A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (5: Photo-shoot of the beyond)

                                                                                                              "blinded" by TheaMaiman 
A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (5: Photo-shoot of the beyond)

She moved over to him, knelt at his feet, and came with him, both still fully clothed. This was something beyond Yoru's experience, but there was no doubt about it: Lorenzo had climaxed copiously, and Yoru was a mess. With barely a pause she slipped effortlessly into a fantasy of her own, "talking" him along with her:

She forced-stripped him, admiring his erection so soon returned, but told him she needed only his face for the moment. She emoted herself with spread knees above his head, pinning him by his short, auburn hair with one hand, holding him straight up as she pressed her naked vagina onto his mouth. Rotating her hips, she felt an upward rush of emotion-laden, comfort-giving, enveloping pleasure, his hungry tongue giving her a perfect blend of physical heat and emotional depth, the supreme snuggle of pure sexual pleasure between mutually adoring adults. She forced him, cooing and breathing rapidly, to give her tongue-cum. He groaned as she shrieked in satisfaction and tightened her thighs, and although his groans led to no ejaculation, he climaxed repeatedly nevertheless, mini-climaxes much like those of a woman, ascending in arches of searing, cock-originated ecstasy that left him begging. Happy realization, multiple climaxes, a step on the path to enlightenment for a man. 

His hands were tied behind him so that he could not escape the continuing flow of her liquids down his throat, and she smeared his nose and cheeks and forehead and chin with it, transporting his mind. But did it go too far? She began hitting the cum button on his virtual cock, and as she came at home, squirting on her towel, so she mashed the button of his manhood, so erect and willing. It pulsed vividly, his entire lower body throbbing realistically, electronically, and with just the right positioning of the poses she had him in her mouth, drinking him in an unending flow she herself controlled. And she easily put his mouth in just the right pose as well, spraying her feminine essence, delicious human love secretions, into his inhaling soul. 

The unnaturally recurring, virtual throb of semen combined with her natural squirt at home propelled them to a higher arousal, the lightning pulses of pleasure pushed them closer to ecstasy, flashing optical nerves, searing genitals, and they came together again.

"It is as though I were blindfolded as before," she whispered in his direction afterwards, "for the clothing deprives my eyes of the deeply satisfying, brilliant display I desire. Your refusal to be nude with me casts my mind into unlit wanderings whose depraved nature is made more potently attractive by sheer animal attraction. It is a power that draws bodies together. Concealing the luscious skin adorning the body of your avatar, behold, you are blindfolded by the same conventions, of your own choice."

And so the sexual "hands-off" of the photo-shoot was much like being bound, the constraints of distance were handcuffs, grown familiar through the months of remote arousal. They were enabling her to leap into an exciting fantasy that would take her to her final, intense climax of the afternoon. He had prepared her vagina for many lovers, and she needed them now to enter her mind in a glut of masculinity.

"Ten cocks make the icing on my cake," she confided, smiling sheepishly. "You will watch me masturbate? I take them all, I revel in their potent curving erectness, I suck each in delight and admiration of the beauty of the male organ of love, thrusting up from the core of man. My cake is a series of climaxes, erotic, blissful events, but the icing is like flying." 

And so he watched, stunned at this capricious creature's capacity for love.

A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (4: The consummate photographic climax)

                                                                                                                                                                          "the sun and the moon" by TheaMaiman 

A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (4: The consummate photographic climax)

"She fought against her desire to fall at his feet. Ridiculous to be so happy." ~~D.H. Lawrence, The Lost Girl

Lorenzo sat on the horizontal trunk of a fallen tree watching the transformative beauty of Yoru in the little meadow from just a few feet away, not from across the commune sim as he had always voyeured her. It was close enough to virtually touch her. And for the first time in her Second Life, Yoru had removed her self-imposed blindfold to reveal her most ardent admirer. She gazed at his sculptured, Mediterranean face, and before she could stop herself she gasped: "At last I have you! I want to kiss you."

"Whatever you want..." he replied smoothly, "kissing you... yes, a very good idea, but still I have no idea about how do those pictures. I want first to see how you like to dress yourself. Strip and change, I love to see how girls see themselves. Let's play... how do you imagine I would like to see a girl like you?" 

Yoru realized he was eluding her as he had done for months, and even though he was here in front of her, he made no move to undress. His power of elusion was unfailing. She told herself he is a man who finishes his work first and plays after. But Yoru was mistaken, for he was past all that. He was having it all. 

She paused. "You are an Italian gentleman," she whispered carefully in his direction, "perhaps you like classical beauty?" 

"Traditional ladies know how to be very sensual," he agreed.

Yoru chose a long, shimmering, light lime-green gown with dainty black heels for dancing. After it had entirely rezzed, the gown flowed elegantly down her body, accentuating and falling dramatically over the curves of her breasts.  

"Special, very classy," he muttered in a voice that had dropped to a lower, huskier tone, "your breasts are strongly appealing." 

"Are they, darling? Shall I take off the top?"

"No," he grinned, "I saw them flash by, softly rounded, tattooed black with a twisting dragon that increases the perception of curvature, as the upper portion of your evening gown cloaked your ivory shoulders." He missed nothing.

