A Tale of the Ancient Art of Sex Magick (The Strange Story of Peter and Celeste)

A Tale of the Ancient Art of Sex Magick; or, The Strange Story of Peter
and Celeste 

He started the hot water flowing in the shower stall and turned to face
the woman standing behind him, waiting expectantly. Gently grabbing her
by the shoulders, he slowly turned her around and, forcing her to bend
slightly at the waist, pushed her firmly against the shower wall; her
permissive passivity simultaneously spurring and turning him on. Her
arms were thrust out in front of her, palms flat against the tile wall,
ass stuck out with her legs spread slightly, as he carefully forced his
stiffened cock between the moistened lips of her vulva and slooowly
pushed deep inside of her. 

"Mmmmmmmmm, Peter" she purred melodically and he just couldn't help but
let a smug little grin settle comfortably on his face. They were both
stark naked, standing directly in the path of steaming hot water
pouring from the chrome shower-head, and her full breasts began to sway
lasciviously back and forth as he immediately started pounding
furiously away at her pussy. 

With each thrust she let out a steady "uhh" and, as he started moving
faster, she pushed against the shower wall, forcing him further into
her, filling her completely, stretching her vaginal wall to the very
limits; her pelvic muscles tightening around his throbbing cock;
clenching, grabbing, squeezing his dick, like she wanted to hold on and
never let go; the guttural sounds were issuing from her in a soft and
steady stream now. 

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back, focusing intently on the
entire length of his dick, feeling every inch of it as he - BAM! -
pushed violently into her, pulled out, and - BAM!! - slammed forcibly
back in again - her own thrusts in perfect synchronization with his own
- moving in and out so quickly that he could already feel the euphoric
sensation in his groin creeping steadily and inexorably towards an
explosively massive crescendo. 

She was coming repeatedly now and kept shouting "Yes!!" so frequently
and with such fervor that it drove him mad with desire! It felt like
his cock was actually swelling a little bit bigger with each violent
stab, forcing so many beautifully lustful noises to flow freely from
somewhere deep within her porcelain throat. As he began to reach climax
he immediately withdrew from her, his firm grip now providing the
necessary rhythm, and nuzzled up to the gentle curve of her creamy
buttocks. 

With his smoothly shaven scrotum nestled gently against the divide of
her cheeks; eyes still shuttered tightly and teeth clenched in focused
concentration; fist pumping forcefully against his thrusting pelvis,
squeezing firmly around his cock as it swelled generously within his
zealous grip; he slowly and quite deliberately discharged his warm
sperm across the small of her back, the whole while grunting in tandem
with the rhythmic spurts of semen bursting - indeed, EXPLODING- from
the head of his pulsating dick. Wave upon wave of pearly white jizz,
working in concert with the overwhelming tide of pure ecstasy washing
over his very soul, erupted from the mouth of his cock; not just
amassing a sticky pool of pale molasses on her backside, but some
globules actually getting as far as her middle back and onto her
shoulder-blades. 

Finally, after his seed had been thoroughly and utterly spent, yet
before the pleasantly seismic convulsions in his cock had started to
subside, he slowly let his shoulders sag as he let out a loooong, quiet
sigh of satisfaction. He was dimly aware that the fingers of his free
hand had found their way to his chest and were playfully fondling and
caressing the erect nipple there; his other hand, of course, was
wrapped tightly around his meaty shaft, amazingly still hard. With his
mind's eye he could see a long, thin, gossamer strand of come - running
from the puddle of sperm collected at the summit of her coccyx to the
slick tip of his dick - connecting them together in the eternity of the
moment as it wavered lazily in the steamy air just a split-second
before it snapped in half and cut them off from each other. 

Peter wearily opened his eyes, letting the hot water cascade over him,
and looked down at his slowly deflating penis, still grasped tightly in
his fist. "Jesus," he whispered, trying to slow his breathing, "that
was one hell of an orgasm". He thrust his hands in the shower water,
washing away the excess come. The woman didn't respond; but then, Peter
had never expected her to. The woman, you see, had vanished. 

Well ... to be a little more precise, she had never actually been there
in the first place, being nothing more than a mere figment of his
imagination - and a very good one, at that. But the woman, Celeste, was
very much a flesh and blood person and he knew where she was ... or
rather where she was going to be. Later that evening - in a few hours,
in fact - she was going to be at the bar where her fiancé's band was
playing ... and Peter was supposed to meet them there. Thaaaaaat's
right, ladies and gentlemen, her fiancé. Peter, however, had never
actually had sex with her (only in his boundless and vivid imagination)
but he knew from watching her almost every weekend for the last year
that she was every bit the wild vixen that she purported to be. 

