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QuiteKindMind Storytime
Random fantasies, love makings, and other moments with a fictional Amanda.
Keywords | Title View | Refer to a Friend |
The Many Uses of the Tongue
Posted:Oct 28, 2020 6:27 pm
Last Updated:Nov 3, 2020 4:02 am

Music plays through the small but surprisingly powerful Bluetooth speaker while I clean. The genre flits wildly, reflecting my own seemingly random tastes. Through most songs, I sing loudly in the knowledge that I am alone.

Or so I thought.

I scrub a counter, turn around, and nearly collide with Amanda, startling enough for my heart to skip a beat. After I compose myself, I notice a huge grin on my lover’s face.

“Having fun?” her words drip mischief.

At this point in my life — and our unconventional relationship — I’m only slightly embarrassed. She’s seen and discovered countless sides of my personality. My singing barely registers.

“Yup! You scared the crap outta me.”

“You aren’t bad, you know.”

Alright. Now I’m embarrassed. Funny how a compliment can kickstart self-consciousness. Lacking anything to say, I try changing the subject, “You aren’t too bad yourself, good lookin’.”

She’s having none of it, “Nuh uh. I caught you, so I get to have my fun! Let’s say someone recorded you.” She unveils her phone and waggles it, “What type of blackmail would that person get away with?”

For a second, I’m torn between playing along or grabbing the phone. Play. Definitely. “Hm. I suppose it depends on the person.”

“Say, hypothetically, it was a sexy older woman.”

By this point, my arms are wrapped around her middle, her’s around my neck as she looks up into my eyes. “In that case, I would be completely at her mercy. She could do whatever she pleased.”

A wet, yummy kiss is shared, “Would she, now.” Her body presses hard on mine, and I know she felt my growing hardness. “What would I want? Hm...”

I mock shock, “You?! How could you?! I trusted you!”

We are quite the players when it comes to silly games. There is an unspoken understanding that sex is wonderful and sometimes serious, but it’s often humorous and goofy. The comfortability between us allows exploration of all those spaces.

“Yes! And now you are mine to abuse!” She rests her hands on her hips and glares at me like a stereotypical villain.

I release an exaggerated sigh, “I submit. What do you want from me?”

Amanda walks behind me and spanks me hard. “Mush!” She butt-smacks me onward to the bedroom. When there, she exclaims, “Clothes off, slave.” I comply. She saunters around me, making a show of scanning my body. “Good .”

Lithe movements carry her curvy, delicious form onto the bed. She lays there a time and continues looking at my nude form. Finally, she speaks, “Relieve me of my pants.”

I continue playing along and slip her pants off.

“... and my panties, slave.” Of course, I comply. No sane man would do otherwise. She rests her feet on my shoulders, teasing me and making me wait. Without words, her ankles lock around my neck and pull me down. The meaning is clear, and I begin.

The tenderest kisses grace her inner thighs as my hands knead the outers. Amanda makes happy hums. I kiss closer and closer to her pussy. Her hips sway with each circle, begging for more, but now I control the speed. Many more minutes of gentle teases and I can see her glisten. My tongue runs up and down her lips, the strong taste delicious. Her breath hitches as she feels my tongue, and the smallest of quakes passes over her body.

I spend long periods teasing, with moments of building towards ever larger orgasms. Each climax, she grabs my head with hands and thighs. My face is covered with her cum, and I think about how much I love this. All too soon, she breathlessly moans, “No more. No more.”

I slide away and wipe my face while I watch her curl onto her side. Amanda snuggles in for a minute, reveling in her afterglow. As I love to do, I snuggle behind and wrap my arm around her middle. My naked body reacts immediately to her warmth.

“Your turn... slave.” Amanda says the last word with a playful smile. We both know the game is over, but the callback makes me grin.

Her hand runs along my cheek and down my chest then we begin deeply kissing. Her lips are soft, moist and welcoming. The feel of her tongue on mine sends small shivers across my naked skin. Hands explore bodies, caressing and massaging. I lay back and Amanda follows. Her weight pressing on me is exhilarating.

A few more kisses and she grabs my hardness and begins sliding me in. We both moan softly. Amanda gasps out, “Tell me before you cum.” That simple statement ratchets my excitement to new heights. She rides me expertly, knowing the ins-and-outs of us. Her pace speeds and slows like cresting waves, gently building our orgasms. Too soon, I tell her I’m close.

She jumps off and begins to lick and suck. The fact that she’s tasting her own juices immensely turns me on. I watch her head bob and she makes eye contact. Smiling wide, my lover pauses and says, “I’m gonna swallow every drop of your cum.”

