Tuesday, March 23, 2010

"When Ordering a Woman"

"When Ordering a Woman"

(The thoughts of a Connoisseur a.k.a. Julius)
by Julius
Copyright March 2010



There are so many variables, that choosing a woman, perfectly suited to all one’s needs, is a daunting task. That said, the following might aid the prospective owner. The sequence of headings is deliberately random so I beg you to remember that wherever a requirement falls in the list, its position should not influence your thinking.

Height: This matters little if she is pleasing to the eye. However, if you have any choice in her height, imagine her bent submissively over the kitchen table. If her opening is level with your groin and she is therefore comfortably mountable in this position, then this is ideal. Measure yourself, floor to cock root and commit this figure to memory. If this measurement is not given for a woman you find attractive, you must ask.

Bosom: I like ’em good and heavy myself, bordering on pendulous but of course this is a matter of preference. However, the importance of there being a sufficiency of flesh to allow titty fucking cannot be emphasised enough. Each breast should fill your hand to overflowing, this allows you or she to enclose the whole of your member comfortably in soft, yielding breast flesh. A small breasted or boyish figure is of no use for this pleasure of course.

Nipples: All the better too if her breasts have large nipples - “All the better to suck and bite on my dear!” Also, they can be a great comfort at any time you find yourself overstressed. A perfect means of administering pain or pleasure.

Her and anal sex: In my opinion anal sex and bathing in a septic tank are much of a muchness. That is to say, it is not my choice. Of course this is another of those personal matters. Rarely need her preferences in any matter be considered. However, be sure that her preference in this matter matches yours. You don’t want to have her whining for a cock up the arse when you don’t want to put it there or, conversely, whining that she doesn’t, when you do. Her obedience is a given but they are inclined to complain, even when they should not.

Age: There is no substitute for experience of course. That is not to say that ‘the older the better’ but rather, better mature than immature. Younger women tend to be silly and quite scatter-brained and therefore quickly become tiresome. But be cautious, older women tend to feel a sense (undeserved of course) of superiority. Perhaps early thirties is best. Then she will still have some good years left in her while being more entertaining in those post coital times when conversation can be enjoyable if it is relatively intelligent.

Weight: Avoid thin women! Boniness can cause bruising to your person while engaged in vigorous copulation. Do not choose a woman who is all elbows and hipbones. Softness and warmth are so important in a bed warmer. Beware too much weight of course! A man might suffer suffocation or crushing or worse while underneath such a one. But a little soft flesh provides good hand-grips when romping with her and good cushioning when your passions run amok. The rule is: some buxomness is essential. One can always feed them less and/or exercise them more, an easy means of control, should excessive weight gain occur.

Manners: All a man asks is obedience and a quiet disposition. She must not be forever chattering; she must be silent unless spoken to. Of course during copulation she may be vocal if only to display how well you are pleasing her while pleasing yourself. By all means let her be the vocal evidence of your prowess.

Arse: Full and round. This cleft is as good a spot as the bosom in which to do a little cleavage fucking from time to time. A well-spanked bottom is a pretty sight too and a delightful warmth in bed on a cold night. Her backside is of course ideal as the means of disciplining your woman. Sadly they tend to enjoy having their nethers reddened so alternative punishments may have to be sought.

On the subject of punishment or discipline: no matter whether she likes corporal punishment or not.If she DOES, then the hairbrush, cane or whatever can be a source of pleasure for both of you and if punishment is needed, simply lay it on the harder.If she likes it NOT, no matter. The smack of wood or leather on her pretty arse can serve as pleasure for you or punishment for her - at your whim. So, she’ll be getting her buttocks reddened anyway. No woman can avoid having a few imperfections. The more she needs correcting, the more pleasure you’ll derive doing that correcting! Remember the sorer the arse, the prettier a woman sits.

The muff or pubic hair: No question here. Where possible, choose a hirsute love mound. If your preference is trimmed or shaven, considerable pleasure will be derived from doing the barbering yourself. There can be few joys to match using comb, scissors and razor in this fashion. So, choose a cunny au naturel.

There gentlemen, ten suggestions. Finding the perfect plaything may not be easy. Try as many samples as you deem necessary in your quest for the ideal. Never hesitate to give them chores to do while you are trying them for your physical pleasures. A gentleman friend of mine got his whole mansion spring-cleaned before finding his heart’s desire.

Remember, God made pretty women for us; it would be a sin not to enjoy them.

"Bobbles"

“Bobbles”


by Julius
Copyright March 2010

(delighted to say that this was the 50th of my tales chosen to appear on ERWA's Galleries)



Bobbles or pom-poms or maybe even tassels but I think bobbles sounds best. You know what I mean? On girls' boots lately, a bobble on each lace end. The chunky, furry boots are best.

There’s something so utterly sexy about bobbles. The bobbles draw attention to the boots, the boots to the legs, the legs to the thighs, the thighs to the ass and the ass to the sexy young thing with the bobbles.

She goes by, bobbles dancing at her ankles like four tiny kittens. The eye goes: boots, calves, thighs, ass. See what I mean?

If she has “IT” and most girls do, my mind goes into lust-drive.

My favourite fantasy is “her” wearing just bobbled boots. Nothing else, just her bobbled boots. She stands astride my head and grinds her hips, lifting first one heel off the ground, then the other and so on. The bobbles hop and bob beside my ears.

High above, her pussy hovers, oscillating in time with hips and heels. It’s at the confluence of her thighs, a little, furry, munchable morsel.

Then, in my happy fantasy, I issue the command, a one, has-to-be-obeyed word, “Squat!”

And down comes the fifth bobble.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

"A Cumly Wench"

“A Cumly Wench”




by Julius
Copyright March 2010






Roy was more than pleased with his new, big, flat screen. The picture was incredible, money well spent he decided. The movie, an old favourite, began. Roy loved porn movies. With his shorts at mid-thigh and a bottle of lube to hand he was all set for a delightful afternoon.

