Genre: Mature Married Romantic Erotica – with marginal bits of geek talk.
by Doris Dawn
Copyright 2012, email@example.com
“Live the full life of the mind, exhilarated by new ideas, intoxicated by the romance of the unusual.”
Chapter 1. A Wish
I’m at lost. I have everything but still, when I think it over, it looks like I have nothing. You may wonder that I have a rich husband and I live in glamor, lavishly pampered with luxury. And that I long for love and romance and affection. But, you will see, I’m literally awashed with passionate love and – believe it or not – I get more sex than I can carry. From the man I love, the one and only man in my life. To him I offered my virginity. He is the father of my children. But he is also a dreamer, a romantic goof that hardly finds a fit in this voracious world. This made us poor. Money don’t bring happiness. So here I am, a happy woman, adored by her poor husband, but with her soul ravaged by things that she never had, and maybe never will…
“Doris! What are you doing alone in the backyard?”
“Hey, Don! Gazing at the stars. Look, another shooting star.”
“Over there. I make my wish…”
“Now you are so lovely. Mmmm… And your natural scent… Let me sniff your pussy some more…” Approaching from behind, he scared me, just a bit. Not much, because my nose caught his mild sweaty scent that he usually acquires after the evening biking tour.
“You crazy dog. We just had sex. Twice today! Haven’t you had enough of me?”
“I’ll never have enough of you, my bunny.” As he kneels, he gently brushes his nose over my bush and dives in for the love button. There he is: his firm lips kiss my crotch and his face presses me to spread my legs. Then, with his teeth, very careful, he grabs my now hardened clitoris and pulls up. All this happens in a slow motion. I know his next move: he will tongue slap my clit for a moment or two, then he will try to introduce his greedy tongue between my labia. This is where he expects me to grab his chin and raise his head back to lick the area just above my button. Because I don’t like being tongue-fucked, but I love when he plays just above and across my pubic hair, when he “incidentally” hits – and stops to eat – my magic bean. On and on. As he said and meant it: he can’t have enough of me.
And I can feel it again, raising across my belly, tickling and warming my breasts… and finally blowing up my brains.
“Okay, Don, cut it off, I came.”
But he won’t listen, his hungry tongue keeps slapping my nub.
“Hey, Don, come up here and hug me. I need cuddling now!”
Like a wagging dog, he jumps up and hugs me hard. I feel my bones cracking. But I have no time to think about what I feel because his hands already grabbed my ass and pushed my legs on sides, to have my body hanging from his neck while his fine dick is fixing my pussy tight. I’m fucked, once again!
“I said, hugging, dear, not fucking…”
“What’s the difference? I hug you with my dick, on the inside too. Don’t you like it?”
“Sure I do. But don’t you ever get tired?”
“I certainly do. Can’t you feel my half-hardened hog? I gotta hold your ass with my arms. Remember when we were young and horny? Then I could carry you all the way, solely in my rock hard roundhead. Wow, good ole times…”
Yes, I say to myself, laying my face on his right shoulder, good ole times. Then I had a brilliant career. And he traveled a lot. And we had sex during weekends because he was too tired after driving and dealing. And our sex sessions lasted no more than fifteen minutes. Yes, remembering his rock hard rod, firing far and fast, letting me sleep till dawn, before waking me up for another shooting in the morning.
But now, two decades later, when he gets his head out of that silly laptop, it’s either to go shopping – where I send him with a list in hand – or to undress me, maybe giving me a sweet poetry at foreplay, then a long lick, then a half-hard fuck, then the never ending jacking on my belly, tits, face, or in my mouth, then la boule de neige followed by a final long and vivid lick, capped with few more soft words whispered into my ear. These are the years when our sex episodes are longer than the “24 : events occur in real time” hour.
And here I am. I get a fuck, a lick and a dick. Every day! Think that I should be happy. And I am.
But still, I miss something, I miss diversity, adventure, suspense. I miss the thrill of that day when you wake up in the morning to fight the unknown, to conquer a new realm, to declare victory, or defeat. I miss the evening parties, and mostly the evening black and classy dresses that we can’t afford anymore…
“Oh, look Don, another shooting star. How wonderful it is. I wish…” And the star keeps burning across the sky, it never dropped, it didn’t consume itself out of sight. The star grew brighter and wider. I can hear it rumble and I can see it turning. Turning?