Every part of me shivers with satisfaction. She is amazing. Truly. I barely last another minute before I tense and warn her.

“Babe, I’m gonna cum.”

Amanda jerks me faster and whispers, “Give it to me. I want to taste it.” She continues begging until I cum, then pulls me in and let’s me finish in the warmth of her mouth. The few missed drops are lapped up dramatically, smile continuing throughout. She licks her fingers and proclaims, “Mhmm. Yummy.”

Ooof. With that, I’m ready for more. Perhaps... I’ll never get enough.

One can hope.
Posted:Oct 23, 2020 7:41 pm
Last Updated:Oct 25, 2020 5:10 pm

Thirty-five years I’ve walked this earth. Most of those, I’ve not walked alone. Family kept lockstep throughout, friends for a duration, even faith for a time. Depression, that terrible thing, has stayed with me for much of it. It is a leech, taking from you vitality and the will keep going. Early on, it ate.

For whatever reason, I kept moving.

Deep it dug fangs as I became sick. Endless amounts of gut pain, depression telling me quit. Give in. Life is pointless. There is nothing but pain here.

Yet I kept moving.

I found a way live around the agony. College — early — and life slowly began. While I sprouted, Loneliness grew alongside. You are alone, it whispered. You will always be so. You are too different. Depression provided more: you will die alone. There is no point. Give in.

My teeth barred, I pushed through.

Marriage. I find someone who I believe I can trust. We vow to provide, to have and hold. Yet there is no hold. No provisions. Loneliness remains, telling me life is supposed to be like this. You are meant to feel isolated. Depression laughs. “You are nothing. Nobody wants you, not even your family.”

Fists clenched against the barren earth, knees scraped raw, I crawl.

A is born. He is wonderful. My marriage, already so lifeless, focuses on our progeny. What little I received, there is naught. I become a shadow. Loneliness and depression smile. “We’ve won,” they say.

My face lays on jagged rocks. My enemies stand upon my back. Bloodied fingers dig into the ash and dirt, dragging forward an inch. I do not give in. Their smiles falter.

Writing re-enters my life. Others respond. Just a few at first, but contact is contact. What little attention I receive, I throw into more words. Effort begets effort. The enemies cry, “You cannot do this! You are small! Weak! We are mighty!”

Using my own protruding bones, I pull myself forward. I spit blood at my foes and smile back with red teeth.

Someone responds to my writing. They show interest. Make promises. Tell me sweet nothings and lovely, sexy thoughts. Hope blooms while Loneliness begins to cower. But the promises are false. The attention is fraud. Depression picks up Loneliness and proclaims, “You see, ? You try, but will always fail. Nobody in this world wants you. Give up. It will be easier.”

The last part is true. It would be easier. No pain. No loneliness. No effort. But they are clueless. Life is pain, but it is also love, hope, beauty, majesty. Life is everything where they are only absence. Depression and Loneliness are tiny things with loud voices.

My arms and legs are gone. All that remains are meaty stumps. My dermis is peeled and raw, hair ripped in clumps. Depression and Loneliness have had their fun. Using my chin, I pull myself forward. They scream in shrill tones, “Stop this madness! You are broken! We have won!” I laugh long and hard. Through the pain, my sides ache.

For the first time, I speak. My voice is dry, raw, and filled with menace.


With all I have left in my mind, body, and soul, I push forward. Each small movement restores my broken form. My enemies panic, their faces ashen. “This is impossible! You are nothing! Submit!”

Inch by inch, my strength returns. My response grows more powerful.


All of their might presses down on me. My chest compresses and I can barely breathe. Yet I push. “Stop! Stop now and submit! It will be easier!”

Muscles and bone return to my limbs. Their pressure continues to increase. My back buckles, but I claw forward.

Loneliness tells me, “You are alone in this. You fight for what? For who? Even if you win, nobody will be there.”

I straighten my renewed back muscles and heave. My hamstrings strain against my foes. Chest muscles bulge as I force my way through. New fingers grab Loneliness and throw him to the dirt. With every ounce of strength, I stomp over his wailing form.

Depression, ever the stronger of the duo, clenches his fists and teeth. “You will never be rid of us. We will return. You will never be free.”

Rage, an and long forgotten playmate stands by my side. His burning visage and molten eyes lock with mine. He nods and reaches a hand out. Fear creeps into my throat, but in this moment, I need him. I clasp his forearm and accept. His essence leaps into me, and my bloodied skin sets ablaze. It feels good. Right. The world is mine to burn. Then I see him. Depression. The reason for all of this. Endless fury builds in my chest. my pain fans the flames, and I charge. With a horrendous bellow, I leap and grasp at his neck. His strong, black hands try to pry me loose, but the years of suffering have given me strength he will never know. His slimy, black lips choke final words, “You. Will. Never. Be. Free.”