He grabbed the bar of soap from the soap-dish and smiled, thinking of
her again. He had never before, until recently, masturbated while
daydreaming about any of the women he knows personally (he always just
fucked them if they would allow it - and if they wouldn't ... ehh, fuck
'em) but there was just something different about this one. 

Every time her seductive form materialized in his mind, all the blood
from his brain would course directly to his dick, and he wouldn't be
able to think clearly until he could "relieve the resulting tension";
so, whenever it was convenient, he would jerk off excitedly while
gleefully picturing her, say, choking greedily on his sumptuous cock,
gluttonously devouring the thick flood of warm, salty sperm flowing
smoothly down her throat as he furiously unloaded his essence directly
into her. 

His penis, now largely flaccid, moved ever so slightly. 

Lately he's found himself entertaining the notion that she just might be
interested in him ... maybe. And he desperately wanted to believe that
she was interested, because somehow, inexplicably, he had managed to
convince himself that not only might she be willing to engage in
something similar to the pounding fuck-under-a-steady-barrage-of-
hot-water he had just envisioned, but that she might actually be
excited by the prospect of performing some of the lewder acts from the
carnal depths of his imagination. He slowly turned the bar of soap
around in his wet hands, building up lather, thinking. Well, he hadn't
quite convinced himself of it, but he really did believe that he could
use his charms to get her to like him ... in friendship at the very
least, if sex was irretrievably out of the equation. 

Because, even though she's so unbelievably erotic and sensual, even
though she has the ability to effortlessly command his complete
attention whenever she's near, even though his hard-on intensifies by
at least 10 percent whenever she even looks in his general direction,
let alone directly at him; all he truly wants is to talk to her and get
to know her a little bit better. For all her exotic beauty and
irresistible sex appeal, she actually seems like an interesting person,
and ... yeah, yeah - blah, blah, blah - bullshit! While there was some
truth in all that, he had to admit that he mostly just wanted to fuck
her ... and I mean fuck her gooooood. And he knows he could do it, too,
given the chance. And he's certain - no, make that positive - that she
wants to fuck him as well. 

The sound of the shower spray reverberated loudly in the small bathroom,
as he absently ran the bar of soap up and down his chiseled arms, under
his armpits, his smile slowly giving way to a small frown. Aww hell ...
he had to face up to the facts - she never even gave him the time of
day. In fact, it was likely that she wasn't even aware that he existed
at all. 

He considered this for a moment. 

No ... that wasn't exactly true, he thought, as he swiftly scrubbed the
soap across the washboard surface of his well-toned abs. He has caught
her, on several occasions, looking at him with what he can only
describe as cautious scrutiny, the faint suggestion of a smile hiding
somewhere on her lips, looking at him like she's carefully studying
him, curious - liking what she saw, but wanting to know more ... or
maybe just letting him know that she's aware of him, biding her time,
waiting for him to make his move - with a subtle hint of invitation,
and all the possibilities that implied, lurking deep within her cobalt
eyes; perhaps even wondering just how brash and bold this cute guy
might actually be. And she has spoken to him - a number of times -
although he had to admit to himself that it was usually when she was
merely letting anyone within earshot know every exhausting detail of
her life. The woman could certainly talk an awful lot about herself. 

But, he remembered, she's engaged to that worthless piece of shit, Joe
Killian, the singer in that talent-less band he was going to see later
that evening. He never much liked the guy (or the band) but Joe had
asked him for some help mixing the band's sound and Peter needed the
extra money; anyway, it was an opportunity to see Celeste. And he was
fairly certain that she'd never cheat on the guy anyway, for some
strange reason - he's overheard her say as much to all the poor
bastards who inevitably accost her wherever she goes, to no avail (but
not before getting a free drink out of 'em, though). 

He just couldn't figure out what the hell she saw in the guy in the
first place, that's all. Well, maybe the guy has a really big dick or
something, he pondered half-jokingly - who knows? Peter chuckled
slightly as he contemplated that. Well ... certainly Celeste would
know. 

At this, he furrowed his brow and listened to the droning hiss of the
falling water as he tried, unsuccessfully, to keep an unpleasantly
vivid image from forming in his mind; one in which Celeste, wide-eyed
with disbelief, her mouth hanging slightly open and locked in a small
smile of astonishment, waits in eager anticipation for that asshole to
slide an obscenely enormous (nooooooo - it couldn't be that big!) cock
between her legs. 