“Hey, Don!” I stare at him.
Don sleeps like a baby on the lounge chair nearby. I’m alone with this shooting star above me. Her rumble made room to a splendid silence as she stops in front of my eyes, at a fair distance, I would say kilometers away. I guess she’s in the atmosphere, fallen from distant skies and sideral heavens. And I turn my eyes to the left. The star moves to my left. Instinctively, I turn my eyes right, the star jumps to my right. Then I turn my eyes around. And the star makes rounds in the upper strata of rarefied air. It looks like she wants my eyes fixed on her, at any cost.
“Wow!” I whisper to myself and fall asleep near my Don, grabbing his hand from my pussy and kissing his fingers good night.
* * *
I wake up in the morning and look around for Don. He must be in the house. I’m alone in my garden surrounded by my lovely red roses and by the many young trees I’ve planted last spring, or this spring, or few springs ago. As I step down on the grass, I feel the dew on my bare soles. It’s too wet. Seems that Don took his time to water the garden without disturbing my sleep. Funny how I couldn’t hear the screeching of the hand water pump. Well, whatever, I’m glad that he spared me this morning chore. But where is he?
“Don? Hey, Don? Where art thou? U-hoo?”
Nothing but robins twittering as they dart to hunt insects for their little ones.
“Don?” This time I can hear the intrigue in my shortened voice. So I stand up firmly, decisively bracing myself to go into the house and see what Don is up to, why he didn’t answer me.
“You are a lovely lady! Perfect shapes, velvety soft and slight ruddy skin, your red wavy hair is fabulous. Oh, and that orange triangle! May I say that I am in love with you, Milady?”
“Beg a pardon?” I freeze. There’s a guy in front of me. Naked. Not Don!
“Who are you?”
“Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cron. I am a wanderer. I heard your wish and I stopped by.”
“You missed something, you missed diversity, adventure, suspense. You missed the thrill of that day when you wake up in the morning to fight the unknown, to conquer a new realm, to declare victory, or defeat. You missed the evening parties, and mostly the evening black and classy dresses that you can’t afford anymore…”
I gulp. Mute and nude in front of this Cron guy, wanderer, whatever that means…
“And you missed many more things and images and words that you did not tell. I can hear and see what you miss and what you wish. I can make your wishes come true, Milady!”
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” I haste my strangled words.
“Yes, Milady, I stopped.”
After he said this, I feel my muscles relieved and my mind uncuffed. I feel the freedom to move and think. I start to analyze this guy in front of me, standing at a distance of about five meters or so. He is tall and handsome, definitely above two meters tall. Sort of a giant? Or a basketball player? Who knows. Oh my God, he is naked… In front of me! In my own garden? What if Don comes on the patio and sees him?
“Don won’t come out, Milady.” Cron answers my scared thought with his moderated and detached voice, like the speaker announcing train arrivals and departures in a railway station.
“Why not? What do you mean?” I jump in with every emotion I could gather.
“Don takes this day off of your life.” Think that his mechanical voice begins to unnerve me. Until now I did my best not to look directly at him. Trying to avoid seeing his pale and naked muscular body. But now I can feel that there’s something hiding behind the metallic tone of his. Oh yes, and I start sensing an alkaline breeze hanging about my nostrils. This Cron smells like the ocean. Hm, interesting indeed…
“What are you talking about?”
“I switched places with Don, Milady.”
“You did what? Who gave you permission?” I sound outraged.
“You did, Milady.” He speaks like before, unaffected.
“I never wanted to part with my Don. Is he alright? Does he know what you did to him?” Now I am not just sounding, but I really feel frightened.
“Yes. He is fine. Maybe in the third heaven by now, if I am not mistaken. And no. He does not know what I did to him. But he will find out shortly after waking up.” This guy, will he ever move or walk or turn around? I wonder.
“Where is my Don? Tell me!” And, to my amazement, Cron shakes his hips, then walks around me with a very slow and calculated pace, and turns around so his face will always meet my looks. He must be reading my thoughts. That’s less nice than the ocean breeze. But not long before the second would die, he returns a precise answer to my question.