I raise from his corpse, take deep breaths, and allow Rage to depart. A small hint of flame remains in my eyes as I glance down on the silent, sickly form of Depression.

“We’ll see.”

Without a second glance, I set out yet again. Forward. Always.
1 comment
Restorative Kindness
Posted:Oct 22, 2020 6:49 pm
Last Updated:Oct 29, 2020 5:14 am

Many years ago, back when I was still single and dating, I met a young woman named Dani. She had recently extricated herself from a physically and emotionally abusive relationship. As you can imagine, she was wounded and desperate heal. A part of gravitates towards pain and she was a blinding beacon in the darkness.

After a few dates, we found ourselves lazing around, enjoying downtime and friendly company. We got to talking and her story began to pour out. The details remain priv but her agony resonated with , and I held her through tears. Shortly after, I shared some of my own pain, breaking down in her arms. Dani understood me, and I her. Those minutes hurt, but damn if they weren’t outstandingly beautiful.

Later that night, we spent time the couch and began nod off. Dani snuggled into my chest while my arms held her tight. We were both terribly cozy, but each time she began to fall asleep, she would startle awake with a small yelp. The first few times she was terribly embarrassed. But I understood. She couldn’t fully relax, especially with a man, because of her past. So I stroked her hair and whispered things like, “You’re safe” and, “Everything is ok”. Eventually, she fell asleep while I remained awake thinking over the day.

Even after a decade, that memory powerfully resonates with me. It was beyond special, and showed me how just a small amount of kindness can heal not only someone else, but yourself. It also taught me that even the deepest pain, the worst sadness, can cultivate stunning moments.

... and Dani, if you’re out there, I hope you’re ridiculously happy. You deserve nothing less.
1 comment
Posted:Oct 20, 2020 6:51 pm
Last Updated:Oct 28, 2020 6:28 pm

My growing needs cannot be contained. In a world of magic, my veins would be magma, fists infernos, body a supernova. Our world would burn with the flames of uncontrolled lust.

My lover walks through the entryway, a strut in her high heeled step. With a smile, my arms wrap around her shape like living steel. A kiss shares the barest hint of need, but that hint is itself startling and unyielding. She looks into my dark, almost black, eyes and sees heat, hunger, need.

With glee, she submits and walks to the bedroom.

In a commanding voice, I state, “Clothes off. Down.”

Amanda makes a show of it, slowly unbuckling her heels and slipping her pants off with an exaggerated wiggle. Panties off with a deep forward stretch. She raises up on the balls of her feet as her top is pulled off, hands reach high to show off her back. A glance behind as fingers release bra hooks, providing a small peak at the sides of her breasts. One more glance back before a slow bend and crawl onto the bed.

The sight of her full, lovely ass ignites me further. Where the room felt chilled before, my skin tightens and sweats. With a practiced swing, I leave a red handprint on her right cheek. She lightly yelps.

My exhaled breath feels like deep red smoke.

Immolated by the intensity of my desire, my patience is ash. My jeans and shirt stay on. There is only time unzip and unbutton. Without underwear, I quickly slide in my lover.

I lose everything. The volcano within consumes all. No personality, ego, thoughts, memories. There is only now. There is only the shared heat, an ardor that cannot be contained.

Our passion seems to stir the air itself. It swirls around and between us, following the beads of sweat rolling down our boiling skin. Instead of providing a chill, our nova protects. We are flame. Lust. Intensity.

Each press of our bodies stokes the inferno. Soon, we will combust and scatter to the wind. My lover seizes in the throws of fire, and her explosion triggers my own.

As my mind swims and flees, I imagine our world is smooth glass, our bodies ashen statues entwined in their final, beautiful moments. Forever trapped in ecstasy.
1 comment
A Happy Halloween
Posted:Oct 17, 2020 7:55 am
Last Updated:Dec 1, 2022 3:50 pm

Settle yourself in for the creepiest of tale
Told in a manner that’d cause a real poet to pale.

Of a story so strange it feels like a dream
Yet told using that of a ’s rhyme scheme.

Long, long ago — a few weeks at best —
An old crone hatched a plan of utter deviousness.

Into the cauldron she tossed eye of newt
Which is always the first ingredient (and tasty to boot)

Next: an odd duck, in went a stick of Old Spice
Then 4 different kinds of white and brown rice.