This uncomfortable thought sat uneasily in his mind for about half a
minute. Naaaaah, Peter finally concluded, the guy doesn't have a big
dick; he just is a big dick and she can't tell the difference. He
would, therefore, just have to get her to see the difference. He
laughed aloud this time. 

But the truth was, she mostly just seemed unaware of (or indifferent to)
his very presence. So, simply put ... he just didn't have a fuckin'
clue whether she was interested in him or not - but being an optimist
at heart, he trusted his instincts and hoped for the best. Besides, he
told himself, running the bar of soap in lazy circles across his broad
chest and feeling slightly better, it would be difficult to be friends
with a woman if you're constantly picturing her with your cock stuffed
deep in her mouth. 

A mischievous smile spread slowly across his face as this vivid image
began to take root in his mind. He felt a pleasantly familiar pressure
building deep in his groin and, still grinning wickedly, looked down at
his ballooning penis, a hard-on of massive proportions (at least for
his modestly average size) growing quickly in both length and girth.
Damn, he was ready to go again! But he wasn't really surprised much by
that; Celeste always had that affect on him - just thinking about her,
and he's up-and-at-'em, ready to fuck. 

And that, he proudly mused, is a trick that has often come in handy in
the past. After he's finished banging some randomly-chosen drunk chick
that he'd managed to convince into fucking him and he's already shot
his wad all over the poor girl's tits, but still feels that she needs
to experience more, all he has to do is picture Celeste, say,
straddling him, riding him cowgirl-style, lustily impaling herself
repeatedly on his swollen cock, yelling his name over and over again at
the top of her lungs between multiple shouts of "Oh dear God" and "Oh
sweet Jesus", her sweat-glistened breasts jostling up and down in
syncopated rhythm with her forceful, downward thrusts, and suddenly ...
he's good for at least another half-hour or so, give or take.
Sometimes, having a good imagination can really pay off. Well, he still
had some time before he had to meet them and he was getting hornier by
the minute, sooooooo ... deciding to put his imagination back to some
good use, he put the bar of soap back in the soap-dish and gently began
stroking his rock- solid cock. 

**** 

Celeste lay stretched out on the sofa in her living room, watching T.V.,
wearing her favorite black laced panties, no bra, just a concert
t-shirt with the rock band's logo pulled taught against her ample
breasts. She delicately fondled a hardened nipple, poking roughly into
the fabric of her shirt, as she fondly thought about the cute guy she'd
seen at the bar the other night; the one who wouldn't - no ... couldn't
- take his eyes off her. She smiled, thinking of him again. 

This particular guy from the other night, she couldn't remember his
name, he was a funny one. Not funny like he made her laugh (which he
didn't), but funny in a ridiculous sort of way. Like the way he had
gotten all excited when she'd smiled and accepted his drink offer, as
if he'd thought he was going to get lucky right there and then on the
bar itself, while the bartenders, waitresses, and patrons looked on. 

She remembered thinking that she'd have a little fun with him then, so
when she asked him if he wanted to dance and he had blurted out a
drunkenly exuberant "Absolutely!" she was pleasantly rewarded with the
sight of him practically falling all over himself, leading her by the
hand to the makeshift dance floor in front of the stage. 

From there it was easy. Flashing him her most winning smile and giving
him a look she was sure he saw as a prelude to some impending sexual
encounter of the first kind, she proceeded to bump and grind, like she
was performing a striptease: hypnotically shaking her luscious tits in
his face to the driving beat of the music, accentuating the enticingly
deep crevice of her cleavage whenever possible; rubbing her shapely ass
into his crotch, feeling through her thin skirt his tremendous hard-on
pressing roughly into her; allowing his hands to move freely up and
down the delicate curves of her waist and hips, a goofy smile plastered
on his face the whole time, surely realizing that she wasn't wearing
any panties. 

All the while Joe was watching from the stage, giving her a knowing
smile, aware that she was just having a little harmless fun, secure in
the knowledge that she only had eyes for him. And she had to admit to
herself that it was fun; she just loved flirting with men ... or
"playing" with them, as she liked to think of it - in fact, she lived
for it. They just didn't always realize that it was just that:
flirting. And Joe, bless his heart, didn't seem to mind much at all -
hell, being in a band, he had all sorts of girls throwing themselves at
him every time he sang; she felt, then, that she should be able to
enjoy the advances of men just as freely and wantonly. 