"This is my most comfortable outfit," Yoru cooed, slipping into a colorful teal latex bodysuit. She left her Japanese headband on.

"Ohh, yes, your Asian clothing is my favoured, very sensual."

"This is how I would lounge at home on the bed with my Italian boyfriend *sigh* if only I had one..."

"Ohh, in NY there are many to choose from," he teased her,  his tone softening. 

"I don't want them, I want you," she quipped, and thought to herself: "That surely makes it clear I want him now." But he said nothing, and so she continued stripping.

"And this I wear when I go dancing in blues clubs. I prefer platinum blond hair with this sheer, silver-gray gown and transparent panties..."

"Naaa, Japanese are dark ... not blonde! lol" 

"Yes, darling," she said, "my RL hair is blue-black, sometimes I make it chocolate sunburnt brunette, too. But modern Asian girls are pushing stereotypes aside, sometimes deliciously, sometimes indelicately, but decidedly aside. Twenty Second Century girls with attitudes, like me."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she affirmed, "if being platinum blond makes me feel sexier than white-hot flowing Hawaiian lava, is it not to your advantage, chéri? When such bright heat spills into the ocean of your desire it will burst, hissing and wailing, and you will be like exploding rock, rending and groaning..."

Lorenzo gulped some of his coffee.

"This is very me, it is the strategy my life , like the RL me, sitting in my computer chair right now. When I dye my hair the shining blondness contrasts strongly with my naturally dark eyes, drawing your gaze to my face, and so I hold you steadily with my eyes while I penetrate your soul with furtive words, and when I tip my forehead down as though to look at my own body, your gaze tips automatically along with mine to glide falling along the swelling breasts, viewer touching closely the dusky, dimpled nipples, spilling down, down through my cleavage, traveling a clear passage along my flat tummy onwards to points south where all men want to go."

Her words tripped Lorenzo's mind into a fantasy:

"Yoru, I see your body pressed lusciously against me, and you kiss me as I lay panting from the exhaustion of life. To the disorientation of my aging mind you bring sweet, young love. I see myself sitting in a train, now alone on an endless night, the constant shaking and roaring of the steel wheels and squealing tracks putting me in a daze, and I drift into a fantasy that I am writing you a love letter as the rest of the world flashes by my dark window. In the letter I describe how your nude pussy trembles expectantly, dark pubic fluff offered for my hand to caress, hidden velveteen violet clitoris pressed forward for my tongue to lick, and I swallow juices dripping free from the entrance of the glistening channel to your aqueous, banshee sex."

Yoru squirmed in her chair.

"Your naked presence pushes me into the curious frame of mind of floating in unfiltered, fluid femininity, not just because your juices are on my lips and cheeks, but also your sexual essence is in the air I inhale, the oxygen blending with the sweet musky vapours of the vaginal dew that I have swallowed, passing through my nose and throat, the moisture of your swollen pussy, the heady scent of your sex mixing with the pheromones of your perfume, it all penetrates to the most recessed vessels of my lungs and from there is absorbed into my blood, the clear moistness of your pussy thus transforms into the red fluid of life that carries your spirit beyond all boundaries to everywhere in my body and being." 

She moved over to him, knelt at his feet, and came with him, both still fully clothed.

(Writer's note: Still to come 5: Photoshoot of the beyond.)

A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (3: The artist makes love like no other)

                                                                                                                                                                 "Don't die before I do" by TheaMaiman

A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (3: The artist makes love like no other)

Yoru stood spellbound: she had done it. The stage was set. They had agreed to wait until they both had time to make love at a luxuriously languid pace, and that day had now come. 

For many months she had cradled Lorenzo through his needy eyes, laid his voluptuous mind in her virtual lap close to the heat of her sexuality. And at last, she had her phantom voyeur close to her. He called it a photo shoot, but it was the beginning of a rare kind of love in the afternoon. 

"At your orders, my dear teacher of love!" Lorenzo said. He doesn't kid while he jokes, he is a serious man with a sense of humour. Yoru realized that her offer of virtually physical lovemaking had been accepted, and she thought to herself: "An Italian man with a good heart and artistic character... it is very attractive."

They had an hour together, he in Europe, Yoru in America, as close as words and images could bring them. Finally she would see his avatar's body, and he would embrace her as a man, not just as sexy text on a screen. Or would he?

"Maybe you could inspire me," Lorenzo whispered, "an Asian girl with a smart brain and a sensual soul .. that is what a man dreams of. Let me photograph your avatar for a special series."

"A photo shoot?" Yoru asked, wondering if he meant it.

"Yes," he answered, "follow me." 

He had transported her to a lush island, covering a whole sim, populated with log-fire animations, slithering animals, and a blue waterfall. He stood tall and handsome with wavy auburn hair in a classic cut Italian sports jacket. Yoru was thinking, "Isn't it understood what we are going to do?" 

"You look so nice," he offered as they climbed to a flowery meadow overlooking the ocean. 

Yoru tried again: "Do you want to shoot pictures or ... swim? What do you want to do, my honey-words Lorenzo?"

"Not enough time for photos," he replied, ignoring her obvious implication, "and I'm not sure how I want to photograph you, whether I want to see you well... half nude... lol, with pink headphones and naked breasts ... I want to know you better before making photos."