Outside, it was a warm, almost hot, spring day. His garden beckoned, but he was horny and there was only one cure for that. Roy tried to be good at whatever he did and he reckoned he was a very good masturbator.

He figured the ideal self-pleasuring session should last for two, full-length movies. He seldom made it last that long of course, his movie collection was too good for that. Women always claimed it was the foreplay that counted. If his climax lasted only seconds Roy thought his foreplay should be as long and as pleasurable as possible.

With the new screen Roy realised that his solo sex would be about as good as it gets.

The girl on the screen began her little dance. She was one of his favourites and he loved black lingerie. He squirted lube into his left palm and brought his half erection to full flower. Levering his recliner a little further back he began the slow and steady stroking. On screen the first heavy breast slipped out of the inadequate bra, its nipple pointed straight at Roy. God! The new screen was incredible. Roy’s cock was rigid.

“Roy! Roy, are you home?”

Fuck! He’d not bolted the back door. It was Monica, one of his neighbours.

“Roy, it’s me, Monica.”

Roy got the recliner upright and managed to mute the TV. “Hello Monica, I’ll be right there.”

He struggled to get up but a lube-slick hand slipped on the recliner’s leather arm.

“Roy, I, oh my god!” Monica’s voice exclaimed from much nearer.

He looked round and there she was, staring at the big screen.

“You should knock,” Roy said, anger and embarrassment vying with each other. His shorts were still down, and if she took another step …

Monica stepped into the room and her gaze went from the movie to Roy’s face, then down to his hand which was over his groin. He erection was gone, banished by his embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said and turned to flee.

Roy managed to stand and pulled up his shorts.

“If you’d knocked,” Roy said defensively.

She paused in mid stride and, with her back still towards him, replied, “Well, you were hardly dressed to answer the door, were you?”

She turned to face him. “Is that really one of those porno movies?” She looked past him at the screen.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” He looked for the remote but it had disappeared.

“Don’t apologise Roy, I’ve always wondered what they were like.”

On the screen the big blonde had lifted a breast and was licking its nipple.

Roy’s embarrassment went up another notch and he looked behind the chair, found the remote and picked it up.

“No, don’t turn it off. Could we maybe watch it a while?”

“I guess,” he said but wanted to say no. Wanted her gone, perhaps wanted the earth to open up.

“Brian and I just had an awful row. I just slammed out of the house. I don’t know where to go, I’ve no shoes on. Thought I’d come and have a coffee with my old gardening buddy. Perhaps I should go.” It all came out in a rush.

Roy didn’t know what to do. “Let me make us some coffee,” he offered.

“I’d like that.” She crossed to the sofa and sat down, staring at the movie. “I wish I had breasts like those.”






Roy stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, and thinking. Monica, and Brian of course, had been his neighbours for forever. She loved gardening, as did Roy. She was attractive enough but he always seemed to see her dressed in her gardening stuff, devoid of makeup and with her hair up. She hadn’t registered on Roy’s lust scale, not until now anyway.


The few times he’d seen her dressed up, she'd been a different woman, going out with her husband. Monica was Monica, the woman next door who gave him cuttings and seedlings and happily accepted the vegetables he always grew too many of.

Today she was different, rather excitingly different. Wearing a cute yellow summer dress and barefooted and her long hair in a ponytail she looked delightful, beyond pretty, almost beautiful. Not only that but she was sat in his living room watching one of his porno movies.

He carried two mugs of coffee into the living room. Monica sat staring at the TV, her left hand pressing her skirt between her legs. When she saw him she moved her hand quickly away and smiled up at him. It was a strange little smile and she was blushing.

“God! What must you think of me?” she said.

“I don’t know. What did you think of me when you walked in just now?”

She smiled. “You looked so embarrassed and guilty somehow. I thought you looked cute and very sexy.”

“There you are then,” he said, “I think you look very cute and extremely sexy.”

She patted the seat beside her. “Let’s watch together.”

He handed her a mug and sat down.

Roy was acutely aware of his slick cock and his lack of underwear beneath his shorts. He thought about the movie and realised it still had better than an hour to run. Then he thought about some of the scenes still to come. No! He couldn’t imagine her sitting there, next to him, through those.

“Monica?”

“Yes Roy?”

“I’m not sure this ... ,” he hesitated and gestured at the screen, “that this is suitable for,” his voice trailed off.

“Suitable for a lady,” she said. Her voice had deepened somehow.

She pressed her hand back between her legs and added, “Perhaps I’m not feeling ladylike today.”

On the screen one scene had ended. Now a woman in a bikini was asleep in a garden.

“An hour ago I came on to Brian. I’d got myself all prettied up. He wasn’t interested; I could see that. Before I knew it we were yelling at each other. He said I was always horny. I said he never was. We both got very angry, very quickly and here I am.”

She looked at him. Her eyes looked huge and they glistened. She didn’t cry, just sat holding her coffee.

Roy swallowed, loudly. “Let’s watch the movie.”

The woman in the movie slid her left hand slowly under her bikini‘s panties. Roy watched the outlines of her fingers moving between her legs.

“I’m not wearing any panties,” announced Monica.

Roy chuckled. “Neither am I.”

“I know,” she said and giggled.

Roy’s cock stirred and he lowered his coffee to try and conceal the restless thing.

On screen the hand was hard at work between the legs and Roy could smell Monica’s perfume. His cock grew and was caught in his shorts and it hurt.

She put her coffee on the small table beside her, got up and went to his recliner. She picked up the bottle of lubricant from the floor and came back and sat down again. She handed him the bottle.

“Go on Roy.”

Roy froze. He couldn’t do it. Not in front of her. He couldn’t.

She took the hem of her dress and slid it slowly up her thighs. Roy watched. Up higher, until she was bare to the waist. A tuft of brown curls peeped out from between her closed thighs.

“Now then, where were you before I interrupted?”