To top it off, she dunked with a flare,
A pare of lace panties. Yes. Underwear.

With a clap of thunder, those panties did soar
seek out the closest and most vile of stores.

Into the Mall flew the dangerous lace design,
And into a shop so cool you can’t read the sign.

It nestled down deep in a cozy panty bin
Where it slept until in came a woman quite trim,

Looking for a gift of sexiness to share
She did randomly chose the cursed underwear.

These underwear would, at inopportune times
Cause their poor wearer to enter the horniest of minds

An example: waiting in line at a local grocery.
Or: chatting with your elderly parents socially.

They would glow dark eldritch purple, then activate
And suddenly, without warning, the need to masturbate.

To some it’s a curse, to another a blessing,
The lover of the panty-clad would be kept constantly guessing.

Sex during shopping, sex in the hall.
Sex during political commercials or after a fall.

A splurge during a briss, yet again at a funeral.
A roll in the hay after a meeting of energy, renewable.

That lace did cause quite the sore parts,
But nary a complaint came from the young-ish upstarts.

Well, that is, until the panties gave up the ghost
During an especially strong hand from its now-willing host.

The cursed panties ended up ripping to shreds!
Leaving the lovers stranded in some strangers bed.

Lust, now all gone, they stumbled away,
Messy, barely dressed, they left the chalet.

The horror now comes: their sex drives then died.
And the lovers lost passion for random fun-rides.

So remember, dear readers, to enjoy each second.
And have sex whenever your drive dost beckon.
A Beast In The Darkness
Posted:Oct 15, 2020 8:51 am
Last Updated:Oct 16, 2020 6:56 pm

Eyelids open and pupils expand their widest aperture. Olfactories work overtime, taking in the environment. Hands hardened into fists scan my immediate surroundings. They encounter the softest of flesh. I find my prey.

Tonight I feast.

With tiger-like movements, I slink over and take my quarry. The animal starts and yelps, awoken from a fitful rest. For a moment they struggle, but my strength and hunger easily overcome. It shivers and grabs my powerful leg in what I assume is a final plea for life.

There will be no quarter.

Claws tear away pathetic cloth. Teeth bite. Tongue laps and tastes. Tonight’s catch is delicious. I will devour .

As I attack, my claws enjoy the supple flesh of my kill. Pink skin still seems lively, its small hairs reacting my presence. Warmth remains as I delve into my prey, enjoying the wet, steamy heat immensely.

I sink further into my spoils. My lower body grows damp with juices, each delve releasing more. My pounces cause breathy groans to escape the throat of my food. Death throes.

From behind, I rip and tear into the throat of my meat, finishing it off. With a final seize, they relax and succumb. I notice a parting gift: long scratches down the sides of my thigh. Good. It is a reminder that even prey has claws.

I take my fill, satiating my immeasurable hunger. Gone for now. It will come bac It always does.

Covered in the leavings of my quarry, I relax and decide upon rest. With a final growl — nearly a purr — I close my dark eyes and sink back into slumber.
The Nature Of Neglect
Posted:Oct 14, 2020 12:50 pm
Last Updated:Dec 1, 2022 3:50 pm

Dearest Amanda,

What follows is some personal thoughts I’m trying to process and understand. I share them because of our mutual trust and the hope you might help me work through some of it.

I know an email is old fashioned, but… bear with me. It’s easier to express myself in long-form.

Thank you for understanding. I look forward to seeing you again soon.


Flowers live and die under the loving warmth of the sun. Lakes and streams survive by constant attention of the clouds. The very air we breathe, because of ever-vigilant vegetation.

So too are humans grown under the recognition of others. We are gardens cultivated by the hands of our parents, friends, lovers, family, and everyone we encounter.

Sometimes those that tend us, fail us. For infinite reasons, those that empower may stop providing sustenance. I find myself in that final category.

My spouse -- the very person with which I entered a solemn vow -- cannot or will not provide the physical, emotional, and intellectual attention that I vitally require. Years I’ve tried to change the dynamic between us. Research, books, therapists, soul searching, personal betterment. All attempts have utterly failed.

Neglect changes a person. Years of it, more so. It is a slowly consuming cancer that leaves behind not a corpse, but another personality entirely. For most of my life, I’ve lived by a framework of concrete, well defined principles. An algorithm, if you will. But these years of abandonment have changed me. I now realize my heuristics were fueled using personal happiness. The life of my spouse was enriched, but huge swaths of my psyche wilted and died to feed the soil.