"Know me VERY better?" Yoru grinned.

"Yes!" 

He played along so beautifully. Sometimes he said a lot, sometimes not much, but what he said was always hot and at the right moment. 

"I want you, Yoru, as I have always had you: changing clothes before me, fleetingly, swiftly, uncaring who watches you stripping or whether or not they are quick enough to catch your special offerings, your dripping pearls of secretion like reflected starlight blinking through drifting raindrops falling from between your legs, vanishing into the night, flashing before crashing into the darkness of the earth like liquid comets rushing down from an eternally feminine universe."

Fuck. And that wasn't all he said: "But this time, I have an hour to drown in your flow of love. I want you to change every outfit you have for me, here in this sunny meadow as the butterflies wing by shedding color to adorn your pretty curves. And we shall decide how to photograph you to reveal your subtleties."

Yoru couldn't talk. She knew she must seduce him with her images, and without struggling further she began at the top of her list of outfits in alphabetical order to strip for her voyeur lover. 



(Writer's note: still to come: A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (4: The consummate photographic experience &  5: Shibari girlfriend)

A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (2: The Voyeur)

                                                                                                                                                                          "save me" by TheaMaiman

A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (2: The Voyeur)

Yoru felt exhilarated after riding such a magic, malleable male, but her second "love-stop" that afternoon completed her own transformation into a magical virtual woman. An artist named Lorenzo made love to her in a way that was different from any other. 

Yoru had long known she had a phantom lover, a voyeur who watched her from afar. He was not a stalker, for he had politely introduced himself in an Instant Message, asking if he might gaze at her from the other side of the commune while she changed clothes. Her island shack is a single flimsy room where anyone can look easily in through the windows, or shift the viewer for full frontal effect, at any time. Few people ask if they may "perve," as some call it, they simply focus their viewer on whomever they wish without a word of warning. For a master voyeur, Second Life is paradise. 

And Yoru is for master voyeurs a mistress exhibitionist. She was in the habit of welcoming such voyeurs, treating them kindly, adding as she changed a certain extra strip of pretty flesh with pubic hair, a glance at her intimate spots to please them, revealing her sex in a flashing moment that held the watchers' gaze like gravity between massive bodies of desire. Needless to say, Yoru was delighted that such a man, an artist from Southern Europe, let's call it Italy, would want precisely her avatar to satisfy his visual thirst for female beauty. 

"Lorenzo's getting off on my av," she thought, and agreed warmly to be his len's object of lustful focus. "But will we ever meet really, with our avs? Just for a kiss?" Yoru rarely forgets to ask for an embrace.

"Maybe," was his reply. 

But they never met. Lorenzo's background existence became a part of her world. She wondered what he looked like, and of course she could use her viewer as he did, but she didn't. For her it was part of the mystique of the man. It was as if Yoru were willingly blindfolded.

Which isn't to say they didn't become friends. Often, as she rushed from the club where she dances, or to an event she promised to visit, or to wherever her current lovers wanted her, she would pop in to change outfits before teleporting out again. When he was on the island he always whispered something sexy in her ear about her dress, or her stockings, you know, things that make you feel good about being in your skin. Soon Yoru began yearning for his IMs. He was adding substance to her Second Life.

"Good afternoon, Yoru," he would purr while she was rezzing in her little shack, changing into yet another outfit that barely contained her pubic hairs and most likely failed to cover her nipples as well. "You see, you are not escaping my voyeur eyes... Your hair, so long and blue-black and lush, draping your pretty curved buttocks. Can you get those panties in transparent?" *smiles*

"Hey :)" she would say, "Welcome my artist, and thank you for mentioning you are there once more." Although she never told him, she had come to instantly feel a rush of burning wetness welling up between the sleeping lips of her pussy whenever he told her he was watching her, rendering it slightly sticky down there. These chance meetings in the chatbox continued for months, moistening her panties just a little, never allowing her to mix his sensuality with her own. Finally, as always, Yoru could no longer help herself, could not bear his distance, his visual absence, his denial of her eyes while she reeled from the smoldering hot presence in her ears.

"I adore your body in black," Lorenzo had said one day. "Hello again, I'm peeping you ... (blushes) ...  my Japanese angel."

Yoru was riveted and hadn't even started to reply when his next IM hit her in her most sensitive spot, her desire for bondage. 

"Every Italian should have such a divine being tightly wrapped in black, finest silk, for throwing in the back of his Alpha Romeo and escaping with to a lover's tryst!"

She at last blurted out her feelings: "I would truly love to make love with you, Lorenzo."

He paused but gave her a smile."Oh, I'm at work, so it would be a little awkward, but I logged in just to greet you, I admit." 

"Awww," Yoru's voice cracked a little, "that makes me feel good. You want to voyeur me and I love it. We are a good match, artistically I mean. "

He grinned, "I wanted to ask you to model for me in a photoshoot, but I would be at your disposal to match you also in another way :-)" 

Yoru's instincts thrilled in the intricate channels of her ears before the full transmission of the words even reached her brain. He would look good, seriously good, nude. She shot back boldly, "I want to see you naked." What else would have been honest?

After a pause, as though giving it some thought: "OK. But I love going slowly, it is like Zen to my mind. It will be my pleasure to discover you slowly and to learn from you at the same time." 