But there were limits, of course; she knew Joe would never, ever cheat
on her, just as she would never even think of cheating on him. She just
liked the attention men showered on her, that's all; it made her feel
irresistible ... and powerful. And men were always showering her with
attention. 

Well, finally there was the inevitable mix of surprise, confusion, and
hurt on the guy's face (with, most likely, a fair amount of anger
thrown in for good measure) when, after the song had ended, she
politely said "Thanks for the drink", then, as an after-thought, added
"Oh ... and the dance, too", turned to her fiancé on stage, blew him a
kiss and yelled "I love you, honey!" so the entire bar could hear, and
sashayed over to the table where her girlfriends were sitting, trying
unsuccessfully to hide their amusement at the whole spectacle. 

This was one of several time-honored "games" she would "play" with the
multitude of men who hit on her in the various dives that Joe's band
played in around town. If the guy got too pissed off about it, all
she'd have to do is tell Joe and he'd take care of it (usually just
glaring at the guy was sufficient; Joe was pretty big, muscular), but
this guy just sort of - collapsed  - in disappointment and sulked off
to lick his wounds. 

Her smile faltered slightly as a momentary twinge of guilt swept through
her. And, she reminded herself, she had thought he was cute: those
gorgeous eyes, his beautiful smile, that unbelievably tight ass. Even
now, just thinking about him, she found that her hand had strayed down
under her panties and was delicately massaging her ginger pussy, her
moist twat tingling with the potential energy of a pent-up and
powerfully potent orgasm just waiting for its chance to go off. 

Slowly, reluctantly, she removed her hand from her panties and turned
off the T.V. in mild disgust - there was just never anything good on!
Getting up, she stretched her arms and yawned as she shuffled into the
bedroom, thinking that she'd take a short nap and, afterwards, a shower
before heading out to the bar for the evening. She sat down on the edge
of the bed and thought again about the other night. That guy may have
been cute, she told herself, but cute guys are a dime a dozen and none
of them can compare with Joe. 

**** 

Still stroking his hefty hard-on while picturing Celeste in various
compromising positions, Peter closed his eyes and remembered, years
ago, running into a guy he knew who had recently returned from a
lengthy trip to the Far East (I realize that probably sounds a little
odd, considering the circumstances, but bear with me). Now, lest one
should raise an eyebrow at the mention of yet another male in the midst
of an intrinsically heterosexual fantasy, the reason this particular
man merits any attention at all is that he is the one who related to
Peter the legends that still circulated in some parts of the Orient
concerning certain mythical "lost" texts of ancient magical sexual
techniques involving, among other things, something the writings
referred to as "Astral Coupling" - or, loosely termed, long-distance
sex. 

Of course, Peter thought it was all bullshit, but the idea had intrigued
him immensely at the time and ever since then he had wanted to give it
a try - just for shits and giggles, as they say. His friend had said
that the ancients used this technique (as well as others) to seduce
women who were unattainable to the average mortal man: the wives and
concubines of kings and emperors. Once the woman experienced this
"psychic reaming", she would supposedly be driven to seek out the
physical form of the spirit that had copulated with her and consummate
the corporeal side of the relationship. All the man had to do then was
make himself easy to find. Hell, as stupid as all that sounded, he was
beginning to think that was probably the only way he could ever get
into Celeste's pants. Therefore, it was worth a try. 

From what Peter could recall, the required ritual was ridiculously easy.
The basic idea was to clear the mind of all thought, save that of the
woman to be seduced, and recite the appropriate incantations ... and
that was all there was to it. But, what were the words?? It had been so
long, he couldn't quite remember, but for some reason the phrase "kanar
sudtraya" sprang immediately to mind. Yeah, he was pretty sure that was
it. That was what his buddy had told him; just repeat the words "kanar
sudtraya" over and over again, while mentally fucking the woman in
every convenient orifice and in every conceivable way, until his astral
spirit simply left his body. Well, that certainly sounded easy enough. 

Yeah, right. 

With his eyes still closed, then, Peter cleared his mind of everything
but the luscious images of that gorgeous creature doing the most
wonderful things to, and with, his body, as he slowly and repeatedly
recited the words to the spell, rendered virtually inaudible over the
noisy tempest of the shower. In his mind's eye, he saw himself mount
Celeste from behind and watched as her ass jiggled hypnotically with
every deliberate and determined push into her decidedly delectable
pussy; he imagined standing upright, cradling her ass in his hands,
raising and lowering her onto his dick, with her legs wrapped tightly
around his waist and her arms linked loosely around his neck, her
breasts pushed up against his chest as their nipples rubbed pleasurably
together; and he voyeuristically watched her gorge herself silly on his
cock until he emptied his sticky payload all over her face and down her
breasts, squeezing them together to catch every last drop. 