“Don is hovering the sweet spots in the upper atmosphere of planet Jupiter.”
Yes, sure, just like that, on Jupiter? “Are you kidding me?”
“No. I am not, Milady. I am Cron and I use to live up there, traveling from planet to planet. Plus I cannot lie. Not to you nor to anyone. I am telling the truth.” His true calmness makes me nervous.
I pinch myself so hard that it aches all the way to my brains. Unfortunately, Cron won’t vanish because I’m not dreaming. This white haired, grey eyed, pale muscular giant, stands naked in front of me. Oh! Oh no! I gazed at his huge hose. I am shocked… No! No! No! Really shocked. I never saw such a long and well-built flaccid penis. Oh my!What I can’t understand Is why my eyes are magnetized by it. I cannot turn my look away, even if trying hard… Well, maybe not hard enough. Oh my, oh my… The magic of his penis must be a bad omen, I tell myself. But halt! Don’t you Doris think too much in front of this guy. He will read your thoughts. Hm, easy to say, difficult to do!
“Do not be shocked, Milady. I will not harm you in any way. But if you wish to try my dick, then it is all yours. All you have to do is wish or say or ask for something.”
Now I’m stuck. Badly stuck between my slippery thoughts and this alien stud hijacking my intimacy.
“Look, Mister Cron. First thing first. Stop reading my mind, will you?”
“I am afraid I cannot do that, Milady.” He can’t be human. This emotion-free voice could be that of a robot? But he looks so real, so strong, so present…
“Why not?” I ask him rapidly.
“Do not know why. But I have to tell you that reading minds and fulfilling unspoken wishes is my primary feature. Some ladies even called me the Wishguy.” Incidentally, I suspect that I noticed a smirk surfacing and almost instantly fading away on his left cheek. Would this make him human?
“Let me ask, Mister Cron. Did you came to other ladies before me?” Now I have a good reason to take my look away from that loosely hanging and preposterous organ of his. While asking, I make eye contact with him. Bad move, I think, because now he can fix my eyes with his white solid stare as he speaks back to me.
“Sure I did. I roamed this system times and times before Adam and his Eve were brought to being. Oh Eve! What a peach! Yum, yum, yum…” By the appearances, I would give him twenty-fife years or so. But that’s clearly nonsense. He tells me that he is older than Adam. For a six or seven thousand years old guy, he is in a very good physical condition. Oops, what if he’s even older than that? What did he mean by “times and times before?” Oops, triple oops… Oh my… Could that be? No!
“Damn, you must be Satan, the serpent of the old. You seduced Eve, did you?”
“Ah, sorry to confuse you, Milady. No. Not at all. I am not the same with Chaos. The liar who seduced Eve is known among us by the name of Chaos. I am a good and gentle fellow. My name is Cron and I am a truthful escort.” Damn rigid voice again. However, unlike with his other answers, I can detect a simdgen of familiarity in his last explanation. As he sincerely wishes to get closer to my heart, to persuade me into accepting his words. That may be the cause for changing his tone. Maybe that he already read and understood all my untold thoughts. To this he might initiate a correcting course. So he still is a robot after all, but a very intelligent one, I guess. What if he’s far smarter than me? You silly girl! Of course he is smarter than you! He came from the sky, like a rocket. He is a flying one!
“Why do you say escort?” I don’t know how this happened, but in this question of mine I added a lot of sugar. Gone are the frightened frugal replies. Hey! Are we flirting now?
“Because this is my job, Milady. There are beautiful and adorable ladies who feel lonely, like you, and they wish to call for something, or someone, that they do not have but ardently desire to. When I am around and I can hear their wishes, and their calling, then I descend to provide my escort services to them.” Not only the newly found kindness in his intonation, but also his body language (yes, after walking around me he keeps doing discreet reverential gestures whenever he deems there’s a need to accentuate his words) denote more and more friendliness, with a very polite restraint, from his part. And then it dawns on me, as if this wouldn’t have been obvious from the very beginning.
“Oh, the shooting star. That was you, Cron?”
“Me indeed, Milady. Here I am. At your service.”