He stared at her nakedness, and then looked up. She was smiling at him, her hand still holding out the bottle.

“I’ve showed you mine,” she said.

He took the bottle. His erection had disappeared yet again. On screen the woman was writhing silently.

His shorts had an elastic waistband, no fly. He was going to have to push them down again. He glanced at her knees, her bare thighs, the delightful glimpse of her curls. He didn’t have a choice did he?

His cock was a little thing now. His crop of pubic hair made it look pathetically small.

Monica got up again. To Roy’s dismay the hem of her dress dropped and covered her.

“I’ll go lock the back door shall I? You never know, somebody might barge in.”

Roy liked the implications of her locking the door. The dress clung to her hips and ass as she headed into the kitchen. This couldn’t be the next-door Monica, could it?


She came back, picked up the remote from the arm of the recliner and sat down again beside him.

On the screen a bronzed young man knelt between the woman’s legs.


Monica said, “I’m sorry, I forgot.” She pulled up her skirt again. The sound came on as she pressed the mute button.

Roy just sat. The situation was quite unbelievable. Monica leaned against him and put her head against his shoulder.

“How long is the movie?”

“At least another hour.”

“Can we watch it all?”

“Why not?” Roy liked that idea although he seldom made it to half way through.

“Can I watch you too?” she asked putting her hand on his bare thigh.

Surely she didn’t expect him to jerk off in front of her? The young man had his face between the woman’s thighs, apparently pleasuring her through the bikini.

“I wish I could persuade Brian to do that,” said Monica, gently stroking Roy’s thigh.

Roy thought he’d be happy to oblige. His cock was stirring again. He watched it swell and lengthen.

She was looking too. Her hand want back between her legs again. “Let’s both do it while we watch the movie.”

Seeing her touch herself, watching the screen action and his near erect cock were making it difficult to just sit there. She moved her hand off his thigh and took his hand and moved it towards his cock.

“I want to watch you,” she said in a husky voice. “You have a lovely cock.”

He wrapped his hand round it and squeezed. He was very aroused. He wished she’d do it for him.

Monica picked up the lube and squeezed some, too much, over the head of his cock. It trickled down over his knuckles. Roy slid his fist down his erection. He groaned; it felt good. Monica’s hand went back between her thighs.

“There.” she said softly, “now let’s watch the movie together.”

Poor Roy, he had to divide his attention. Monica’s legs had parted and she seemed to be sliding two fingers up and down her pussy. She obviously didn’t need any lubricant. On screen, the bikini panties were gone and a shaved pussy was being enthusiastically devoured. Roy slowly stroked his cock. It was fully erect now, hot and rigid. He wondered how long he could keep control. How long before he spurted and was spent? He didn’t want that to happen, not yet. He wanted to watch Monica.

Then, in a flash, he realised he wanted Monica, wanted her very badly.

“I’ve always wanted to be shaved like that,” Monica said, “with just a little strip, pointing at my belly button.”

Roy pictured his electric shaver. Pictured mowing Monica’s little front lawn. He stroked nearly once too often and froze. He stared down at himself.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“I almost came,” he said.

“I’d love to see that. I want to see you come. I’ve never actually seen Brian come.”


“If I do, I’m pretty much done for the day.” He was shocked at how easy it had become to say a thing like that. He’d gone from nearly paralysed with embarrassment to almost at ease with her.

“Well, we’d not want you finished for the day, would we? Leave it be for a while and we’ll just watch the film.”

He took his hand away. His cock looked huge and it glistened with the lube.

Monica took her hand from between her legs and picked up her coffee. On the screen the woman was stroking the man’s cock and telling him to come. Her stroking was slow and gentle. Seemingly, just slow enough and just gentle enough that he didn’t come. She was doing a wonderful job of keeping him on the brink while begging him to come. Maybe it was all just acting but it was incredible erotic nonetheless.

Monica was motionless, staring, her lips parted. She looked down at Roy’s cock then at him. She licked her lips. Her hand had gone back to her pussy. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”


“Maybe the same as me.”

“I want to touch it,” she said looking down at his cock again. His erection had softened a little and now lay to one side on his thigh.

“OK,” he said and gasped as she reached out and took it in her hand.

“It’s so hot!” she said and squeezed him gently. A pearl of precum oozed from the end. She brought her other hand from her groin and, with a fingertip, spread the precum over the head of his cock. She milked another drop from him and repeated the smearing. His cock stiffened yet again.

She stroked him gently and he closed his eyes and told her it felt wonderful. It did too, having a hand other than his own doing it. How long since?

She picked up the remote and pressed “pause”. She got to her feet and stood in front of him and began to slowly unbutton the dress. She shrugged it off her shoulders. She was naked underneath, no bra, nothing, just Monica.

“You’re lovely,” he said and sincerely meant it. She had small breasts with big, protruding nipples that were surrounded by big pink aerolae. She pirouetted slowly showing him the cutest of asses. The urge to grab her was all but overwhelming. She turned to face him again.

He chuckled. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I think so, but we’ve a movie to watch.”

“I’m so glad you came to visit.”

She sat down again, closer this time. He looked down at her incredible nipples.

“Big, ugly things aren’t they?” She asked him touching a finger to a nipple.

“Ugly! No! They’re beautiful,” he said and, without thinking, added, “just made for suckling.”

She pressed the “play” button and Roy resigned himself to watching.







They watched the movie for a while. Roy gently stroked his cock from time to time, careful not to come too close to coming. It wasn’t easy. Monica’s nipples seemed to be sticking out more than when she’d first shown them to him. Her hand moved almost constantly, doing things to her pussy, things that made her squirm.

She divided her attention between screen and cock.

The movie was approaching the point where Roy usually lost control. On-screen, the woman was kneeling between the seated guy’s feet and was pumping his cock slowly. The look on her face was one of pure anticipation. She was doing it so slowly, so carefully that he was obviously very, very close.

Monica said, “Oh my,” and sat still, staring.

The hand stroked, slowly. The muscles in the guy’s legs tensed and Monica said, “Yes, yes, yes,” very softly.

The movie went to slow motion at that moment and the first jet of cum slid out of the cock and soared, in a long wiggly string, up onto the guy’s chest. The woman moved her hand and the second spurt splattered on the bridge of her nose and across her face.

Monica giggled.

Successive, smaller jets went here and there, on his belly over her hand. Monica’s hand left Roy’s cock and went between her thighs again. Her other hand went over her mouth but she managed to say, “Wasn’t that incredible?”

The scene again then, at normal speed, and still Monica stared. She fumbled for the remote and paused the movie yet again.

She slid off the sofa and there she was, on her knees in front of him.

“Can I?” she asked, “Please?”



Not waiting for an answer she grabbed his cock and began to stroke. “Tell me when to slow down,” she said, glancing up at him.

Her hand felt different and much better than his own. It was smaller, making him look bigger. She was gentle and moved slowly. She seemed fascinated by his cock and stared, wide eyed, at it as she worked.

Slow and gentle maybe, but soon enough the familiar boiling sensation began behind his balls.xx
“Slow,” he murmured, wanting to come, but not yet. This was the way he pleasured himself, holding off, prolonging the pleasure, delaying the inevitable.

Monica learned quickly and in no time was bringing him close, then slowing or stopping. He looked at her face and she glanced up from her work and smiled a wicked smile.

Next time she didn’t stop or slow, just slid her slick little fist up and down, squeezing the head of his cock almost to the point of pain.

Roy knew he’d come. The point of no return and that incredible gathering sensation began.

“Oh no!” he exclaimed, then, “Oh yes!”

The first rush through his cock, the sudden clench that gathered every nerve and muscle behind his ball sac. The first geyser burst past the grip she had on his cock-head and shot straight up, level with her startled eyes only to fall back over her wrist and knuckles.

Her startled, delighted, “Oh!” of wonder was followed by his next spurt that hit her chin and lips.

She laughed and pumped at his cock, milking him in decreasing spurts until he was spent. She carried on stroking his straining erection until he was begging her to stop.


There seemed to be an aching void in the pit of his stomach, as if he’d emptied his whole being out through his cock. He slumped back, chest heaving, heart hammering. His eyes closed.

She still held his fast-deflating cock and stared in girlish wonder at his come that covered her curled fingers.

Monica got to her feet, turned and dropped onto the sofa beside him, laughing.

His voice was full of wonder as he said, “That was incredible, I thought I was going to pass out or maybe die. Oh wow!”

She spread her legs wide and reached down and pulled herself open.
“My turn now Roy, my turn.”


The only response she got was a gentle snore.







Monica sat very still as her emotions rose and fell. Anger, frustration and lastly, amusement came in waves. How typically male she thought. Give him what he wants and needs; offer him more and he falls asleep. She look down at her gaping nakedness and sighed. Another gentle snore came from beside her. She dipped a finger into her wetness. She was close to tears. Her frustration surfaced again.

God but she was horny! Could a pussy ache with need? Hers did she knew. She looked sideways at the shrivelled little cock nestling in the shock of Roy’s pubic hair and sighed again.

Monica got up and slipped the dress over her head. She peeped out through the curtains. Brian had gone, the driveway was empty She thought she’d heard a car door slam earlier.

Monica walked through to the kitchen and let herself out of the back door.







She came back a while later with a plastic shopping bag in one hand and a pair of black heels in the other.

On the sofa Roy still slept. Monica looked down at him. Her anger was gone; after all, he was just a man. A man, she suddenly realised, that would be very easy to love.

On screen the jerker and jerkee were frozen, both staring at the last white drooling.

Monica went behind the sofa and slipped out of the dress again, praying Roy would sleep until she was ready. She drew the little red panties up her thighs. Crotchless, they barely covered her ass and her pussy, not at all.

The corset was still laced from its first, futile and only wearing. It was a brilliant, shimmery red and trimmed in black lace. She loved it. Hooking it up the front was a challenge.

The last three hooks were nigh impossible as she and the corset captured and restrained her breasts. The little, lace-edged cut-outs made her big nipples jut almost obscenely. With fingers and thumbs she pinched and pulled at them, feeling the jolts in her pussy that made her whole body spasm. She’d been horny since dawn.

Monica stepped into the heels and wished there was a mirror. She moved around the sofa and picked up the remote. She clicked ‘play’ and brought up the sound.

Roy never stirred. She lifted her foot and pressed the sole of her shoe against his cock; the spiked heel threatened between his balls.

His face lit up and she heard his intake of breath. His eyes flickered back and forth between nipples and pussy. “Oh dear God!” he murmured.

“Like I said Roy, my turn.” She dropped a hand and combed her fingers through her bush and added, “Now!”

"Lust at First Sight"

"Lust at First Sight"

A 100 word Flasher
by Julius
Copyright 2003



She was the bank's loans officer. Brian Jenkins' arrival had made her sunny, Spring morning suddenly much sweeter.

As he closed her office door her brain exclaimed, "Nice ass!"

He turned.

"Nice bulge!" her pussy purred. The handshake was powerfully gentle. 'Nearing forty,' she guessed.

She knew she was blushing and looked down at his application. He was divorced! He ran the "Appliance Repair Co." She'd had her old food mixer overhauled there last year!

Glancing up she met a smile that stole all her blue-suited poise.

Young Brenda the lender, had a blender mender on her agenda.

"Just One Serving"

"Just One Serving"

A 100 word Flasher,
by Julius
Copyright 2003



Ravenous, they'd ordered in pizza, eating by the pool.

Now, fresh, fruit salad, her favourite.

He stood behind her. The too-small bikini had tormented him all day. He dribbled sun tan oil over his erection.

He nuzzled at her armpit with his cock head and she shrugged that shoulder gently. He thrust, slid through and she trapped him, almost.

This new exquisite tightness, him thrusting, her breasts jostling! Seconds only and he was poised.

She sensed it and lifted her bowl, holding it ready.

As he spurted over the fruit, she cooed, "Nothing like fresh cream!"

"Coming and Going" Part 3

"Coming & Going" Pt. 3





by JuliusCopyright 2003





James found her standing, staring at him, as he crossed the basement, "I can't get back!" she said very quietly, an edge of panic in her voice.

He put his arms round her while she told him what had happened. "Is it such a bad thing?" he said softly into her hair.

"It's the only home I've ever known and everything I have is there," she was trembling, "what if I can never go back?"



* * *


He sat in the living room and listened to the shower running. The fact that the 'time machine' had changed its frequency was as frightening as it was intriguing. It meant "someone" was using it. This scared him a little. For some reason he'd thought it 'disused', now it seemed it wasn't lying dormant after all. From a ten year, suddenly to a hundred year cycle. The questions came tumbling in. How long, if ever, before it went back to ten years? How would he react if 'they' turned up in his basement? More importantly, what about Cilla?

He was only too happy to have her stay. She was beautiful and magic. He was lonely and, to be honest with himself, desperate for female company. But, and it was a big but, he worried if she'd be happy with him and his "now". For a while at least she was his responsibility but that suited him fine.

The shower stopped and he got up to put the coffee on. He found himself with a real spring in his step. He smiled, he'd not felt this full of life in a long while.

Upstairs Cilla had finished her shower. Things like the shower in this world weren't that different from hers. A shower was a shower. She didn't feel too much like a stranger. But the clothes! Hooks and buttons, zips and the funny stuff that made the tearing noisewhen you undid it! She'd met them all during the shopping spree. It seemed such a complicated way to dress. She was used to the all but exclusive use of magnetic fastenings. 'Oh well, when in Rome'.

Cilla was aware of several emotions teasing at her. She knew she wanted him and that want came in long waves, the peaks disturbingly high. Her mind teased her with memories of his cock in her hand. Then there was the worry of being marooned here, that would surface and she'd feel panic bumping away in her chest. Of course there was the almost desperate need to dress herself in her recent purchases. 'His recent purchases!' she corrected herself. This most feminine of urges made her smile to herself.

She finished drying herself and stood looking at the clothes on the vanity. She'd got the 'time machine' problem pushed into a back corner of her mind for now. As she reached out and touched the frilly blue underwear she knew that the awful want between her legs wasn't going to be so easy to control.

The bra was a puzzle. She'd never seen one before, let alone tried to put one on. She seldom wore anything but her little slave uniforms and those shaped and held her breasts so easily. Moulding and supporting wonderfully; but this thing! Hooks and eyes, four of each and adjustable straps and it seemed much too small. Now she was faced with getting into it.

Some minutes later she was looking at her captive breasts in the mirror. From what she'd seen in the mall and the catalogue she thought he'd be well pleased. The bra was the right size, or too small, depending on the viewpoint. This period's males obviously worshipped breasts. Hers looked very worshippable she thought. Unfashionably large for her time, they were crowded into the bra giving her a very noticeable cleavage. The thin, powder blue fabric showed her nipples quite plainly, her rising arousal making them prominent.

The panties were easier, not skimpy little things. They almost covered her shock of red curls at the front and most of her ass at the back. They were so incredibly feminine, frothy with pale blue lace. She loved the way they clung to her mound and she slid a hand over herself. She gasped at the touch. In a moment her desire leapt out of hiding and the near desperate urge was back.

Cilla crept out of the bathroom, her nose scenting the smell of fresh brewed coffee. She sat down on the top step and called down to James, "Come tell me if you like what we bought." She leaned back on her hands and moved her feet as far apart as the stair tread would allow. She was offering herself, knowing his need, achingly aware of her own. Quite a sight for him when he saw her. 'Oh, but make him want me enough,' she silently begged.

James came to the bottom of the stairs and began to climb. He was halfway before he glanced upwards. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes almost level with her crotch. He knew he was staring and where. He glanced quickly up to meet her eyes but he was caught by the sight of her overflowing breasts. She almost purred at his reactions and said softly, "Do you like my new clothes?"

He wondered if she really saw it as underwear. After all, that little outfit he'd met her in was arguably briefer than what she wore now. "You look lovely like that," he told her.

Before she could stop herself she heard her voice saying, "Would you, ... would you like to ...? Oh, I've never, never asked this before, would you pleasure me?"

"I'd love to!" his mind jumped to the moment her small hand had first held his cock. He'd sensed her arousal then, now he was sure he could feel her heat on his face. His cock seemed to go from limp to rigid in a heartbeat. He knelt on the step, his face inches from the tight nylon. Red curls sprouted from the sides, mingling with the lace, he could see flattened curls plainly through the fabric. A darker patch showed the moistness of her arousal.

He sensed Cilla letting herself fall back to lie on the carpet of the landing, her feet on the step below. He leaned foward and pressed a kiss into the crotch of her panties. Her response was between a sob and a long sigh. He felt her thighs close gently on his ears and then she spread herself, opening, opening herself. Soap perfume and her sweet muskiness mingled in his nostrils. He felt her wetness with his lips.

James struggled awkwardly up one step and put his hands on the outsides of her thighs. He nuzzled his mouth and nose against her mound, tasting, smelling this wonderful creature. A long, gentle, open-mouthed kiss. She squirmed and writhed under his face, between his hands. Her flesh felt almost fluid through the thin fabric.

Suddenly there were fingers clumsily working between his face and her panties. For an awful moment he thought she wanted him to stop and he lifted his head. But the hand quickly peeled the panties to one side and there she was, a dozen shades of glistening pink amid the bush of red hair. He heard the one word, "Please!" and he bent to kiss her again, tongue seeking, exploring. Her sobs measured her mounting arousal. Then, near silence as her thighs closed over his ears. Her fingers grabbed his hair and pulled him hard against her pink wetness. There was no way now that he could control the pace. Her thighs, her hands, her grinding, humping pussy were fucking his mouth. He was lucky he could breath through his nose, through her wet fur. He was swallowing her juices all but drowning. Then she began to chant, a faintly heard "Now! Now! Now!" each word coming with a buck of her thighs, she seemed desperate for release. Suddenly her thighs opened. Now he could hear her again. "Don't stop, don't stop, nearly there, oh nearly, oh!!" Then a keening cry and she bucked frantically against his face. He clung to her thighs, his face against her wet heat while she struggled in the throes of her orgasm.

She seemed to come forever. Her thighs repeatedly closing over his ears then opening wide. She bucked and writhed like a wild thing. Sobbing beautiful nonsense all the while. Then she was pushing his face away from her, begging him to stop. Begging, begging. He drew back and looked at her in wonder, she was glistening wet, her pubic hair matted against her mound, his beard must look the same he realised. She was fighting for breath.

James moved up to crouch beside her. He cradled her head in his hands while she gasped for air.

She tried to tell how it had been, the words coming in little sentences, "Never came like that before. Never been loved by anyone's mouth. Beautiful. Thought I'd die. Turning inside out!"

He stroked her hair, kissed her. Told her how beautiful it had been. She clung to him, giggled, "I can taste me, smell me in your beard!"

"I think there is much I've never done before. A slave doesn't get to choose!"

"Perhaps you could have a slave," he ventured, a delicious idea forming in his mind, "I could be your slave."

"That is unthinkable!" came her protest.

"No it isn't! I just thought of it." Almost simultaneously they broke into giggles.



He'd protested, red faced, at her suggestion that he wear her outfit. She'd explained that slaves, male and female, wore them. "It would never fit me!" he'd argued.

"Oh yes it will," her eyes alight at the thought, "this fabric will fit anything!"




* * *


And fit it had. Very flatteringly too she proclaimed. He looked like a well-endowed male ballet dancer. He'd hated it, she'd loved it and slowly, as she'd oohed and aahed and walked around him, he'd come to accept it. In the mirror he could appreciate her point. It clung and moulded itself to his genitals like a coat of green paint. It flattered his upper body. But he wasn't about to answer the door in it!

So James was now her slave until midnight. He liked the idea and she was so childishly delighted, as if he'd given her a wonderful gift. Perhaps he had, he thought soberly. She'd never been free before!

She ordered him to make her a coffee. Alone in the kitchen he ran his hand over the silk coated bulge of his groin. In an instant it seemed, he was hard. The amazing fabric seemed to sense his need and with no resistance at all his cock squirmed erect and stood proudly up his stomach.

"That is beautiful!" exclaimed a voice beside him. Her hand was to her mouth as she looked in awe at his erection. "We must find a use for that!" she reached out and ran her fingers up and down the length of him making him groan. Then she turned to the doorway, "I must dress in something appropriate for a mistress."

She added, from the stairs, "This mistress is hungry too!"

"Yes Mistress," smiling he set about making sandwiches.






He carried the sandwiches and coffee into the living room and carefully closed the curtains. One thing was bothering James and bothering him badly. He was so damned horny that he wondered what control he had left. The expert hand job of yesterday, wonderful though it had been, had merely whetted his appetite. Now, after the beautiful frolic on the stairs, he was sexually as high as a kite. Her slave for the rest of the day! With his cock and balls so tight and snug in this carressing fabric he was cruelly aware of himself. He was rock hard now, he was sure he could come, just by thinking about that red-furred pussy of hers. And those breasts!! Dear sweet Jesus ... he wanted her so badly. How in God's name was he to act when she came downstairs?

Upstairs, Cilla dressed, if that was the word. She struggled with another bra, only three hooks this time but it was still so very difficult. Finally! She was in and fastened. Black crotchless pantyhose. These made her almost drool. She mastered the knack of rolling them on and then moved about the bedroom, revelling in the feel of this lovely extra-skin sensation. The odd chill, as the air moved over her thighs! She postured before the mirror, loving the way her ass peeped from the cutouts at the back! Her pussy framed in the opening of the front. Cilla loved Cilla at that moment and rather thought James would too. Poor James! He was so horny, you could almost see his aura!

She'd not washed herself. It seemed wrong to clean away the magic of that orgasm. She could smell her muskiness as her body's still unsated hunger fed on her scent. 'Like a mink in heat' was a phrase she'd learned on one of the slave courses, she'd no real idea what it meant but it kept running though her mind "I'm like a mink in heat!"

He watched her come down the stairs. His heart hammered, his cock strained. Black bra, blackpantyhose, the latter crotchless. She was SEX incarnate! Her silver hair, that crazy red bush at her thighs' junction. She paused on the bottom step and turned towards him and smiled. How could this creature smile like a little girl? But she did.


He'd decided to tell her right there, how much he wanted her, how desperate he was. To warn her, to ...

But she spoke first, "Lie on your back on the floor slave, I wish to use you." She smiled a sinful smile.

Puzzled, half hoping, half guessing what was going to happen, he did as he was told.

She walked over and stood astride his hips. The pantyhose so dark, her thighs so pale. Her breasts looked huge from this angle. She was staring down at his erection. "My slave is very aroused isn't he?"

She bent from the waist and reached for the silver collar. How were those breasts staying in that bra he wondered? Her fingers moved and the front of the green costume snapped free. She took the corners and peeled it down, off him, flicking it away to lie between his knees. The cool of the air on the heat of his cock was exquisite. She dropped to her knees and took his cock in her right hand. He moaned, terrified he'd come right then and there. She held his cock erect and simply lowered herself down onto him. Hot, scalding hot and tight and slick. He howled almost silently through clenched teeth as he speared up into her.

Cilla settled her weight onto his thighs, squatting, perfectly still. "Don't move my slave!"