Yoru stood spellbound: she had done it. The stage was set.

A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (1: Male stripper)

                                                                                                                                                           Fenton Maurer

A CAPRICIOUS AFTERNOON (1: Male stripper)

"... her dripping pearls of secretion were like reflected starlight blinking through drifting raindrops falling from between her legs, vanishing into the night, flashing before crashing into the darkness of the earth like liquid comets rushing down from an eternally feminine universe."

Whimsical, flighty, unpredictable Yoru was free that sunny afternoon, and she decided to log-on for love. She was surprised at how much she got. 

Before Yoru had even rezzed, George, a male stripper who gives women what they want, had IMed her. He had been begging for weeks, this woman-service man. He seemed to Yoru much like the contented, blue-feathered bird she kept in a cage in her room, not at all like the quickly darting butterflies in her garden. They are free, but such a manboy seeks a woman's chains, seeks to become the forced object of sensual pleasure of a voluptuous captor. It is as though he wishes the opposite of his Real Life, for in the lair of the Mistress, he is at last able to let his legs fall apart "like a girl."

There is something very attractive about such naïveté... or is it clever surrender?

The men were all nude where he transported her, but she noticed the females present were without exception clothed. Before inviting her there, George had explained that he couldn't strip for her because the men had to obey rules, and strict nudity was number one. Yoru dislikes landing in n00bie joints where plastic erections prance in front of wooden avs, but these all had multi-toned, sculpted cocks hanging, dangling deliciously low between the muscular thighs of hot male avs designed for and devoted to serving the demanding women around them. George had been begging her a long time, and at last he had the Mistress he most desired in the house where he worked. For Yoru he would do anything, free of charge, and so he did. 

She took his balls in her hands and stopped him cold. "Climb on the pole and spread your legs," Yoru said, pushing him over to the dancing animation in front of her chair. She held on to his balls a little too long, stretching the scrotum and forcing the nuts inside to adjust in a bind, startling him. "Dance for me or I smack your butt hard next time." His body fairly sucked up onto the pole in adoration as he shimmied and slid and spiraled with his legs wide, shamelessly exhilarated. His package, exposed in its multi-veined, rippling, realistic skin, protruded awkwardly, ganglia gone goofy :) Still, he had a lot of nice pixels down there.

She had control of the HUD and made sure he earned his reward of pussy. Voluptuous Yoru had been a bisexual switch since birth as far as she could determine, and knew just what to do. She was good to him, it is that easy to explain, good... and in control. She allowed him to drink her honey, "forcing" him to lick the  slit of flesh most wanted, desired, most feverishly sought after in all the beds on earth. Forcing such sweet hairy moistening pussy upon an ardent manboy lover of such delicate sensibilities is an act of the goddess. And that is what we all are, darling sisters, divine when we give, devilish when we take. 

Yoru was beginning to notice nice things happening, like when George skillfully role-played his delight when she nestled lusciously on his face. He made it sound as good as it actually felt.  "Your flower," he whispered, "is soft as wet silk, and my tongue is burning with pleasure lapping your purple swollen clitorus... press your pussy harder, faster on my face, I am cumming as you squirt, please please, in my mouth." This was more than a exotic dance, and once she appreciated how hot he was, she decided to climb up on him and let him take her.

She reached down once more and gripped his balls, then pinched  the stalk of his cock down where it entered his torso between his scrotum and his anus, deep-stroking his very taproot with her right hand, then squeezed his balls into a tight sack with two bulges and held them there firmly. Yoru's left hand held his hair tightly, propping herself above him and jerking his head occasionally to get a firmer grip on his hair. She saw him wince, it must have hurt his scalp a little, and she cooed in his ear she would let him free once she had him inside her. Her hand circled him so tightly his cock swelled to a state of unbendable, and Yoru pushed her pelvis down easily to the spot of best leverage, betraying her experience, and released her knees outward, sliding him silently, serenely, sweetly into her, deep into the sopping silky flesh of a woman in perpetual heat's swollen pussy. She continued squeezing his balls gently so as not to interrupt the feelings of bound pleasure he was experiencing, massaging the roots of his sexuality, exerting the exact amount of pressure to keep him in ecstasy without plunging him into pain. The edge was where he wanted to be, and Yoru got him there. 

He begged and begged and then he got. 

What is it, Yoru wondered while they cuddled, that drives such a delicious being, whether male or female, to want to be sexually enslaved, unless it is because s/he is already a slave of sex? It is a silly concept. Real slavery is of course to be abhorred, but there exists an undeniable urge to be taken and used sexually among adults that is, when consensual, natural and necessary for a balanced mind and spirit. It is the result of the evolution of everything. The term "sex addict" is meaningless and absurd except in the most extreme cases, for without the urge to survive, to procreate, we would not be here at all. 

Every one of us is thus the product of millions of years of fucking each other and ourselves. As a being, we are evolution's tool of desire. Could anything less than sublime, utter heart-and-genital desire drive a climax so many millions of years? Imagine the intensity of the orgasms in all those hot moments of pleasure, countless tiny spurts of cum in unending space, in deathless succession, connecting to glassy, essential eggs throughout a progression from elements adrift in the cosmos to single cells, immobile vegetables, to eventually animate amoeba with their clever use of flowing water to make themselves lords of all unmoving protein, all the way to a sexy, exotic man named George on his knees. 