Hm… Seems that I charmed him. Or that he’s a real pro. Or both? But did he charm me? That huge dick. Staring at it again. No! No, no, no! Don’t look there! I can hardly control my eyes, thus I choose to look over his shoulder, at the black walnut tree edging my garden to the South-West. But hey? Since when I have such a casual memory about the cardinal points – I never was strong at geography… Well, never mind, let me ask Cron something.
“You say that you are at my service, right?”
“So it is, Milady.” He smiles warmly and slowly nods his head to follow and strengthen the meaning of his words.
“Can you please bind me with Don, my hubby?”
“Sure I can. Do you wish for a full three-dimensional space-volume connection?”
He talks like my man, giving too much technical detail that I don’t care about. “You definitely understand what I wish: to talk to Don, to see him, to view his surroundings, to smell and sense what he does and to see where he is. Now please make that happen, Cron. Will you?”
And the gentle tall and pale (and so damn well built) alien stud does what I asked him to do. His eyes turn from light grey throughout all the colors of the rainbow, like in a surreal computer game, into a vivid white burning brightness. The two little suns from inside his eyes project out white rays to my right side where the thin air turns into an apparently solid and blue volume. Like fine tuning a channel, among rebel pixels and noisy colorful sprites, I can see Don throughout an even thinner fog. And I shout. “Hey Don! Can you hear me?”
“Wait a little bit, Milady,” says Cron, “as I must call a reciprocate volume from Jupiter, where Don is.”
“You didn’t do that already?”
“No. First I made a unilateral connection. Like a space-time hole-box for you to peep over there, where your husband is. Don’t you want to spy on him, just a little bit? Or should I enable the reciprocal connection and make him aware of your call right away?”
“Wait, wait. You devil. Now I understand. Please indulge with me for a couple of moments. Yes, I wish to peep on him. But I want to also hear him and his surroundings.”
* * *
Don is now a guest of one of the amazing worlds described, decades ago, by Sir Arthur C. Clarke. How on earth can I tell that? Maybe from the few long forsaken memories, because I never was a fan of his favorite literary genre. Now, my man was given a slightly concave lens to sit upon. This lens is not just transparent but fairly wide enough to cover our property like an imaginary umbrella. It seems to me that he has the ability to control the lens, to fly it wherever he so desires.
A thought of mine asks Cron for a close up to Don’s face. He is happy, toying with such a huge mouse that he can sit and walk upon. Not to mention that he can see through it at what’s going on beneath the hover line.
Suddenly, in a green flash, it seems to me that I lost him, then he comes up on my 3D holographic volume.
“What was that, Cron?”
“Just a leviathan, Milady.”
“Isn’t that a sea monster?”
“No, Milady. The leviathan is a Jovian native species. More of a flying dragon, but he can dive and swim as well as he darts the skies of Jupiter.”
“My hubby is in great danger then. Do something!” I find myself commanding to the alien standing in front of me, at my service. My escort.
“Calm down, Milady. Nothing will happen to your loved one. Leviathans won’t prey on humans without allowance. Fear not, your Don is protected by a higher Host.”
I make efforts to believe what Cron tells me. But I have no time to elaborate on my typical worries. I see that Don lands his flying lens over a green pasture. And I see a flock of people running to welcome him.
“Is there a solid core below the thick atmosphere of Jupiter?” I find myself asking scientific questions. Hm, strange! Since when did I get interested in planetary morphology and structure?
“Yes, Milady. Jupiter has a deep and tiny core made of various rocks and metals. However, you are not looking at it right now. There are immense oceans of hydrogen between that core and your husband, tens of thousands of kilometers down throughout the ever denser gases. But let me answer your concealed question, Milady. What we see in this peeping volume is that Don landed on the green pastures of a nympho garden. This is floating, like many others, around the sweet spots in the higher layers of the Jovian atmosphere where conditions are mild and friendly for a human habitat.”
“A nympho garden, you said?” Now I’m scared. REALLY scared!
“Yes, a secluded place which is populated exclusively with gorgeous naked ladies who made a cult from loving themselves above anything and anyone else. A nympho garden…”
“I can’t believe it. My man just landed, naked, in a nympho garden, as you call it, where dozens of naked women are running to welcome him. I feel… I feel… I’m lost again…”
“Do you wish I reciprocate the connection? This will allow him to see and hear you the way you see and hear him right now.”