He didn't dare move. His climax was a straining captive thing, ready to burst out in an instant. By unspoken consent they were still. Time seemed to stop awhile. She could feel his heart beating in his cock, pulsing gently against the walls of her vagina. How deep inside her he was! She was full and stretched. So beautifully full, full, full. Full of him. Tears prickled her eyes.

James lay staring up at her. Drinking in her loveliness. The bra was too small, areolae peeped like rising suns. But it was her heat wrapping his cock that was his focus. His hardness pulsed steadily inside her, he could feel the throb of his heart throughout his body but most strongly in that cock of his that she was impaled on.

Then she did it! The contraction of her pussy around his cock. Strong yet soft. Like powereful lips kissing and squeezing his erection. His eyes widened in wonder and she saw this and gave a little chuckle ... the ripple of that carressed his cock too.

"I can make you come like that you know."

He knew, oh he knew! And she did it again. "Tell me when to stop." she whispered and did it again.

She was milking him! And not a muscle moved on her body except that beautiful rippling grip inside her.

He told her to stop but it was too late, they both knew that. Both sensed the instant when his control went. She raised herself and instinct took over for him. He began to thrust up into her desperately, frantically. A year of hunger and need couldn't be denied. Three thrusts, five and then it was happening. Bursting, boiling, he spent himself inside her, gushingand spurting. They both felt the pulsing wonder of it. She, complete perhaps for the first time in her life and he, sobbing with the joy of it.

She came too but somehow it was his release that she felt. A silent, hot, flooding joy spread inside her. She collapsed onto him, eyes streaming tears, "Don't send me back!"

"Never, never in a thousand years."

They clung together, satisfied, yet wanting more. They had all day and they had eternity.

It was almost dark when Cilla stirred in his arms. "Slave?"

"Umm?"

"Can we do it again?" she whispered dreamily.

"Now!"

"Soon," she paused, "and another thing slave."

"Yes Mistress."

"I must teach you about foreplay."

"Oh yes Mistress!" he smiled into her hair, "That I would like."

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

"Coming and Going" Part 2

"Coming & Going" (Pt. 2)

by Julius
Copyright 2003xx




Cilla was in heaven as she fondled James' cock. It was new and strange to her, so naturally different. She couldn't believe the surge of her arousal at the moment she'd first touched it.

Loving her own Master's cock was a part of her duties. Sometimes she enjoyed it, sometimes she even needed it. Yes, needed to do it. But all too often it was because he needed it and wanted it, with no thought of asking about her needs. But with James it was different. This was her choice. There was something fresh and sweet about having a choice.

James groaned, Cilla stilled her hand and pressed his hardness against her cheek. She needed to concentrate! The wonderful springy curls, magic! After the immaculate hairlessness of her Master this was a new delight. She pressed her face into his groin. Feeling the hair on her eyelids, her lips, tickling the edges of her nostrils.

She sat up and squeezed some more oil into her palm and reached for the beautiful hardness.

She could keep her Master on the edge for an hour, sometimes longer. Keeping him balanced, close to release, taking him close, close, closer. Knowing just when to slow and when to stop. She wondered if she could do the same to James guessing that he needed this so very badly. Cilla doubted she could control him the way she controlled her Master - not this first time. But she would try.

"Relax James," she said softly, "let me play, let me please you." She slid her hand slowly down to the root of his cock. "Focus on the feeling. One thought, let everything else float away." She gripped him tighter and drew her slick hand up the length of him, he sighed a long sigh.

She cupped his balls gently with her other hand. Loving their weight and warmth. She wondered what it would be like to impale herself on this cock of his. She slapped herself mentally, she must not think like that. Faithfulness was the first rule. But the word 'impale' echoed round in her head. Massaging James was for his comfort, this was the slave's prime function but she knew at the back of her mind that she was enjoying this too much for it to really be right. She was, she knew, a little over the 'faithful' line! But he was a little longer, a little thicker than her Master ... 'a slave can dream can't she?'

He thrust up, driving his cock through her fist, reminding her that she was day-dreaming again. She gripped its head and forced her clenched fingers down the length of him. His hips squirmed on the bed. 'You're loving this aren't you?' she asked him silently. 'So long since you had a woman do this for you.'

The heat was building between her legs. She needed pleasuring too. Her nipples chafed against the side of the bed and she drew back. The signals had flashed down to her crotch, that was more than she needed right now!

James was squirming on the bed making happy noises in his throat. Cilla kept up the slow strokes bringing him nearer and nearer. His cock was oozing steadily now. A droplet glinted like jewel. She licked her lips, wanting to taste him. She was concentrating with a fierceness that made little frown lines appear between her eyes.

He kept saying "Oh!" and "Yes". Words, sounds she understood so well. They meant 'I'm going to come soon!' and 'Stop! or I'll come!' and "Don't stop!" The sweet sounds of barely contained joy. This crazy, sweet conflict would go on as long as her skill could control him.

She watched his whole body, his head, moving from side to side, the tightening of his stomach, the straining tendons in his thighs. Her eyes kept coming back to his beautiful cock. Its glistening head disappearing in and out of the top of her fist. It drew her, her whole body seemed to strain towards it. And that was what made her nearly lose control of him. He tensed, his body went completely still and she eased her hold on him, just steadying his rigid cock with finger and thumb. His body was rigid, he was close, close, close. She blew gently on the head of his cock, cooling it, soothing the quivering nerves. She stared, as motionless as he and waited. His cock twitched just the once and a slow ooze of white boiled out of him and trickled down his shaft into his curls.

The moment was past! 'There must be a name for that,' she thought. It was a beautiful moment for her. Her hand began moving again, slowly oh so slowly, lubricated now with a mix of oil and his come.

"Should we let it happen soon James?" she asked him softly.

"Oh yes," he murmured, "if you don't I think I'll die!"

She smiled and tightened her grip on him and began moving his balls in the cup of her hand, so very, very gently. Now his hips were moving in concert with her hands.

