(Bisexual, group play)
Heathen Fantasy
By Jacqueline Applebee
I always write down my fantasies when I'm unwell; it's one way to make them more real to me, plus I can enjoy them a second time, once I recover. I don't trust my memory, when my system is shot through with flu medication, so I pick up a pen, and get writing.
"What do I want?"
Right now, I want to see you naked.
You peel off your clothes; they are so tight, it's like watching a snake shed his skin. I make you stand stock-still whilst I look at you. I tell you to open your arms out, and instantly you turn it into a request for a hug. I'm not here to embrace you this very moment. I'm a sick woman, out to enjoy her fantasy man who isn't really here.
I am suffering with the flu, so I have to stay warm. The heating in my apartment is turned up to maximum, the windows are shut, and the mercury in the thermometer is reaching for the stars. If you were here now, I would run my brown fingers over your ivory skin, and I'd watch the way it turns into goose-flesh beneath my red painted nails. If you were here, I'd listen as you inhale sharply. I'd run a sharp talon over your nipple, and I'd catch your gasp, like it was the first cigarette of the day. But you're not here, so I imagine what I'd do. I try to get it all on paper.
"What shall I do with you?"
Well, you're naked, and you're beginning to sweat, but I want to make you hotter. I take the narrow belt from your own jeans and double it in my hands. I watch your eyes follow my movements, and I say nothing as I approached you. If you were here, like really here in the flesh, and not just inside my head, I'd sweep the brown leather over your thighs, I'd loop the belt over your cock, and I'd watch the way you try to flinch from me. But you're in my head, and I can make you do exactly what I please, so you speak to me now. You beg me to touch you; the words are in the mixed up dream language I always hear, but I know what you mean. I know you.
I feed the length of leather under your armpits; through the tangle of strangely ginger hair, and I yank hard enough to make you yelp. I pull the thin edge of the belt quickly over your ass, and it races between your crack like a whip. You go up on tiptoes for a moment, so I do it again, this time slowly tugging it, wiggling the end; teasing you mercilessly. You grunt and smile at this torment. You belong to me, as long as I can picture you in my mind. Even if you aren't flesh-and-bone real, you are real in my head, and that will have to be enough until I get better.
In my heathen fantasy, I am an expert at domination. I have no hesitation as I caress you with the belt; no worry that I'll accidentally hurt you. I wind the leather and myself around you, twirl across your skin, always returning to your hard red cock. You arch up hungrily, and your need binds you to me. In my fantasy, I remain the woman I am in real life; I am quieter than you, I am smaller than you, and in this moment, I am all that you know.
"What have I done?"
You crumple to the floor, raggedly breathing and sweating, as if you are the one with a fever, and not I. You look up at me as I circle you once more. From the wet strands of brown hair that frame your blue eyes, I feel you plead with me seconds before your mouth opens and the words come out. You long for me to touch you with something other than your belt. You are desperate to feel my lips on you. I oblige, as I always do, and I kneel at your side, almost equal. I lick the sweat from your back; feel the heat that blood has brought to the surface of your reddened skin. I lap you up like I am dying of thirst. Over and over, I travel through your landscape and journey over your body that isn't really here. I flip you over and lick your cock roughly, hold your hips as I throat you all the way down. If you were here right now, and not in my head, I would taste all the different flavours you hold. I'd swallow your come, your thick pulses of need, and your very soul. If you were here, I'd lick my fingers, wipe my lips, and tell you that it is your turn now.
****
"What do I want you to do to me?"
You have to restrain me; I cannot be trusted to be free. You might need to gag me too, so I can scream a muffled scream that won't get either one of us arrested. I want to be pinned down, to struggle and try to escape, but you need to stop me. I want you to keep me here with you, and threaten me with what will happen if I even attempt to leave. Make me scared, as only you can.
"Whom else do I want?"
I want you to tell me that you've brought your partner with you, and then hear how sinful she's going to be with me. I know that I'll shiver from more than my illness when I listen to the details. I'll grunt behind my gag, when I spot your erection that's growing even larger as you speak. When I look back up at your face, I would like to know that you have been true to your word. I want to see that your beautiful wife is standing behind you, with a wide smile on her face.
I would love you both to tell me things that are just plain wrong; things that you would never ever say outside this room inside my head. I have a strange desire to be hurt; to be called names a thousand times worse than, "Whore" or "Slut". I want to feel completely ashamed and totally aroused in the same moment.
I can almost see the metallic glint from the nipple clamps that your wife holds; can almost hear the soft tinkle of the chains as she secures first one, and then the other end of the device to each of my stiff nipples. I can feel the sweet biting pain, and I forget that I have the flu for now. I feel myself growing wetter as she tugs hard on the clamps. My eyes water, I hear two people laugh at my weakness, and I flood at the feelings of my heathen shame.
I would like to remember how soft your wife's lips feel – it's been a long time since I kissed her. Are they still luscious? Does she still use strawberry lip gloss? Can she still take my breath away with every wet touch of her mouth on mine? If you were both here, right now, I would know the truth.
"Do you think you could both do that?"
I want your wife to force me to my knees in front of you. I need you to see my wild heathen eyes; hungry for whatever you care to give me. I must be bent over, and opened up wide, with fingers that only care about finding my sticky centre. I have to feel both of you from the inside. I don't give a shit how you do it, just do it now!
If you were both here, I would come loudly, with absolutely no sense of pride; I would feel my breath release in stutters as I am skewered between you and your wife. I would feel my tongue trapped behind the gag, and know just how much pressure it would take for my front teeth to slice through my own flesh. I become your sacrificial lamb with every piercing burning movement you make. Could you devour me, and bring me back to life? Could you make me better, stronger and fitter than I am now? "Do whatever you have to," is my heathen prayer, as the shudders of my orgasm release me from my sick-bed. "Do whatever you can."
I desperately want to squeeze my eyes shut, and make this fantasy real; for you both to be here now, and appear before me, even as I write these words down. I want the three of us committed to paper, and if I discover a way to make it happen, I would find the two of you, wherever you are. I would clutch you both to me, and I would never let go.
And when you have both used me up and had your fun; when I can no longer stand, and you've both made me so sore, that every lungful of breath seems to re-ignite the dying embers in my pussy, that's when I want you to hold me. I want my two fantasy lovers to embrace me, and tell me that I have been such a brave soul to take all this. I long to know that I'm something special, and that what we have is real, and not some heathen fantasy, borne from my flu medication, not enough sleep, and too much caffeine. I want to fall asleep between two warm bodies that will still be there when I wake up. Most of all, I want you to make me feel better.
© Copyright 2007-2010 Jacqueline Applebee