For an instant, I wished to say yes. But something, somehow, stopped my wish from reaching the cortex. Guess that’s how Cron can read my mind: from the cortex on, when I excite it with another thought. And I hastily turn to him with a sweet, but trembling, voice.
“Let’s peep a little more…”
* * *
Those nymphos have a peculiar and particularly shameless way of greeting my husband. They kneel in front of him and suck his dick on turns. I hardly could watch all this ordeal to the end. Counted twenty-four nymphos. Each of them made sure to also kiss and suck his balls and raphe down to his arse. Disgusting! But my clear mind runs, like on a whim, under my cortex: disgusting for me the watcher, but definitely very sensual for him the receiver; if I recall well, we had more than a few such vulnerable intimate moments when I had the urge to kiss his ass, which I actually did after licking him around; sure, to me all this started as a rewarding gesture for what he previously did to my ass.
Then the damned nymphos joyfully sang and danced around him. For an hour or so.
“Sixty-nine minutes and twelve seconds, to be more precise, Milady.” Says Cron after reading my cortex. Did he read my ass licking thoughts as well? I’m not sure. But I cannot care less at the moment. I hate what I have to watch, what those female monsters are doing to my dear hubby. Will they take him away from me?
“Yeah, whatever. I’m sick and tired of this charade. Think I’ll have to ask you to open the line both ways…” To this, my escort tries to evade.
“May I politely ask for a bit of patience from you, Milady. Let us give him one more hour and see if he will fuck one of the nymphos. Shall we?”
“But nymphos – true nymphos, I mean – don’t fuck. They just masturbate and lick each other, like lesbians do. Am I right, Cron?”
“Sadly, no, Milady. Nymphos are sex machines by excellence. They do whatever sexual act they feel that a potential partner near them will ask for. So, forgive me, but I have to tell you that, if Don wants to fuck a nympho, only with his thought, no need to call her and demand anything from her verbally, then she will come to him, spread her legs wide and insert his hard element into her soft spot. Exactly as he would desire and imagine that to happen.” Cron speaks again with that railway station announcing voice.
“You mean that he first dreamed of landing in a garden full of naked women and that all of them would take turns on sucking his dick as a welcoming gesture?”
“That is correct, Milady.” His cold metal voice informs me.
Think I am about to get angry, yet I can’t tell because I’m really confused about all these events. Is it a dream? It is real? “Good. Now let’s sit and wait.”
And we sat. Oh, sorry, I took my place laying back on the lounge chair. As the sun raises over the trembling poplar to the South-East of my garden, it is washing my nude body in warmth and light. I can feel how the sunshine picks at my pores. Then I notice a shivering on Cron’s prominent nostrils. He makes an indistinguishable murmur of sexual desire. Guess he lusts for my body. What a shame that I don’t care. Well, yes, he’s quite a hunk. Am I mad? What am I saying here? “Quite” is not the appropriate word. He is THE HUNK any lady in her hormones would lust for. But I don’t. Why? Dunno. Perhaps because I have him already in my garden and – as you already learned – I tend to lust after things and people that I don’t have. Like Don, for instance. Look at him.
My hubby takes his time atop that curvy lens of glass.
Like mad witches, the twenty-four nymphos dance and dance, jump and stumble, yell and sigh, even fly and fawn close to his skin. All this agitation for a fuck. They want his manly mind to call them to his mast. They want him to imagine how he would knock them out, one by one, with his hard hammer.
The fairies of evil won’t give up. Even if my man, all eyes and ears, continues to ignore their squirting cunts. Yes, those bitches climbed over that lens of glass, surrounded him and – by some magic unexplained to me – they simultaneously squirted jets of their bittersweet nectar at his feet.
He enjoys the show, every bit of it. I can read this on his radiating face. Alas, for the nymphos, my Don eventually decides to masturbate, all by himself. He is an expert at that, trust me! Given the over-excitement he was subjected to, he came pretty early and his rock solid cock spit out quite a lot of sperm. Then he wished the nymphos to lick his lens clean. Not his relaxing shaft, just the hovering lens. Which they did, because they’re bound to take on any wish of their guest.
He finally kisses their hands goodbye and takes off like a cool guy.
“Tell me the time, Cron.”
“Milady, your husband spent ninety-seven minutes and ten seconds on the nympho island. Time calculated from the landing to the take off.”
“Nice, I’m glad he’s no pussy man. Have you seen that he didn’t touch the nymphos?”
“Well, if I am allowed, Milady. He let them suck his dick and lick his balls. He enjoyed watching their dancing show and he finally gave them his semen.”
“Sure. But he didn’t fuck them! This will do for me…”
“But not for me…” Cron moans in a suggestive way.
“What do you mean, Cron?” I make my intrigued thought being verbally heard as well.
“I can see that you are not jealous on your man. And this indicates that my chances of seducing you – with the purpose of fucking you like you never were before – are close to zero. Am I right?”
“You are right, my dear Cron. Friends we may be, if you promise to keep that surreal dick of yours between your own legs and not between mine. I’m more than happy with the ups and downs of my hubby’s. Besides, he’s an outstanding licker. Why should I want your dick in me? Only because you are so athletic and so out of this world? Look at Don. He’s mad about sex and he managed to harness himself, to chase away a stupid desire to fuck twenty-four alien squirting cunts. Why should I want an alien cock then?”
“Your reasoning is wise and goes beyond my understanding. And because I am your obedient servant, I promise to you that I shall not fuck you – thus your desire is fulfilled. Now please summon me for your next desires.”
“Sounds good, my friend. Well, let’s say that you procure me a dozen of valid Platinum Cards that can buy anything on this planet, as long as I so desire.”
“Noted. Any other wish, Milady?”
“Sure. Bring back my man to me. That will be all, Cron.”
“It was a great pleasure meeting you, Milady. Sad – for me – that you gave me no chance of knowing you. Maybe next time. Farewell, Milady.”
And the alien naked giant whirled upwards like a misty missile, leaving me naked under the scorching sun. Alone in my lovely garden.
* * *
“It’s almost noon. Lunch is ready, my bunny!”
I turn around. Don descends from the patio carrying a wide silver plate adorned with fresh sliced watermelons. He walks naked as usual. His flaccid penis never showed more than ten centimeters hanging out of his well trimmed crotch mustache. Well, a third (or less?) of what Cron put on display in front of my eyes, just moments away. But what the heck? This is my hubby, my man that I gave myself to. I love him so much, even if I am a bit confused about the nympho garden episode. A bit confused? What am I talking about? Not a bit but very much! And not confused but outraged! But then, hey, how should I put this to him? That a flying midnight cowboy descended from the sky to me?, that he had me peep at what Don did on Jupiter?, that I can’t get the image and associated thoughts of his immense dick out of my head? So I better digress from all my ranting vindications and instead address Don with a simple and such a trivial question.
“Where have you been all this morning, Don?”
“Nowhere. Just blogged something on my laptop. I preferred the coolness in the living.”
“You blogged about what, in particular?”
“About our sex life. What a question!”
“I was just thinking. Can you please check the mail?”
“Checked. No new mail for you.”
“I’m not talking about Google Apps, dear. Please go check the mail box at the gate. The snail mail! Remember? That still exists, they call it Post!”
“Oh yeah. Why?”
“Dunno, just like that…”
DING DONG …
DING DONG …
“The bell is ringing. Shall I?” Says Don looking for his bermudas.
“Don’t bother!” I cut him with this short exclamation while jumping out of the lounge chair and running to open the gate.
The postman handles me a registered letter. Asks me to sign for reception. Didn’t notice the banana-like greasy smile on his face. I am too impatient to even look at him.
“Doris! You are naked! You opened the door and allowed the mailman to see your bush, your tits, in all your glory…”
“So what? Let him see and enjoy, if he likes to stare. I don’t mind showing off.”
As I talk nonsense, my hasty hands tear the envelope apart. Inside a smaller plastic slip I find a Platinum Card…
“Anything worth it?”
“You bet. Seems that I got myself a new friend.”
“Ya talkin’ about Cron?”
“How do you know?”
“Simple. Just wrote a story about him switching places with me, sending me up to the high Jovian atmosphere where twenty-four nymphos sucked my dick like mad, then squirted at my feet like a bunch of completely crazy women.”
“And what was I doing all this time?”
“Peeping at me. He, he, he…”