We little beings of evolution searched and drank and ate and sometimes clutched each other in love, and we sought ever sweeter apparitions as we swam and crawled, encountering and engaging new naked bodies. We learned to discern the delicious from the merely palatable, and pursued avidly. Surprises were to be had, for as time became endless the amoeba grew prettier, ever more inventive, attaching sweet organs producing powerful scents to guide lovers to them in the night, in the darkness of vein-like tubes where semen now swims in eager gangs of marauders, thrusting their entire single-celled-selves into the chaotic invasion of life. 

It was still early afternoon. Yoru felt exhilarated after riding such a magic, malleable male, but not exhausted :) 

AFTERWORD: 

(Writer's note: Howard, our creative writing teacher at the Commune Utopia, gave me the following feedback when asked if the last three paragraphs made sense:)

[19:54] howard (howard.plutonian): It's a poetic musing on sex and its history.  It rambles a bit... the only connection is that its all about sex.  That being said, it's poetically done, and has very cool imagery of erotcism and science blended together, so you are definitely on to something...

It's a kind of erotic science dream, ... the last two paragraphs by themselves totally work. What you have is a paragraph that starts going in one direction, then two paragraphs that explode like a drug-induced erotic science dream.  I think those last two paragraphs are interesting... some of the sentences in the last two make really compelling statements, so keep it up!

[20:08] Yoru Lamourfou: *hugs* you are still my teacher
[20:12] howard (howard.plutonian): ~~hugs~~ :)

IRISH RICHARD HAS MY HEART (1-3)

                                                                                                                                              Fenton Maurer

(Writer's note: The male voice of the story, "quoted in italics" is from an anonymous contributor. All av names are fictional. Fenton Maurer's Flickr photos are chosen for their symbolic relationship to the story, and the lyrics are from Norah Jones: "I've Got to See You Again" from the album Come Away With Me.)

IRISH RICHARD HAS MY HEART (1. The secret to manly irresistibility) 

I could almost go there
Just to watch you be seen
I could almost go there

Just to live in a dream
(Norah Jones)

The land of sleepy love

Have you ever woken from a dream and wished you had stayed? Wished you could have had a say in what next to play? Wished you had kissed a certain person again before bidding goodbye to the land of sleepy love? 

Second Life is just such a dream, where one can be one's own director, and where what you say and do is as real as the steely frames of the computers that construct so faithfully the intricacies of the online stage. Talk of the virtual world as not being "real" is as vaporous as air, for to deny Internet love is to contest the existence of the delicate vapors of fine perfume simply because, like sunsets, they are ephemeral.

Richard is a dreamy man living an outrageously delicious lifestyle in Second Life. Mysteriously, this man is always surrounded by females. It is a lifestyle many men and women wish, but few can make happen. If you were to ask him his secret, he would joke, "Panties!" He must be very successful in that case, for he sees many panties up and down the legs of his girls. His de facto harem is not in a dungeon, nor are the girls in chains. They lounge at a swimming pool in a sun-drenched corner of SL, surrounded by neighbors who complain about the large number of naked women "doing" the equally naked Richard. I am still mystified by him, still do not know how he does it. I only know that it worked on me, too. 

Here is the story so you may decide what Richard's secret is for yourself :

When at the commune, I always dance, and I prefer sexy floor dances since I can stretch my legs wide and flash my panties. I like stripping, too, and choose my underclothing carefully. How was I to know I would soon show my everything to a connoisseur de lingerie?

"I occasionally drop in to the Commune... there weren't too many avs around that night but SHE was there, dancing and flirting outrageously with a couple guys."

My thighs were as wide as I could make them go, sitting with both arms pushing my knees out, stretching luxuriously in front of two commune friends, both men, who were whispering their pleasure in IMs and open chat, go figure. Another man strolled in, tall with curly dark hair, and sat in a spot opposite the two friends. In order to include him in the show, I had to turn completely around to him, offering my body to his full frontal viewing pleasure. 

It was then I had an idea. What if I changed panties during the dance? That would give everyone (all were voyeuring hotly) a nice fashion show of frilly things while I drew close to one after the other. Another idea followed quickly on that image: I would flash my prettiest treasure, complete with luxuriantly black pubic hair, between changes of panties. It would be very realistic. My pussy could only be seen for a heartbeat, the time I could click it on and off, but it was long enough to cause a heart attack :)

"And then, completely without warning, her panties simply disappeared and the delicate petals smiled at me. A second later, I forced myself to look at her face and her eyes were beaming, lighting up the entire area and I swear I could hear her throaty laughter! And, just as quickly, the panties reappeared and hid that blossom."

Richard moves quickly in passion. After the briefest of chats, he poofed and sent me a teleport to his beach. Curious to see where he lived, I didn't hesitate, which is something I would never do in real life, but in SL it is ok. He had his clothes off while I was rezzing. I looked him over and discovered with delight the most perfectly curved, rippled, realistic cock I had yet seen in Second Life. But I was not planning to do anything with it and kept my clothes on. Even though everyone knows I organize and entice people to the commune orgy events, and do not appear to be shy, my instincts told me this time it was different. But was it? As my second world rezzed into view, three female avs materialized around Richard. The fourth would be me. I suppose I hadn't noticed them before because I had been concentrating on his shiny, veined, erect dick. The man was among his lovers, and I was simply one of them now. 

                                                                                                                       Fenton Maurer 
IRISH RICHARD HAS MY HEART (2: The duplicitous woman)

Lines on your face don't bother me
Down in my chair when you dance over me
I can't help myself
I've got to see you again
(Norah Jones)

Richard navigates the turbulent waters of his exquisite women

A rush of excitement shot through my veins when I saw all the girls pressing close around him, and listening to their chat confirmed there was only one thing on the agenda for today's meeting: pleasuring Richard. Everyone was completely nude, and at first I thought I had been lured into a bizarre orgy where one person was chosen to be the center of the universe, the hot sun of these celestial pussies revolving eternally, rhythmically, unhurriedly around his hard, curving erection. Soon I realized that my first impression was correct. He was the only item on the menu, and he was delicious.

Oh! That reminds me, I mentioned his thrilling cock. That was not the secret of his irresistibility, it wasn't that easy, but it was a man's package to dream of, just the right size and tones blended lasciviously to give it the perfect shining head on a rougher shaft of mean design. Mean as in "badass." And joy! Clicking on it up close delivered a hud to control this genital tool, a device to make it go up, to adjust its position in animations, or to hang lusciously low, dangling between his thighs like a crouching tiger rippling explosive, muscular potential in the shadows of a bedroom lair. And some sweet engineer had designed it to repeatedly squirt white viscous globules of male ambrosia, streaming cum again and again, no recovering, no cooldown, no ungreying, just an unending throbbing climax... imagine that a moment, baby.

But I could not make him gush cum because I did not have the requisite permissions. All of the girls were adoring him as the god of desire, but only one of them, a devastating platinum blond from Italy named Patatia, had perms for Richard's hud. She was very skillful, giving us all showers of seed and positioning the cock just right to push convincingly into our mouths and pussies and asses. 

By this time I had abandoned my clothes, and when the group pose brought me to my knees with my head between his thighs, I knew his cock would be my world for a while. Pushing him against my mouth with lips tightly closed , I made it seem I was being forced to suck him. I struggled and turned and shook my head and pulled away, but soon returned to place my puckered lips on the moist crack of his dick on the very tip, careful not to spill, where oily precum welled up in a solid liquid mini-dome on top. Brushing a kiss across the oil, left to right and back again, I saturated my lips with one of the incomparable lubricants of mankind's love. Still I did not open my lips, but at that moment became aware of his hands stroking my long hair. 

Richard was holding both sides of my head, positioning my face firmly to keep steady pressure on my lips to open and let him enter, but I roleplayed resistance. He then began stroking me along my cheeks, neck, and upper back, using my blue-black, silky, thick hair to increase the luxuriance of the touch. His hands were caressing me everywhere, expertly finding all my secret places, until the realization he had me tamed flooded into my mind, which in turn flooded my sex. But when he kneaded the tender area on my right side between the hip and rib cage, it is the key to my sensual core, I stopped play-fighting him, yielding at last to his driving cock, I opened my lips and allowed him into my mouth. He gave me everything I desired, then kept giving, making me squeal and squirt. As I was to learn later, his nature drove him to continue penetrating me all the way into my soul. In short, I lost it, he lost it, and we both collapsed in ecstasy, greedily gulping in love, knowing its rarity and recognizing its purity. 

He had been interacting with the other girls, too, during the time he stroked my hair and made me cum so hard. I cannot say how, as I was in a haze of passion, but his words to all of us were embodiments of love itself, pure, clear, always upbeat and generous, his chat reflected a soul wanting only to give pleasure. And to give pleasure, one must take it in exchange, and this Richard could do. He felt himself to be a sensual god performing inexplicable work, or, as another might say it, he was a polished fuck.

Without being able to concentrate on the chat while I was sexing, I nevertheless noticed long, simultaneous pauses between chat emotes from Richard and Patatia, making it clear something was passing between them in IMs. Thus on Richard's paradisical beach there was a hierarchy of greater and lesser goddesses, which was soon to manifest itself in a surprising announcement of marriage plans! Of course, we were all invited to the wedding, and were assured "nothing would change." I feel a little embarrassed to admit that, when I heard it, I was crushed, because I thought Richard was beginning to fall in love with me, as I had with him. At that moment I was being licked by one of the other girls as Richard fucked her pussy, and well, I confess I felt a little awkward congratulating Patatia while we all were being nailed by her groom-to-be. *Sigh* only in SL.

"One of my polyamorous friends asked me if I would partner with her - I was already infatuated with her open sexuality and acceptance! Against my instincts, I agreed and went into that relationship with both eyes (and my heart) wide open. And each step drew me closer and closer until, logically, I proposed marriage while maintaining our poly lifestyle."

Amazingly, it appeared that he was pulling it off. The girls kept coming, including me, swooning, gazing at each other as we ascended to formidable, passionate highs, the highs one thinks of when one muses on the best moments of one's life. 

