Message-ID: <445eli9704021441@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: taria29b@aol.com (Taria29b) Subject: Art Appreciation- Part 1 #2 Continued from #1....same warnings apply. --Taria __________________________________________________ I stepped out into the freezing cold with my catalogue, concealed in its nondescript bag, still blushing. And then...a coincidence, perhaps, or fate? As I stood in front of the gallery, bemused, two young women emerged from behind me, pushing me a little as they burst out of the door, all energy, hands clasped tightly together. Like me, both girls were flushed, but they were also giggling, their eyes dancing as they laughed together. One of them turned to say "excuse me," and as she did her coat fell open and I saw a white t-shirt with purple lettering: THE GARDEN, it said, in flowery script, and then they were gone. A long-ago memory from a friend's bachelorette party resurfaced, the image of several phallic packages being passed around as we raunchy--embarrassed, really--ladies giggled and blushed and drank white wine. The wrapping had said THE GARDEN too, and I even remembered the street address because it was in the next building over from my husband's office in those days. With a sudden shock I realized I was just down the block from the store. And gripped by a sudden impulse I could not resist I made my way there, got buzzed in the front when I pressed the bell, and took the elevator up two floors. The staff were all women; so were most of the customers. And after standing awkwardly for twenty minutes, chatting with an amazingly matter-of-fact salesgirl for five minutes more, and then steeling my resolve, I handed over my credit card. When I got home I crept in like a philandering husband returning home at 4 A.M., my shoes dangling from my fingertips and my packages bundled up inside my coat in my arms. "Honey?" I called out, hoping and praying that my forgetful spouse was working late again, engrossed in his latest Big Important Project. Luck was with me that evening, for noone answered my tentative hellos. Dropping my shoes and coat, I practically ran into the bedroom clutching the crumpled paper bags and their secret hidden treasures. I immediately decided upon the perfect hiding-place: an upper shelf in my closet already cluttered with hair accessories and other detritus, seldom-used junk I simply could not do without. But wait...was that the front door? In a rush of fear, an agonizing moment of potential discovery I simply could not handle, I froze. I snapped out of it and stashed my bundle away in an instant as quietly as I could, and then called out in a slightly quavering voice, "Sweetie? 'Zat you?" It was, of course, and he was hungry, tired, and put-out at me for leaving my stuff all over the place in our clean living room. "Can't you put your things away?" he grumbled as always, neatening everything up as he made his way through our apartment. I was so relieved that he suspected nothing that I completely forgot to reprimand him for his thoughtlessness in standing me up. We ate and then went to bed early, and he was out like a light. I was so wound up I barely slept a wink all night. The next morning I waited anxiously for the chance to be alone. When my husband finally cleared out I picked up the phone and called in sick to work. The empty apartment was big and quiet as I stood in my robe and sipped my coffee. Out of sheer willfullness, and maybe a little fear of the unknown, I bypassed the bedroom and headed for the bathroom, where I drew a hot bath, sprinkled it lightly with some scented oils I almost never use--who ever has time for a bath, anyway?--and sank into the tub with a deep sigh. I deserve this, I thought to myself. When do I ever take a day off, anyway? Why shouldn't I indulge myself? And so I soaked, and I washed myself slowly and lethargically. But I knew why I was home. And when I soaped and rinsed my breasts I tingled; and when my hands ran down my soapy arms and up my legs I felt light-headed; and when I washed my pussy my fingers lingered there, lightly caressing the lips and folds and making a small circle with my index finger just inside the entrance; and I felt myself raise my hips off the tub bottom so I could insert a soapy finger inside my anus, and my muscles clenched and tightened around the unaccustomed intruder and I made a small moan, a barely audible "oooooo." And then I opened my eyes and awkwardly got to my feet, the water splashing over the edge of the tub and my body tingling and chilled by the outside air. Quickly I toweled off, and since I could stand this no longer I left the bathroom, headed for the bedroom, and opened my closet door. Standing on my tiptoes, my hair still dripping down my back, I rummaged around with my hands until my fingertips made contact with a paper bag. Leaving the flat package of the catalogue on the shelf, I grasped what I wanted and pulled it down. My hands almost trembling, I uncrumpled the small lavendar bag and shook it out over my bed. Out dropped a triangular patch, with a few buckled narrow straps dangling. One more fevered shake, and out came a pale simulated penis and scrotum, with a round base. I tried to remember the arrangement of the straps as the salesgirl had demonstrated; when I couldn't quite get it, I jumped up again and fetched the catalogue from its hiding place on my shelf, and skimmed the pages rapidly until I found Rose and Christiaan. I fiddled for a few moments, adjusting and rebuckling straps and looking intently at the strap arrangement on Rose's hips. I tightened a little more, and then moved over a little to gaze into the full-length mirror on the closet door. Standing before me was me, looking ridiculously naked except for the black-and-white contraption strapped around my middle. "This is silly," I muttered, feeling the discomfort of the straps and the weight of the thing pulling at my pubic area. I moved a little closer to the mirror and turned to the side, and suddenly I didn't feel so ridiculous any more. I