You may ask yourself why I stay. I have no reasonable answer. The best I’ve got: There is a strong sense of duty within me. At the same time, another part wants and needs to please others. Then to top it off, I hold little value in my own happiness. It’s a complicated mess that I’m still parsing.

Anyway. Back on topic.

Carbon, pressure, and time make diamonds. Time and neglect makes failed relationships. My marriage looks normal externally, but make no mistake: it has catastrophically failed. With it, my principles have drastically weakened. I’ve been asking myself, “Why enact rules to enrich the life of someone who does not enrich mine?” I suppose my answer has been, “Because it is The Right Thing To Do™.” But morality only gets you so far.

So after many years of subtle torment, I sought what I truly need: a friend, lover, and confidant. This dissonant act caused me intense, poignant pain, but it was necessary for my survival. I was fading, becoming less of a human and more of a clock ticking the seconds away.

While we may skulk and slink to find time together, that time means the world to me. In our moments, be it enraptured in an exploration of our bodies, laughing at our own stupidity, or talking about deeper things, I grow. Through renewed attention I become… better. I become more.

I become myself.

It makes me wonder how I’ve endured neglect for this long. All these lost years silently suffering. So many endless, sleepless nights. Countless missed kisses, and touches, and even eye contact. Perhaps an aspect of neglect is forgetfulness. You spend so long in the dark, you forget what the sun feels like. You forget warmth. Love. Happiness. Closeness. Neglect eats until there is naught but shadows. In life, though, nothing lasts forever. Not even darkness.

To endure my marriage for a lifetime would require a sacrifice of horrifying proportions. While indifference hurts me every day, even now, that same solitude will eventually lead to my freedom. The daily sacrifice will take so much that, someday, it will be impossible to stay.

Funny how the very thing causing pain can also free you.

An image comes to mind of a metal bowl filled with water. That water is contained within, but the oxidation will eventually eat right through. Maybe neglect is like that: caustic and transformative.

I wonder what I’ll be at the end of all this. Will I be less? Will I be more? Only time will tell. I hope some of those minutes are spent with you, feeling that little bit of warmth and sunlight again.
Posted:Oct 12, 2020 7:53 am
Last Updated:Oct 18, 2020 2:27 pm

I press Amanda against the wall and lift her with ease. She wraps herself around , hands digging into my taut my back and shoulder muscles. The forcefulness of our kisses and grinding of our hips reveal the animalistic needs being unleashed.

I free a hand and reach down, thrusting my cock into her wonderful pussy. Amanda let’s loose a throaty, low moan as her limbs squeeze tightly, urging in. Her pussy stretches around my hardness and this time we both groan in pleasure.

Holding my lover by her ass, I lift her with each thrust, using her entire body as my plaything. She helps, legs pushing off my hips. The rough, primal passion quickly brings Amanda a wet, powerful climax.

Her thighs shiver and give out both from the exertion and the orgasm. I lower myself enough remain inside her. We keep kissing and I slowly continue. She stands on her painted tippy-toes, still against the wall, and slightly spreads her legs to make the position more comfortable and easier to view. Her hips angle forward and we enjoy the show while listening to the wet, sloppy sounds. Not long after, Amanda cums yet again. She falls further, toes losing strength.

I grab her arm and turn her around. With force, I bend her over, her hands naturally bracing against the wall. The position accentuates her legs, butt, and full thighs. A sight to behold. My legs bend enough to slide my cock in again, my hands grabbing her hips. I roughly pound her as she curses and moans. Her legs buckle with yet another orgasm but I wrap my arms around her middle, pressing her quaking, moaning body to mine.

At this point, it becomes a game. I want to see how far I can take this.

I lower my lover to her hands and knees. She joyfully — but tiredly — opens her legs and arches her back. Her hair provides a wonderful handhold while I stroke. I can feel myself get close, but Amanda’s orgasmic body saves the day. She cums, somehow harder than the last, and lays face down on the carpet. Her breathing is heavy and labored.

A minute of rest is all she is allowed. I grab her ankles and pull just enough to lay her flat. She laughs and groans. Amanda is nearly tapped out. But yet again, with great effort, she spreads her legs. I see a weak hand slide down and open her pussy lips. My cock enters those open lips and she practically melts. Her hand plays as I do. The orgasm this time is enormous, her squirting fluids making a wonderful, beautiful mess.

Amanda rolls over, hair plastered to her face, and she breathlessly says, “Can’t... no... more...”

I debate on eating her pussy and finishing her off, but after much debate decide upon mercy.

My lover then opens her thighs and smiles at me.

I laugh to myself while crawling between her legs.

She may not live through this.
Anger and Other Things
Posted:Oct 11, 2020 3:49 pm
Last Updated:Oct 12, 2020 4:22 am

Amanda looks at me from her pillow. Her naked body free for me touch and view. She’s a beautiful older woman, but it’s her mind I find the most sexy. We’re fresh in afterglow and the closeness between us is peaked.

She says, “You know... we’ve known each other a while now, and I can’t remember seeing you mad.”

I shrug. “I try avoid it. It’s not productive.”

Amanda sits up on an elbow, “But it feels so good sometimes! And how do you avoid a feeling?!”

My lover is fiery. It’s part of what I enjoy about her. She also likes deep, probing conversations. I think about my marriage and realize that’s another part I find tremendously sexy. I need moments where she digs in and discovers cobwebs.

I look into her luminous blue eyes and sigh. “When I was young, I got sick. It took years for doctors to figure out what was wrong. And even when they did, it took even longer to find treatments that helped.“ I close my eyes to compose myself. “But during the worst years, I couldn’t tell if it was all in my head or if I was dying from something like a brain tumor.”

The story falls out of me. It’s painful, but it’s a part of who I am.

“I’ve been poked and prodded in the worst ways. Gone through so many embarrassing exams. Been hurt so bad that I nearly passed out. And all this during my teens, which is already a hell by itself.”

I pause again, allowing some of my worst memories to pass. Amanda caresses my cheek, providing me some strength.

“For years, I was mad at everything. At everyone. I thought, ‘Why don’t all these people realize that life is a nightmare waiting to eat them alive?’ And... there were times where I wished everyone would hurt as much as me.”

I’m not proud of those thoughts, but I’m so different now it’s like describing a character from a book.

“Anger can feel good. But I’ve felt the ugliness in rage. It’s not something I want to feel again.

“Now when I see people get angry, it’s the opposite. I think about how bad things can get.”

Amanda gives me a kiss. Her eyes are sad. She says, “I understand. Thank you for telling me.” She doesn’t say sorry, which I appreciate.

More kisses and cuddles follow. More talk. More laughs. Telling my story hurt a bit, but the closeness it brings is beautiful.

Sometimes life is like that.
1 comment
The Listener
Posted:Oct 10, 2020 6:23 pm
Last Updated:Oct 12, 2020 6:39 pm

Amanda walks through the door, completely devoid of her usual spar She carries herself like a deflated balloon.

“Woah. Amanda, what’s going on?”

The question invoked tears. It looks like she’s barely been holding together. We sit down on the couch, I hold her hands, and I wait until she’s ready to spea

“There was this big project at wor Spent months on it. I missed a bunch of my ’s football games. And” — her demeanor changes anger — “some corporate asshole comes along and takes all the credit!”

This is a big blow. I know how much she deeply cares for her profession.

“What?! That’s horrible. Tell me all about it.” She does, providing countless details I don’t fully understand. But the minutiae don’t matter here. She needs feel heard.

She flies between abject sadness and righteous anger. Both are justified. I can see her expression becoming increasingly blank as the pent feelings are processed, felt, and released. By the end of a very long conversation, she’s emotionally and physically spent. I hold her in a long hug and allow her time find some calm in this storm.

Eventually, she finds that calm. She gives me a big hug and simply says, “Thanks.” She stands and I watch her drive off. We have a strange separate-yet-entwined life. The life of married people having an affair.

I can’t help but wonder if I was the first person she told. Did she tell before her husband or friends? What does that mean? In the end it doesn’t matter, so I shake away the thought.

All we can do is take each moment as they come.
1 comment
Posted:Oct 10, 2020 3:46 pm
Last Updated:Oct 11, 2020 4:49 pm

Howling, angry wind pummels the windows. The night is deep and hungry, consuming the land in snow and ice. Electricity fled from the storm, leaving my lover and I in flickering candlelight and under the protection of blankets. Pillows surround us, a bulwark. The couch, our bunker. We snuggle not just for warmth, not just for closeness, but as a boon to keep the darkness at bay.

My fingers slowly comb through Amanda’s dark hair. Her cheek rests on my chest, an arm draped over me, her hand drawing small circles. Our legs twine, her’s hugging mine tightly. We both watch the red and orange candlelight sway and sputter. Intellectually, we know we are safe and secure. Nothing will come to drag us into the night. Yet the pressure of the storm feels oppressive, cold, wrathful, and above all: lonely.

Neither of us dare speak. Words feel wrong tonight, as though breaking the silence is a mockery unto some unknown god.