                                                                                                                                        Fenton Maurer 

(Writer's note: this is a mix of some earlier passages within the storyline of IRISH RICHARD HAS MY HEART that I pulled together in answer to a call for Halloween BDSM stories. Here it is revised and back in its proper place in the story.) 

IRISH RICHARD HAS MY HEART (3: Unhinged love)

We ascended to formidable, passionate highs, the highs one thinks of when one muses on the best moments of one's life

When precisely those most rare and precious moments are destroyed, tragedy occurs. And so it was that the tattered, shoddy wings of Richard's faerie princess became clearly visible to all.

"Three days before the wedding my betrothed turned up and said she would not go through with it. She had met someone in RL and would be leaving SL. All of which (as I found out later) was a lie."

Richard sought revenge for the shipwrecking of his life on the reefs of a duplicitous engagement. Pliant, unsuspecting Yoru happened to be in the crosshairs. When I teleported in I thought, "How lucky to be the only girl with him tonight." It seemed strange, but I attributed it to the Halloween holiday.

Patatia had left Richard, if not at the alter physically, still very virtually. He had sent wedding invitations, and his loss of face was severe. Although he did not complain, he was rough with me that night of ghosts and ghoulies, so much that he made me a little frightened. He tied my hands angrily behind my back so that I was quite helpless, but I love hard BDSM and thought little of it. Was he punishing me for the treachery shown him by his jilting fiancée, Patatia? It was then I realized to my horror that her Italian boots were placed neatly on top of an iron coffin on the patio next to the pool,  and it must be her who was "resting" there, only symbolically of course... 

The sight of the coffin made me want to leave, but I did know the background to this macabre, although empty, burial relic. Robert was supposed to be getting married with Patatia and had fallen hard when dumped, but to put on a brave face, he was going ahead with his wedding, but calling it a "wedding wake" instead. It added to my uneasiness that the creepy, duplicitous woman was there, too, in a horrible manner of speaking.

At that moment Richard slapped me back from my dark musings. Climbing on top of me, he pushed my legs open wide and entered me without checking to see if I was wet. I was, but still reflexively twisted my hips at the sudden intrusion, flexing my leg muscles and struggling with my tightly bound wrists, all of which had the effect of making me unwillingly buck closer to his crotch and clutch myself even tighter around his cock as it curved evilly upwards inside me.  I stole a glance down at our naked bodies and wet genitals glistening in the moonlight and, without warning, I began experiencing deep pleasure. He then laid me in a different position, opened my pussy lips with both hands, and buried his face between my thighs in a swoon. He needed to drink me. Next he pushed me down and filled my mouth with the oddly contradictory sensations of an erect dick, the rod all stiffness but topped with yielding, swollen, moist, purplish flesh. He used my throat as a vagina until I took him in my hands tenderly, withdrew him, admired him, licked him languidly, and plunged him back between my waiting lips, again and again. Purplish cock... it made me, like him, a little crazy, inhaling sex, a "dispenser" of dirty thrills and divine comfort.

I sucked him until I tasted that gentle surprise, the addition to my saliva of a slightly sweetish, musky, viscous body fluid unlike any other. My own climax felt unusually indulgent, for I had cum with only my lips and tongue on his cock two instants after I tasted his semen. 

But the Irishman had more for me. He got up, went out, and returned 10 minutes later with more guys. After anguishing a while about being "gang-banged," I told myself, "it is such a high-school term." You see, I couldn't help myself, I began to relish being fucked in every opening of my body. I sank to that level and came hard--I am embarrassed to say it, I felt dirty but I loved it. Is it not a contradiction to think about? It was a hot Halloween party... Trying to dismiss a growing revulsion with my weakness for pleasure and the creepiness of the location, I said to myself that it was, after all, just Second Life. Such a scene is hot only if it is totally consensual, and baby, I was saying yes. Finally I ordered my body to stop trying to flee, since that was lavishly impossible. 

It was then that Richard's dark ropes forced me back in my mind to a vivid, sunny scene from when I was a young girl. I had always loved climbing high in a poison berry tree next to our home. It was leafy with yellows, greens, and blues, and stretched out to me its smooth, brown, veined arms. Years later I realized that being in love is like climbing that tree. In my fortress of airy green I was uncatchable, and I became as good at climbing then as I am now at making love. Always I could find an escape from playtime "enemies," or put my hands on a bunch of smelly berries to throw at neighborhood toughs attacking my stronghold from the ground. Once having learned how to swing, how to trust one's own grip, one feels in control, exhilarating, gliding confidently between limbs and lovers. But while climbing in the highest boughs one must be careful, for falling, like love, is always unexpected.

When Richard and I had first made love, months before, we had snuggled deep under blue-green domes of impenetrable woods. I trusted him, had been his lover, had embraced him in secret as the heat of the day gave way to cooling shadows and hot desire. Licking his neck, I had tasted the salt clinging still from our swim in the sea where we had surrendered again and again to deep waves of female invitation and male thrust. He gulped in my heady, perfumed wetness, flourishing in the fullness of my sensual rain, abundance feeding pleasure, passion bursting to fruition in the dewy night. 