turned my head and looked at my reflection, at the curve and swell of my left breast, with its pink nipple; at the slight rounding swell of my belly; and then at the length of the pale erect cock that seemed to extend from my body. The image was undeniably erotic, and I felt myself tingle all over as I stared. I watched myself in the mirror as I raised both my arms slowly over my head, arching my back sexily so my breasts stood out. My cock, as I was coming to think of it, stood up as well, bouncing a little as I moved. Slowly I lowered my arms, my hands first caressing the sides of my neck, then down to my breasts. I watched as I rubbed them, kneading and squeezing softly, the sexiness of the action heightened by the sight of my erect cock protruding out. My fingers played lightly with my nipples, which had already hardened perceptibly--no surprise there, I thought--and then caressed the underside of my breasts, lifting them slightly away from my body. I felt the cool moistness there that remained after my bath, the wetness that my quick towelling motions had not dried, and I moaned softly, my eyes narrowing slightly as I watched how I caressed myself. My hands moved down my sides now, to my hips, where they encountered the thin leather straps I had buckled there. My fingers followed the straps to the harness, and then I watched myself in the mirror as my right hand touched the penis I wore, clenching around it, encircling it, rubbing it. The new latex didn't feel like any cock I had ever held in my hand before. It was cool, not warm and pulsing like a man's, and it seemed like my hand stuck to it slightly with its newness, its plasticky feeling. I reached into my bedroom drawer and found a crimped tube of K-Y jelly that my husband and I sometimes used. I squirted a little out into my palm--it was cold and felt a little greasy--and as I watched I returned my hand to the cock and began to pump slowly. The lubricant helped a lot, and I held my body still as I watched my hand moving up and down, masturbating the cock I wore on my body. I closed my eyes and kept pumping, trying to imagine what it would be like to jerk off my own hard, erect cock, and involuntarily I thrust my hips forward a little, fucking my hand as it pumped up and down, up and down. When my eyes opened again a laugh bubbled up from within as I thought of Freud, and "Penis Envy" and what my old Psychology professor would think of all this. But then, why be envious? I really did have my own penis now. Just thinking about my cock warmed me up again, and I realized with a moan that my adventure of the day before, my sensual bath, and my activities in front of my mirror had aroused me beyond belief. I tried to sneak a hand behind the straps and harness I wore, but that was no go: everything was too snug and too tight. Reluctantly I loosened them, driven by my rising need for a release of all my pent-up sexual energies. As the cock and harness came free in my hand, I lay down on the carpeted floor before my mirror, my head propped up a little on a throw-pillow so I could see my reflected image. With my left hand, I roamed across my breasts, rubbing and stimulating. I watched as my right hand, still holding the cock in its harness, moved down to my legs. Slowly and carefully I touched my pubic hair with the cock moving down my bush...lower...lower...suddenly, shockingly, the cock slipped inside me almost halfway, meeting with no resistance as its lubricated length encountered my pussy opening, moist and hot from my arousal. I gasped for an instant, and then pulled it out almost all the way, leaving only the simulated cockhead still inside me. My left hand abandoned my breast and joined my right, and using both hands I pushed the cock into myself once more. Mmmmmm.....yes.....that was it. Slowly I fucked myself with the cock, pushing it in and out, first shallowly, then deeply. It was a comfortable size, not some massive Superdick twelve-inch monstrosity, but instead about the same size and thickness as my husband's, some six inches, according to The Garden's clerk. I opened my eyes and peeked through my spread knees at the mirror, watching my hands as they pushed and pulled the cock in and out of my pussy, which was now glistening with the wetness of the lubricant and my own juices. I kept thrusting with my left hand, harder now, as my right moved up to touch my clit, finding the familiar nubbin and rubbing hard, stroking faster. From a distance I could hear the growing volume of my moans and sighs, the "oh yes" and "fuck me" and "ohhhh" that I could not hold back and did not want to. My pussy and my clit were the total center of my existence; my entire being was focused on the hot passion I felt, the overwhelming fuckingness of my masturbating universe. I rubbed and stroked and thrust and fucked and fucked and fucked and yes and yes oh yes oh yesohyesohyesFUCK...ME....YES....The cock was jammed into me as deep as it could go and my hands rubbed frantically at my clit and I came and I came and my pussy muscles throbbed and clenched around the cock and slowly it ebbed and my hands fell back to the floor soaked and the cock still in me began to slide....out...and it dropped out of my pussy and a tiny trickle of moisture followed it, dripping from me. I put the cock on twice more that day, once in front of the mirror and once on my bed. I masturbated four times more, fucking myself twice with it, once on my back and once on my knees, my right arm stretching to its limit to pump the cock in and out of my pussy from behind. By that night I was exhausted, totally fucked out, and still aroused. As a dildo my cock had its uses. But that was not the reason I bought it. As my husband slept beside me I remained awake for a second straight night, thinking feverishly about Rose, Christiaan, me, and my cock. (To Be Continued) More to come... Any opinions? Questions? No? Well, this is on the final, so I hope you took good notes! If not, e-mail me at Taria29b@aol.com. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /