Booty Call

Booty Call (c) 2000  by Mike Kimera
“Come on over baby, I need it bad tonight.”
Dolores. 2:00 am Wednesday. First call in three weeks. I want to say no. To hang up. To go back to sleep.
“C’mere lover,” her voice low, raunchy, “scratch my itch.”
Always the same. Hot sex then cold shoulder. Well not this time.
“You wanna do me again like last time? You ‘membering tha’ time sugar? You ‘member us slippin’ an slidin’ an you goin’ in deep?”
I remember the tight wet warmth of her, spasming on my cock.
“Baby?” she purrs.
I grab my car keys and head over.

The Smile That Binds

The smile that binds (c) 2001  Mike Kimera
When I think back, it’s not the leather-padded X-frame, spotlit in her basement, nor the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, nor even her ripe roundness, that makes me hard.

It’s her smile: wide, mischievous, gleeful.

“Tie me. Please,” she said.

I hung her folded body on the cross, arms above her head, ankles strapped to wrists, the plump wet arousal of her labia on display.

Entering her, feeling her flesh grip mine, grinding her groaning sweat-slick body back into the leather cross, pounding her until we both flooded with lust,I wanted nothing more than to deserve that smile.

Sauce For The Goose

Sauce for the goose (c) 2001  by Mike Kimera
She’d lied when she said it wouldn’t hurt. It hurts bad; but it feels good.
I groan into the ball-gag as she pushes the rubber cock further into my arse.
“You like that don’t you slut? You want it deeper don’t you? Or is that harder?”
If only I could reach my cock or if she would touch it. It is so hard it aches.
This is what I get for pushing my wife to have anal sex.
“Ok,” she’d said, “but after you”

I laughed when she first donned the strap-on.

I’m not laughing now; but I am coming

Age and Sex

Age and sex (c) 2002 by Mike Kimera
“This won’t work,” I say.
Rolling my erection across her lips she says, “Looks like it’s workin’ to me.”
“I’m too old for you.”
“Afraid people will think you’re my Dad?” she says, crawling up me, pushing her breasts against my face. “I’ll tell them I like older men because they’re so grateful.”
One hand on my chest, the other guiding me into her, she grins at me. “You enjoying my young tight wet body old man?” she asks, riding me with deliberate slowness.
“God yes, I’m just scared you’ll kill me before I’m 50.”
“You’ll die happy,” she says

Sunset Swim

Sunset swim (c) 2000  by Mike Kimera
The setting sun gilds the pool. I swim through liquid light, lost in the water’s warm embrace.
The clamorous silence of the stranger, lone witness to my solitary swim, penetrates my calm.
His ravenous gaze translates my movements into sensual display as, caught in the undertow of his need, I stroke slowly towards him.
Rising from the water, standing defiantly close, I present my ripe wetness like a dare.
His irises dilate. My nipples rise in greeting.

The air crackles with his static lust.

I earth the charge with a smile, then turn away, leaving only my fading footprints behind.

Exchange

Exchange (c) 2001  Mike Kimera
Every summer grad students find her.
“What was it like back then,” they ask, “being his mistress?”
The pretty ones get to come in. The skilful ones get to come back. Some of them learn from the exchange.
“Your skin,” the new one says.
“Yes, it’s all mine.”
“No – I mean it’s so…”
“Old? Wrinkled? Ill-fitting?”
“Smooth. Cool. Different.”
“Different certainly from your firm flesh.”
“Just firm?”
“No, this part is gratifyingly hard.”
“And are you? Gratified?”
“I can take a lot of gratification.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“No, it’s a job requirement. Want the job?”
“Mmmm yes ma’am”

Little Jack Horner

Little Jack Horner (c) 2001  by Mike Kimera
Having often sucked and sometimes swallowed but never had it up me, I thought myself cherry; ripe but unplucked.
On my knees with his plum in my mouth, feeling smug for snagging a hardbody and proud of making him so thick, I saw the condom as cute politeness, not evidence of a deeper intent.
Pulling out, still hard, he whispered “Your turn Jack,” and pushed me on my back.
I expected his hand on my cock, but not the solid pressure against my ring.
I tensed. He hesitated.
“Pluck me,” I said
With a grin he slid his penis in.

Little Jack Horner (c) 2001  by Mike Kimera
Having often sucked and sometimes swallowed but never had it up me, I thought myself cherry; ripe but unplucked.
On my knees with his plum in my mouth, feeling smug for snagging a hardbody and proud of making him so thick, I saw the condom as cute politeness, not evidence of a deeper intent.
Pulling out, still hard, he whispered “Your turn Jack,” and pushed me on my back.
I expected his hand on my cock, but not the solid pressure against my ring.
I tensed. He hesitated.
“Pluck me,” I said
With a grin he slid his penis in.

A Woman of Affairs

A woman of affairs (c) 2001  by Mike Kimera

My reflection in the mirror didn’t look wicked, slightly flushed, more than a little pleased with herself, but not wicked.

“Yet I am wicked” I thought, “after twelve years of faithful marriage and progressively less interesting sex, I’ve had an affair, well at least a fuck.”

My “lover”, delicious word, was sleeping. I’d tired him out, poor thing.

The sex had not been bad, thanks to his wonderfully talented tongue. His enthusiasm was great for the ego.

No wonder I had that just-fucked glow. I hadn’t felt so alive in years. I knew I would do it again, and soon.

Bloodlust

Bloodlust  (c) 2000  by Mike Kimera

You show less shock than most when you finally see me naked.

Your fingers trace the fine white scars that map the progress of my trysts. You stay astride me, even when I draw the knife from under the pillow.

Maybe you will be the one.

I’ve always needed blood for that last rush: the wound blossoming cherry-red; the line of pain drawn across my mind; the tart metallic taste drowning my tongue.

But this cold-hearted lover, etching passion on my flesh, is no longer enough.”

You smile, take the blade from my hand, and begin our menagé à trois

Shaggin

Shagging(c) 2001  by Mike Kimera
“Fancy a shag?” she ses, pushing her little tits out.
Not top totty, but the best on offer. I’m sorted with whizz. She’s gaggin for it.
The bogs stink of piss, no doors on the traps, lights fritzing. Perfect!
One foot on the bog, dress hiked, fingers in cunt, she ses, “C’mon. Gerrit out.”
Pokerhard it pushes up and in.
Fuckin TIGHT tart.
“Harder. Fuck me harder.”
Slammin’ her against the wall, grippin’ her arse, bangin’ and pushin’ and bitin’ her neck ’til I spit my spunk inside her.
She’s crumpled on the floor, still frigging, when I leave.
Slag!

Angela’s Lashes

Angela’s lashes (c) 2001  by Mike Kimera

“You asked for this,” Angela reminds herself, hanging spread-eagled and naked.

He’d let her hold the lash, long, slick, heavy as an eel. It could cut her. Scar her. He’d promised she would not bleed.

It hisses through the air, then bites. A sting of surprise, then a line of pain burning across her buttocks.

She is breathless when the second strikes. Tears flow. Screams echo.

By the fifth she is aflame, unable to stay still, bathed in sweat and pain.

At eight the come starts, flooding her.

After ten, he enters her, pushing her beyond pleasure and into prayer.

Driftwood

Driftwood © Mike Kimera 2007

“Desire always outweighs the consequences,” he said

With neither shame, nor regret, nor pride

But a bone-deep certainty, as final as the grave.

Glad of the all-concealing darkness, I replied

With soft kisses, deft touches, and low sighs;

Perfume sprayed to hide the smell of rot and fear

Deepening the darkness, he covered me once more

His hard hot hunger filling me and consuming him

With flames that showed me only guilt-filled shadows

He peaked, I spasmed, our lust crashed onto the shore,

Then his sticky tide ebbed, beaching me like driftwood,

Hollowed-out, abandoned and praying for freedom from consequences

Before

Before (C) Mike Kimera 2007

Before I’d fucked my first stranger because she was near and warm

Before I’d paid to fuck my first whore because she was on offer and I had an itch to scratch

Before I’d let pornography fly-post my imagination with images that break people into parts and holes

Before all that there was Cassie

Who looked at me as if

the sun rose and set on my smile,

all the heat and heart of love was at my fingertips,

I was and always would be, all she desired

Cassie, who smelt of sunshine and cotton and tasted of honey and salt

Cassie, who had thick, heavy hair that she let me lose myself in

Cassie who kissed and caressed and sighed but who wanted us to be virgins in our wedding bed

Cassie, who was more than I deserved and less than I could live with

Cassie, who I walked away from without a backward glance, refusing to acknowledge, in the soft sadness of her sobbing, my own loss.

Now I ache for the wholeness of before, itch beneath the barnacles of after and pray for the strength to close gap between who I am and who I could have become.

The Third Word

The Third Word © Mike Kimera 2006.

Please, Daddy

That’s what I whisper in his ear when I am spread and he is hard and sweat is all that is between us.

Please, Daddy

Passes my lips like a promise or a plea, rousing his lust, stirring my memories, mixing his need and my guilt

Please, Daddy

A prayer offered to this bar-met stranger, the right age but with the wrong face, as he pushes into me

Please, Daddy

As always, pleasure and shame race through me, my present and my past bound together. Perhaps this time I will finally release the third word.

Please, Daddy. Stop.

I Love Her Because…

I love her because…  (c) 2002  by Mike Kimera

I tell myself I love her for her breasts. Fabulous breasts. The best that money can buy. Look how she rubs them against me as she slides along my body, ready to 69.

Or perhaps I love her for her talented mouth. She knows just how hard to suck and exactly where to press her stud-pierced tongue.

These self-deceptions melt when she offers me the hot flesh that I truly desire.

Gratefully I pull her thick hard cock into my mouth, feeling wickedly, joyfully decadent.

Later, while she sleeps, I tell myself I will still love her after the operation.