And so you understand, I had been surprised when he told me he was going to marry his Italian lover. I remember blinking involuntarily. Weeks before, I also had made love with her, often, but why would I have bothered mentioning it? At that time it mattered not at all. Her hands had pulled me hungrily down onto her bed, and when I opened my eyes I saw a delicate, fragrant pussy trembling close to my face. Tentatively, I inserted my tongue into her musky slit, as she did mine, and her spells were upon me... I couldn't help myself, she became my secret lover. I adored her dark pubic forest, I had found a refuge from rough lovers. 

How was I to tell him? I didn't. And now it was time for my punishment.

(Still to come: IRISH RICHARD HAS MY HEART (4: Pang of sharing; and 5: Why not love?)

UNHINGED LOVE, A HALLOWEEN STORY OF DUPLICITOUS MARRIAGE

                                                                                                                               Fenton Maurer

(Writer's note: this story is a mix of several earlier passages pulled together with the story of IRISH RICHARD HAS MY HEART in answer to a call for Halloween BDSM stories.) 

UNHINGED LOVE, A HALLOWEEN STORY OF DUPLICITOUS MARRIAGE

Robert was rough with me that Halloween night, so much that he made me a little frightened. He tied my hands angrily behind my back, I was quite helpless, but I love hard BDSM and thought little of it. Was he punishing me for the treachery shown him by his jilting fiancée, Patatia? It was then I realized to my horror that it must be her who was laying--only symbolically of course--in an iron coffin on the patio next to the pool, her Italian boots neatly arranged on top.

The sight of the coffin made me want to leave, but I confess I did know the background to this macabre, although empty, burial relic. Robert was supposed to be getting married with Patatia and had sent all his friends invitations, but "three days before the wedding my betrothed turned up and said she would not go through with it. She had met someone in RL and would be leaving SL. All of which (as I found out later) was a lie." To put on a brave face, he was going ahead with his wedding, but calling it a "wedding wake" instead. It added to my uneasiness that the creepy, duplicitous woman was there, too, in a horrible manner of speaking.

At that moment Robert snapped me back from my dark musings, pushing my legs open wide, and entered me. I reacted by twisting my hips, flexing and struggling. This had the effect of making me unwillingly clutch myself even tighter around his cock as it curved evilly upwards inside me.  I stole a glance down at our naked bodies and wet genitals glistening in the moonlight, and without warning I began experiencing deep pleasure. He then laid me in a different position, forced my pussy open wide with both his hands, and buried his face between my thighs in a swoon. He needed to drink me. Next he pushed me down and filled my mouth with the oddly contradictory sensations of his erect dick, the rod all stiffness but topped with yielding, swollen, moist, purplish flesh. He used my throat as a vagina until I took him in my hands tenderly, withdrew him, admired him, licked him languidly, and plunged him back between my waiting lips, again and again. Purplish cock... it made me, like him, a little crazy, inhaling sex, a "dispenser" of dirty thrills and divine comfort.

I sucked him until I tasted that gentle surprise, the addition to my saliva of a slightly sweetish, musky, viscous body fluid unlike any other. My own climax felt unusually indulgent, for I had cum with only my lips and tongue on his cock. He got up, went out, and soon returned with more guys. After 10 minutes anguishing about being gang-banged (it is such a high-school term), I couldn't help myself, I began to relish being fucked in every hole of my body. I sank to that level and came hard--I am embarrassed to say it, I felt dirty but I loved it. It is a contradiction to think about. Oh hot Halloween!

Trying to dismiss a growing revulsion with my weakness for pleasure and the creepiness of the location, I said to myself that it was, after all, just Second Life. My body had stopped trying to flee, since that was clearly impossible. It was then that I escaped in my mind to a vivid scene from when I was a young girl. I had always loved climbing high in a poison berry tree next to our house. It was leafy with yellows, greens, and blues, and stretched out to me its smooth, brown, veined arms.  Years later I realized that being in love is like climbing that tree, for in my fortress of airy green I was uncatchable. I was as good at climbing as I am now at making love. Always I could find an escape from playtime "enemies," or put my hands on a bunch of smelly berries to throw at neighborhood children attacking my fortress from the ground. Once having learned how to swing, trusting one's grip, it is exhilarating to glide confidently between the limbs. But while climbing high one must be careful, for like love, falling from a branch is always unexpected.

When Robert and I first made love, months before, we had snuggled deep under blue-green domes of impenetrable woods. I trusted him, had been his lover, had embraced him in secret as the heat of the day gave way to cooling shadows and hot desire. Licking his neck, I had tasted the salt clinging still from our swim in the sea where we had surrendered again and again to deep waves of female invitation and male thrust. He gulped in my heady, perfumed wetness, flourishing in the fullness of feminine rain, abundance feeding pleasure, passion bursting to fruition in the dewy night. 

And so you understand, I had been surprised when he told me he was going to marry his Italian lover. I remember blinking involuntarily. Weeks before, I had made love with her also, but why would I have bothered mentioning it? At that time it mattered not at all. Her hands had pulled me hungrily down onto the bed, and when I opened my eyes I saw a delicate, fragrant pussy trembling close to my face. Tentatively, I inserted my tongue into the musky slit... I couldn't help myself... I loved the dark pubic forest, I wanted to make it my new home. 

How was I to tell him? I didn't. And now it was time for my punishment.