I give the top of her head a kiss, smelling the fading scent of soap. She rubs her legs on mine and kisses my chest in response. My hand slides under her shirt and gently scratches her back. An image of a purring cat comes to mind. She mimics my movement, slipping a hand under my shirt. Her fingers begin to trace my chest and stomach muscles.

My hand caresses her ass and she snuggles in tighter. I feel the tips of her fingers probe my waistband, then undo my pants. I shiver as she begins playing. As if in response, a gust of wind hammers the windows and makes the house groan and creak. Amanda’s hand pauses and she huddles deeper in the blanket. Minutes pass as we wait for the malicious storm to gaze elsewhere.

There’s a tightness to my lover’s back, as though she’s ready to bolt when next the wind returns. I run my hand up and down the sides of her spine, trying to relax muscles and relieve stress. My efforts succeed and I feel her body become less stiff. One thing I’ve learned: a good massage can perform miracles. In this case, my miracle is that she removes her shirt and bra. Taking a cue, I remove my shirt so we can share skin and comfort. The shared warmth and coziness seem to push back the night’s pernicious gloom.

Absentmindedly, I frequently kiss the top of my lover’s head. Perhaps it’s her lovely smell, or the need to be with her now. Maybe it’s her touch, or the warmth, or the feelings we share. It is during one of those kisses that Amanda tries again to slip her hand in my underwear. This time, she dares to lick my nipple while playing, ending that lick with a solid nibble. The wind outside growls, searching for the culprits. This time we remain unseen.

Hot breath blows across my chest, becoming more labored as our passion kindles. I begin to massage her breast with practiced movements. Her nipple becomes hard and I feel goosebumps as she arches her back slightly. In response, her grip on my manhood strengthens, and she rubs faster. I hold back a moan, desperate to remain hidden from the blizzard.

As our passion builds, I push her pajama bottoms and underwear down. She helps with the rest, removing her pants and me, mine. We snuggle close again, me on top, kissing and holding one another. The candlelight flickers wildly over our blanketed, naked bodies. I rub my cock around her wetness and clit. I shiver in delight, then slowly enter. More shivers when our hips meet. Amanda grabs the sides of my head and kisses me hard. Her hands travel to my ribs and she grips me with her nails. That slight sting has always been a turn on. We stare into each other’s eyes over the wavering candlelight. There is an intensity in this room. Something special.

The storm buffets the house hard, but our lovemaking dulls its edge. The wind howls, but all we hear is our heavy panting. The snow tries to bury us, but the heat of our bodies keeps the chill at bay.

Amanda cums and those candlelit eyes roll back and she fails to hold back a moan. A few more thrusts, and I follow, her legs wrapped around my ass, demanding I share my orgasm.

We return to cuddling, this time with sweaty bodies and carefree smiles.

The lonely storm and empty darkness can no longer affect us, no matter its bluster.
Posted:Oct 10, 2020 12:25 pm
Last Updated:Dec 1, 2022 3:50 pm

Amanda describes the minor trials and quandaries that compose a normal workday. I listen intently, asking questions and doing my best to understand. It’s difficult. Her job is complicated and outside my experience, but I do my utmost.

She finishes and asks about my day. Being a software engineer, my days are abstract and difficult to describe without technical knowledge. But I muddle through, simplifying the boring stuff. I figure she does the same thing for me.

We watch a bit of television, but turn it off when we begin to find distraction in one another. Touches, playful tickles, giggles and laughs are but a part of our foreplay.

Part of our new nightly ritual is to shower before bed. We both love oral sex, and being clean is a necessity. I smell her body wash as she crawls over me, thighs around my head, and we both begin to taste. It’s hard for either of us to focus while being pleased, but it’s a nice way to begin. I pause completely as I feel her swallow me deeply. The tight, wet feeling is similar yet completely distinct from her lovely pussy. A few more deep head bobs, and she gasps for breath.

“Oh babe, I love that...” Amanda giggles and continues. It doesn’t take long to get me close. I pull her away before and throw her down on the bed. More giggles. “Your turn.”

She relaxes into the pillow and enjoys much like I did. Her supple skin feels wonderful on my tongue. As she gets closer, her hips begin to draw faster and faster circles. I love how she grinds on my face. Her body stills, and I sneak a finger onto her asshole and press just enough to push her over the edge. I eat her cum, savoring every drop.

She sighs a happy sigh and flips over into her favorite position. I begin slow and gentle as she stretches. When I feel she’s ready, I grab her shoulders for leverage and take long, hard thrusts. Amanda plays with herself, building to the next gush. When she cums, her limbs fail and she flops onto her stomach. I remain close as she falls, cuddling her through the haze.

We face one another and she whispers, “Your turn. What do you want? My mouth? Hands? Feet? Pussy?” She spends time touching each while I watch.

“Mouth. I was really diggin’ that deepthroat.”

“Good choice.”

She kisses me deeply then sits between my legs and starts off with some teasing licks and kisses. I sit up on some pillows and watch. We make eye contact as she works. Knowing your lover is having fun makes the experience all the better. She smiles between deepthroat thrusts and gasps. My orgasm builds, but it’s her words that tip me over the edge.

“Cum for me baby. I want it all.” With that, I explode. She thrusts her throat deep onto my cock as I cum. The sensation is ecstasy. After, she’s all happy, proud smiles.

We spend time kissing and talking, exploring each other’s minds as we did our bodies. But time passes, it gets late, and there’s much to do in the morrow. Not the least of which is another string of moments similar, yet completely distinct from tonight.
Posted:Oct 9, 2020 3:19 pm
Last Updated:Oct 10, 2020 4:15 am

The television displays some innocuous show that Amanda and I generally enjoy. I’m more focused on the foot massage I’m giving. I enjoy providing massages, and she has some cute little feet. With one of my core love languages being physical touch, it’s a win/win.

I put a little more lotion into the mix and start working on her heels. We briefly make eye contact and she gives me a smile which I naturally return. My focus returns to the foot massage. She, to the program.

I knead her arches with my knuckles and find myself becoming aroused. A good massage.

Amanda shifts a bit and brushes my hardness. She must have noticed as she gives me a strange look. My response is a shrug.

“Do you… like my feet?”

“Of course. I like all of you.” I can feel my neck getting hot. My complexion doesn’t lend itself to blushing, but that’s a minor saving grace.

She points her toes and rubs my thigh with them. “I mean… do you like feet?”

Most of my life, I say in my head. Outwardly, I’m mortified. This has always been a secret. Something to hide. All I can do is stammer. “Erm…”

Amanda keeps rubbing her toes on my leg. “You do, don’t you.” I remain silent. My neck feels like it’s on fire. I freeze up.

“That’s ok, you know. It’s ok to have a ‘thing’. It’s great, actually.”

Our eyes meet. My face holds practiced, false stoicism, but her face shows understanding and care. I look down at her legs and feet, then back in her eyes. My mouth wishes to speak yet I can’t release any words.

My lover sits up, kisses me and lays back down. “I mean it. It’s ok to like feet. I’m ok with it. You should be as well.”

My tongue is a Gordian Knot. She speaks reasonably, and I know she’s right. A lifetime of acting a certain way is hard to change. Amanda is perceptive, though, and I… think she’s trying to help. I want her help.

Her toes creep up my thigh and into my crotch. She begins to rub my hardness. Something deep down inside me shivers. My face becomes very hot.

“See? This is good. It means I can make you feel really, really good. I love that.” Her feet continue to rub me. I lay back and relax a bit, enjoying the sensation. I begin to come to terms with being discovered. Amanda stands up and removes her sweatpants and undies. Her smile is full and happy. “Now you. Take ‘em off.”

I’m becoming slightly more comfortable and comply. She has me lay down on the couch and runs into the other room, returning with a bottle of lube. After, she sits between my legs in a butterfly position.

My lover warms some of the lube in her hands, then begins to rub some on my cock. I’m still coming to terms with all this, but I’m intensely excited. She begins to rub the lube on her feet. Whenever I look away, she *tuts* and ensures I watch. The intensity of my excitement grows. This is happening.

She slides her feet on my cock, rubbing up and down my shaft. That deep-dark part of me shivers again.

“Do you like that?” I manage a shallow nod.

“Do you like my painted toes?” Another nod.

“See? This is a good thing. You shouldn’t hide who you are.”

I look into her eyes and see the same kind smile. I sit up and give her a passionate kiss and a strong hug. I whisper, “Thank you for this. Truly. Thank you.” She gives me a peck on the lips and pushes me back down with a foot.

She wraps both her feet around my cock and begins to please me. That deep-dark becomes less deep, less dark. Amanda dirty talks the whole time, describing what she’s doing, how she loves making me feel like this, how great this is.

I begin to believe it all. Part of me heals.

My muscles tense and breathing halted as I cum. I look down, and Amanda is still all tender smiles. She brings her pointed foot up to her mouth and licks some cum off.

“We’ll do this again real soon. I promise.”

I swallow around the lump in my throat. Another part of me heals.
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