This last image must have done the trick, because he suddenly felt a
lifting sensation, like he was riding in a rapidly ascending elevator.
He opened his eyes, momentarily pushing the pornographic pictures of
Celeste out of his mind, as streaks of scudding clouds whipped past him
- when he abruptly found himself standing in a doorway, peering through
the steam into what appeared to be someone's bedroom. And that, to his
astonishment, was precisely where he found her. 

**** 

Celeste was still sitting on the edge of the bed when she first became
aware of his presence. It startled her, not just because there was a
strange man standing in her bedroom uninvited, but that he was
completely naked and, for some strange reason, apparently masturbating.
Not only that, but he also appeared to be enveloped in some sort of
strange mist - a billowing fog that cryptically lent a surreal quality
to the experience - and, as if that weren't odd enough, she thought she
could faintly hear the sound of a shower running somewhere in the
distance. 

But as weird as all that may have seemed, it didn't motivate her to
action; in fact, she didn't move a muscle or speak a word, having
suddenly and quite surprisingly become deeply and profoundly aroused;
the slight, sexual sensations she had induced in herself only moments
before were apparently still smoldering deep within her. She concluded,
then, that she must have unintentionally fallen asleep right there on
the edge of the bed and was now enjoying a very strange, but realistic
and excitingly erotic, dream. Except that the man standing in the
doorway wasn't the guy she'd been thinking about, the one from the
other night. 

Of course, after a few moments she recognized Peter and was at first a
little confused about why she would be having a wet dream about him -
she'd never really given him much serious thought before - but seeing
him now, his chiseled physique highlighted by the contrast of dark
shadows and soft moonlight pouring through the open window, she felt
the initial stirrings of a long-dormant passion that she had only been
tangentially aware of. Despite any lack of desire she'd had for him in
the past, she was without doubt wildly and unabashedly attracted to him
now. 

He began to move slowly towards her, languidly stroking his erect cock,
as she spread her legs open slightly in subconscious invitation, her
eyes moving from his mesmeric gaze, down his sculpted body to the
hardened tube of meat he was tenderly massaging in his hand, and back
again. She wondered, fleetingly, what it might taste like. 

So when he happened to stop abruptly in front of her, and she was
staring directly into the eye of his cyclopean cock, she excitedly
believed that she was about to find out what it did, in fact, taste
like; but then he fell swiftly to his knees, slipping her panties down
the length of her smooth legs, around her feet, and tossing them over
his shoulder in one quick motion, as he lovingly burrowed his face
between her toned thighs and allowed his serpentine tongue free reign
to strike up a lilting little dance with her clit. 

The sensation of feeling his roaming tongue gyrating freely inside her
cunt was overwhelming, to say the least. She leaned back on her elbows,
raising her feet off the floor and bringing her knees closer to her
body, as dozens of thoughts and questions flooded quickly through her
mind. How was this even possible? What the hell was going on here?? It
all felt so real; she could actually feel his tongue wonderfully
working her clit over, licking her labia into shape, his strong hands
moving caressingly across the curvature of her waist and down along her
supple hips. This didn't feel like a dream; and this certainly wasn't
like any dream she'd ever had before. 

But in the blast-furnace heat of her overbearingly hot lust, these
potentially troubling thoughts quickly evaporated. Hastily removing her
t-shirt, she tossed it carelessly across the room, rendering her
completely naked, as she first pinched and rubbed her hardened nipples
and then, as the ecstasy intensified, placed a trembling hand on each
side of his head, coaxing his tongue deeper into the abyss. 

She was moaning loudly now and, at one point, when the pulses of primal
pleasure were at their most extreme, she raised her legs straight up in
the air, grabbed the back of each calf with its corresponding hand,
locked her knees and, in an amazing feat of both flexibility and
balance, held her torso upright - essentially forming a v-shape with
her lower appendages while improving her vantage point - so that she
could better observe his tongue slipping and sliding around between her
legs when her eyes weren't shut tight in concentration. 

This maneuver, however, shifted her weight enough so that she began to
slide off the edge of the bed, completely lost in her wild lust and
totally unawares; but, never letting his tongue break its glorious
stride, Peter's hands shot up, one hand pressing firmly into each of
the fleshy cheeks of her ass, and held her careening on the edge of the
bed (her legs, straight up in the air and spread-eagled, passionately
declaring "V is for Victory!!" the entire time), keeping her from
spilling embarrassingly onto the floor. In this precarious position,
she closed her eyes and leaned her head back slightly, grinning a
Cheshire cat-like grin and giggling with pleasure. 

And then, seemingly without warning, while his darting tongue moved
effortlessly around and over her tender pussy, she cried out, feeling
the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced blossom deep within her
vagina and spread outward through her whole body, as she unleashed a
torrent of her juices straight into, and all over, his mouth. She kept
yelling out "Ohh!" in direct time with the fabulously intense spasms of
delight wracking her entire frame, dreamily thinking to herself that if
God were to strike her dead right now, she would certainly die a happy
woman. 

She was loath to remove his head from between her thighs, but the strong
desire to taste and feel his dick in her mouth, and the sure knowledge
that it would eventually find its way to the place where his tongue
currently held sway, persuaded her to lower her legs and, taking his
head in both of her hands, pull him gently to his feet. When he was
standing upright and she was once again "face to face" with the mighty
beast that was his cock, she licked her lips softly and, looking him
square in the eye, voraciously wrapped them around that magnificent
monster, bobbing her head back and forth lustily as she did so. 

**** 

He watched the determined movement of her head, as her luscious lips
slid skillfully along the tender flesh of his cock, her long hair
swaying back and forth softly as if stirring in a gentle breeze, the
barely audible smacking sound of skin and saliva seeping quietly into
the night air. He tried to clear his mind of everything but the intense
pleasures that were emanating from every square inch of his dick. He'd
worry about how the hell this could be possible later. Right now, he
just wanted to focus on this gorgeous woman and, more immediately, the
wonderful things she was doing with her mouth. 

The thumb and forefinger of her left hand was tenderly gripping the base
of his dick, the remaining fingers spread out evenly across his lower
abs - the thumb and forefinger of her right hand encircled his dick
(placed just in front of her mouth) and led her lips down the entire
length of it, stroking his rigid penis in unison with the even
thrusting motion of her mouth; after a few minutes of this, she stopped
and tickled the sensitive flesh just below the tip of his cock with her
tongue, and then quickly pulled her head away to look up at him as she
swiftly pumped his dick with her hand, eliciting a series of glorious
grunts and groans from him and causing a broad grin to stretch wide
across her glistening face. 

Placing his dick back in her mouth and picking up speed, she began to
hum intermittently, as though she were enjoying a tasty dessert, and
moved her right hand surreptitiously down across the plump valley of
her breasts - her fingertips lightly brushing the hardened, rubbery
nipple of her left breast, her forearm sliding seductively over the
right - down along the smooth plain of her stomach and between her
legs, where her fingers savagely massaged her wet pussy in time with
the soft and tender push of his gently thrusting pelvis. 

Peter placed his hands on either side of her head; not to rudely force
her face down on his cock, but to feel and incorporate its rhythmic
motion into his body - to immerse himself completely in the flow of
pure, orgasmic energy swirling and centering itself around the mass of
solid muscle deep in the pit of his groin, circling it like some
beautiful and benevolent maelstrom, gathering its strength for the
coming eruption. 

It happened a lot quicker than he had anticipated. Normally, he could
control the impending orgasm and hold it at bay until he was ready to
let loose, but this time it crept up on him stealthily and his groin
muscles squeezed together sharply, shooting the collected mass of sperm
through the shaft of his dick with the powerful force of a Howitzer
cannon and straight into her unsuspecting mouth. 

He shut his eyes tight, focusing intently on his pelvic muscles, timing
it so that when a volley of sperm was fired off, those same muscles
simultaneously pushed the receding blood back into his penis, filling
it to capacity and cinching it off, stiffening his cock until the next
barrage of semen was ready to go, which was only a mere half-a-second
away. With each shot he was overcome by a wondrous wave of euphoria, as
though his soul was being repeatedly and pleasantly sluiced through the
tiny slit-of-an-opening at the summit of his mountainous cock,
exultantly radiant with joy at having accomplished such a tremendous
feat of vitality and power and quite eager to do it all over again. 

Initially, the sudden burst of semen flooding into her mouth took
Celeste by surprise, but, like an old pro, she took it in stride and
intuitively followed the soft push of his pulsing hips into her plushy
lips, alternately swallowing mouthfuls of come and breathing in quickly
through her nose, as the warm and oddly sweet concoction nestled snugly
in her stomach. 

At first she was a little disappointed (she had hoped it would last a
bit longer than that, after all), until she suddenly realized that he
wasn't getting any softer in her mouth; in fact, it felt like his cock
was growing significantly larger with each strong surge, so that she
nearly gagged. When he was finally finished, she pulled back and looked
up at him in amazement, panting and staring wide-eyed at his still-hard
cock! How in the hell was that possible?? She'd never known a guy who
could do that! 

She heard a long and steady groan of delight escape Peter's lips as he
leaned his head back and smiled. 

Celeste stared at him incredulously for a moment longer, then turned and
jumped onto the bed. Fixing him with an enticing gaze and smiling
fiendishly, she crooked her finger at him and said, "C'mere, stud. I'm
not finished with you yet." 

Suddenly he was on top of her and inside of her: thrusting and moaning -
pumping, groaning! He kissed her long and hard, yet strangely soft and
tender, with an undertone of quiet urgency, her full lips soft on his,
his tongue gently probing and entwining around hers, her bountiful
breasts heaving high as his cock rammed swift and deep. Again and again
he pounced on her, in her, into her, deeper, (faster) farther,
(faster!) farther than any man had gone before, (come together) forcing
the breath from her body, (together) his face close to hers, (coming)
his breath warm and sweet, (coming, dear) her eyes focused on his, (oh,
fuck me) her eyes, (fuck me!) he could lose himself forever in those
eyes, (i'm coming) forever is a long time, (coming) a long time, I'm
coming, she's coming, (so am i), and coming (so am I), and coming!
(OhMyGod, SO AM I!!) "Oh God! CELESTE!!" 

And with that final desperate cry, they both came at once,
simultaneously yelling out, the headboard pounding soundly against the
bedroom wall, the concussions slowly fading away with the last dying
spasms of ecstasy purging itself from their hot, sweaty bodies. 

And the last thing Celeste remembered after Peter rolled off and away
from her, but before she slipped quietly into a deep, satisfying sleep,
was the wonderfully sticky sensation of warm sperm running down the
inside of her thigh. 

Jesus, what a dream! 

**** 

"I heard that she left Joe." 

Sarah said this matter-of-factly between sips of her coffee. She was
sitting across from Heather in their favorite booth, the one right in
front of the large plate-glass window, as the late afternoon sun,
blanketing the table top between them with its warm, golden light,
spelled out the name of the establishment in thick, black shadows,
filtered from the huge letters painted on the polished glass beside
them: "Debi's Diner". Neither of them had heard from Celeste in weeks
and they'd been in the middle of discussing it, among other topics of
mutual interest, when Sarah dropped this bombshell of information on
Heather's unsuspecting lap. 

Heather looked at Sarah in bewilderment, choking down the chewed pulp of
salad lettuce in her mouth before blurting out in a semi-controlled
tone "What?!? You've got to be kidding! She left him? Is she crazy??
He's fuckin' hot! That long hair, the tattoos ... Oh my God, that
voice! Are you sure??" 

"Yep, she packed her things and took off ... I don't know where." 

As Heather sat in stunned silence, trying to wrap her mind around this
juicy slice of surprising news, Sarah added, nonchalantly, "Oh ... and
I heard she's pregnant, too." 

At this, Heather's jaw fell open, her eyes swelling slightly in
surprise, as she gasped, "Joe knocks her up and then she leaves him??
That doesn't make any sense!" 

"Who said Joe knocked her up?" 

Heather sat quietly staring at Sarah, watching her casually sip her
coffee as if they had simply been discussing the weather or something.
Heather said cautiously, "You're saying that she cheated on Joe?? I
can't believe that - she loves Joe. Who told you this?" 

"I've only heard it from Linda, but apparently everyone's talking about
it," Sarah said, setting her cup down and looking directly at Heather.
"Linda is Celeste's closest friend, you know - if anyone knows anything
about it, it would be her. Besides, I've also heard that Joe can't have
kids. So, if she's pregnant ... well, you do the math." 

"You're sure she's pregnant? What if she's just getting fat and Linda
just thought she was pregnant? She looked a little on the heavy side
the last time I saw her. And even if she is pregnant, how do you know
it isn't Joe's?" 

"Well ... I'm not positive, no, but Linda seemed very certain that
Celeste was pregnant. And I think Celeste herself told me once that Joe
had a vasectomy a couple of years ago. Yeah ... she said that he never
wanted to have kids and that she didn't mind 'cause she didn't really
want kids either. Besides, like you said, why would she leave her
fiancé after getting pregnant by him?? That doesn't make sense," Sarah
said as she quietly resumed drinking her coffee. 

After a lengthy pause, in which she waited, somewhat impatiently, for
Sarah to dole out more information, but instead merely watched her
drain her coffee cup in that maddeningly slow manner of hers - she was
obviously trying to draw out the suspense for as long as possible -
Heather practically shouted out, "So?? If she's pregnant and it's not
Joe's, who's the culprit? Don't leave me hanging here!" 

"Nobody knows. Not even Linda. If Celeste had someone on the side, she
kept it a well-guarded secret." 

"Well," Heather said derisively after a few moments, shaking her head
decisively, "to hell with Celeste." She took a sip of her lemon-water
and smiled craftily - cunningly - as she said, "I guess that just means
Joe's ... unattached now." 

"Yeah," Sarah offered, "I guess so ... though he's not really my type." 

Heather looked up from her salad, her smile broadening incrementally, as
she said "I suppose Peter's more your type, huh?" 

"Peter? Well ... all right, okay - yeah, I'll admit it. He is," Sarah
said, a tad defensively Heather thought, although she was smiling. "He
and I dated for a while ... you know that. It just didn't work out,
that's all. I guess he just hasn't found the right woman yet." 

Her smile faltered fractionally as she let out a quiet sigh; but then,
her grin regaining its former strength, she quickly added, "He still
gets me hot, though," momentarily inducing a fit of hearty laughter
between them. 

"Well," Heather finally said, still laughing and smiling, picturing Joe
in his trademark tight black leather pants, remembering the way he'd
smiled at her the last time she'd seen him, "I'll take what Joe has to
offer any day." She swallowed another bite of her salad, her face
taking on a more serious expression as she said, "Speaking of Peter, I
haven't seen him around lately, either." 

"Y'know," Sarah said speculatively, "now that you mention it, I haven't
seen him around either - which is odd. I used to see him all the time."
And then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "I hope he's okay." 

"Maybe he got a new job out of town or something ... who really cares?
It's not like he tells anyone his business anyway." 

"He'd tell me," Sarah said meekly. 

They both sat quietly for a while, Sarah slowly savoring the last of her
coffee and worrying over Peter, as Heather mulled over this last piece
of information for what seemed like an eternity, realization slowly
dawning in her eyes as she said, "You don't suppose ... naaaaah,
Celeste wouldn't have done that." 

"Wouldn't have done what?" 

"Well ... maybe I'm wrong, but it seems kinda suspicious that Celeste is
possibly pregnant with another guy's kid and now both she and Peter
have disappeared. That's one hell of a coincidence, don't you think?
But ..." and here Heather shook her head stubbornly, "Celeste never
really talked much about Peter - I always had the impression that she
thought he was sort of a jerk. I just can't believe she would run off
with him." 

"Well, she could do a lot worse than Peter," Sarah said a little
testily, "but I agree; I don't think they would run off together
either." 

"Although, now that I'm thinking about it," Heather said after a
moment's reflection, squinting her eyes in recollection, "I can
remember Celeste telling me - this was several months ago, the last
time I saw her - about a really, really hot dream she had ... starring
guess-who." 

"Peter?" Sarah asked, trying to mask the disappointment in her voice. 

"Yeah. And," Heather said, beginning to laugh, "she also said that that
particular dream was the best sex she'd ever had! Can you believe that?
She said a wet dream was the best sex she ever had! How fuckin'
ridiculous is that?!? I'm sorry, but you can't tell me that a dream is
better than the real thing ... especially when the real thing is that
stud Joe. She's just fuckin' crazy. No, she wouldn't run off with Peter
just because of a damn dream! I'm certain about that!" 

And it was on that note that the conversation turned to other matters
and they continued talking and laughing until well after the sun had
gone down. When the diner was getting ready to close for the night,
they paid their checks and stepped out into the chilly spring evening,
hugging each other warmly and saying their goodbyes until next week
when they'd get together to discuss the course of their lives once
again. As Heather turned to walk away, Sarah asked, "Do you think we'll
ever see them again?" 

"See who?" Heather asked, genuinely puzzled. 

"Peter and Celeste, of course." 

Heather stared blankly back at Sarah for what seemed like a very long
time, before finally turning her head and peering off into the
distance, as if searching for the answer somewhere out there in the
darkness, saying, rather indifferently, "Oh, I don't know, Sarah."
Then, after a contemplative pause, she looked at Sarah and smiled
warmly, adding, "I'll see you next week, hon - goodnight," as she
turned away again, walking off to her car and never once looking back.

• The Queen