my chest and my desire to take her, and pushed her dress down around her waste. I moved my hands along her breasts and belly from behind while I kissed her neck with the softest kisses I could make. Losing myself in the contrast of the wicked soft skin of her breasts and the firmness of her nipples, I bit her just below the ear, and I could feel her grow harder under my fingers. She groaned, and I could do nothing but lift my skirt. When we got back from the Italian restaurant, Moe ended up in Stumpy's bed. I spent the night alone in the loft, and woke with the most evil hangover I've ever had. I felt dizzy and nauseated for hours, and the heat made me want to die. I could barely climb back down from the loft. I couldn't eat for two days. Stumpy and Moe got up unable to remember whether they had fucked or not. I was amazed; I was kept awake for nearly an hour by the noisy Stumpy. I moved back from Pill and pushed her forward onto her knees while I rubbed her back. I moved to her thighs and lovely ass and pushed her skirt out of the way. Moving forward, I slid into her, burying myself in her flesh. The magic feel of Pill's snatch almost blinded me with sweetness. She seemed to appreciate the gesture as well, and began to bounce into me, making slapping sounds as she hit. Out of her mouth came sounds that were neither gasps nor moans. I started to meet her as she slid around me, and she responded by bouncing with more force. I panted, clenching my teeth with the pleasure of her thrusts, feeling sharp bolts of joy running outward through my body from my prick. I'm not sure how long we just pounded each other; it was intoxicating and exhausting, and I lost a solid sense of where and when I was, and I wanted the feeling to last. When I felt myself slipping into orgasm, I reached forward and grabbed Pill's nipples, holding on as we slammed together, over and over again, holding firm against the pull of my pleasure. Loud hungry sounds from Pill sobered me, bringing me back to the sensuous ride. It eventually became too much, and I felt myself losing control, and I still wasn't ready to come yet. I wanted to prolong my pleasure; I had no idea when I'd be back in her bed again, and I refused to be cheated of the long long Pill-fuck. I grabbed her around the waste and held her, stopping her motion. She fought me, impatiently, and so I held her more tightly, every motion between us making me shake like a fiend. I was staggering on the brink of orgasm, nearly mad trying to prolong the screw, when finally she stopped moving. She had not stopped moving; as her body remained rigid under my restraint, she began to squeeze me from inside, chuckling softly. At first she'd squeeze and wait, feeling for my reaction. I would start to sing that low growly love song with each squeeze, and she'd stop, killing me with the anticipation. I began to answer; clenching my cock-muscles, causing myself to swell against her close velvety walls. Soon Pill was singing the growly song with me, and, still not outwardly moving, we again found a rhythm. I relaxed my hold on her enough to slide a hand down to her sex, and lightly stroked her lips and the amazing softness of her inner thighs. I ran my fingers through her wetness and down between her buttocks, slowly circling her asshole, and back up to her lips. When I traced the rim of her cunt to her clit, she yelled, shook all the more violently, and pushed me backward onto the bed, straddling me. She began to ride me violently. I was lost in pleasure, unable to feel where our individual bodies ended, and met her thrusts. We both sang, rocking each other, with the air conditioner now doing little to kill the heat. I finally could not help but surrender to her, crying out myself when I came. Her bucking grew gentler, until finally she was still, my skirt bunched around my stomach and her ass, and her still squeezing me. After she had some time to think about it, Stumpy decided that she had not consented to Moe's advances, and that he had in fact raped her. I'd listened to Stumpy complain about her inability to get into Moe's pants for much of the previous week, and I said nothing. I moved out a week later. -home- |