Her own arousal was extreme and in her mind he was thrusting into her pussy not her hand.

This time she just let it happen. Just let her hand stroke him, no thought now of pausing or prolonging. He groaned and said a long soft "Yesss...," Cilla watched in delight as he came. The sudden, beautiful violence of his movements. She held his cock vertical and his juices squirted high and then fell back over her hands and wrists time and again. Over his thighs and belly and into that lovely pubic hair of his. She pressed her face against his cock again and felt his last spasms, like a beautiful heartbeat pulsing against her cheek.

They stayed still and silent for a while as his pulse and breathing slowed. 'What about you?" he asked.

She almost cried that he should ask about her needs. That was a wonderful first. Nobody ever asked slaves if THEY need release!

"I'm fine." she said, almost meaning it. Almost meaning it but acutely aware that her brief costume hadn't coped with her arousal. She climbed, wet-thighed, onto the bed and snuggled against him, stroking his belly with her small, come-slick hand.

Despite the gnawing need between her legs Cilla was happier than she could remember. Perhaps defending her, her mind moved towards sleep and her thoughts drifted back to ninety years hence.

She'd known about the 'doorways' in her office in the basement. Her Master had shown them to her, it was obvious that they worried him. It was several weeks before he confessed that he was too afraid to go near them after seeing his arm disappear into one. Cilla had been off and exploring as soon as his back was turned. She'd chosen to go back but had found seemingly endless dark and dirty basements before trying to go forward. This had produced two 'jumps' before the way was apparently 'turned off'. The next 'forwards' door simply wasn't there and she'd had to come back. Her duties and her Master's antiques business kept her very busy. For the next few weeks she merely glanced at the door from time to time and wondered.

Then James had appeared. His mention of a basement filled with 'stuff' had really piqued her dealer's instincts. His way of speech, his style of dress and that beard. She had instinctively trusted him. Yes, Cilla was glad she'd come visiting.

She awoke to find him watching her. Her body betrayed her before her brain could get control. She wanted him, wanted him badly. All the training and all the conditioning couldn't override this need. She felt tears near and scrambled off the bed, "I don't want to go back!"

He propped himself on an elbow, saying gently, "I don't want you to go back."

When he came down to the kitchen she had a coffee waiting for him. She was sitting at the kitchen table in his bathrobe poring over a thick catalogue. It was open at the lingerie section. She looked up, eyes dancing. "How I'd love to wear this stuff." She made 'this stuff'' sound positively prehistoric.

"Let's take you shopping then," he said mirroring her enthusiasm.

"Wouldn't people stare?" she gestured by pretending to open the robe and reached a hand to touch her hair.

Half an hour later they were walking from his car to the mall. One of his wife's coats had hung in the spare room closet, now it covered Cilla's nakedness. Her hair washed and combed down and to the sides made an almost passable silver page-boy. Her plain silver shoes were no stranger than many being worn around them. Her nakedness under the coat felt wonderful and she knew James must be very aware of it too.

Cilla wondered too how he felt about her, walking with him, wearing his dead wife's coat. She'd seen his face cloud as her helped her into it. Poor James, she wanted to heal him.



Their stomachs were growling by the time Cilla had satisfied her curiosity about clothes and much else. She was like a little girl, flitting wide eyed from store to store. Of course everything was different and she had to see it all. He'd made two trips back to the car with her purchases before she asked about lunch.

She'd loved the restaurant and the strange food. Sitting naked in the coat with people around her. The torment of rough cloth on too sensitive nipples.

Back at the house they'd sat with a pot of tea, full and happy after the big meal. She liked it 'here' she decided. The complicated women's clothes, the food, the freedom to go out and about. She looked across at him. He seemed very happy, the change since he'd stepped though the wall was wonderful to see.

When she announced she had to be going he looked devastated. "I'll be back to see you," she told him gently. "I'll leave all my new clothes with you."

In the bathroom she slipped out of the coat and began putting on her own little red outfit with its silvercollar. The 'slave's collar'! Suddenly she hated it. The still wet fabric pulled snug between her legs had her wanting him again.

They parted in the basement surrounded by dusty boxes and furniture. She thanked him for the clothes. He gallantly said her presence was payment enough. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. She wanted so much more. The wanting ache in the pit of her stomach had never left her since she'd first touched his cock. She'd never felt this screaming longing before. What a beautiful pain it was.

She glanced back and smiled as she stepped through the wall.

Into the grey fog and turn and into 2013. No! It was 2093! Her office! No, not for another eight cycles surely. But it all looked wrong somehow, changed but unchanged. She glanced at the clock, at the year; 2103! Time was now in hundred year bites! Footsteps above her, she froze, then fled.

Back in 'his' basement. The light bright above her head. She was shaking, her knuckles against her teeth.

"James!" she called, then, with an edge of hysteria, she shouted, "James!" She heard his footsteps, his voice, questioning. She couldn't get back! Fear flooded through her ... then a sweet, sweet thought...



cont'd in Part 3 ....................

"Coming and Going" Part 1

After a shamefully long silence, here's a new (well, new here - 2003 ain't new but...) story.
Dedicated to Sharita who says she follows my blog and that it's time I added more.
This is a long one (for me). It has a time travel theme but don't let that put you off - it's really all about fucking ... as my stories tend to be! A fair bit of scene setting too, but it warms up fast enough. So ........ welcome back to "Eroticklyours" ........ enjoy I hope and let me know what you think:



"Coming & Going" (Part 1)



by Julius
copyright 2003


The house was old and what little research I'd done showed that it was built on a much older foundation. Just how far that went back seemed to be anybody's guess. The basement was dark, cold and damp. I'd finally decided to at least explore it and even had some idea of cleaning it out. Maybe build a workshop down there.

I ran an extension cord down the stairs and hung the light on a nail. The place was jammed with furniture and boxes. If I wanted to make a workplace down there I was faced with a long, dirty job.

I blundered about for a while. Opening boxes at random, seemingly endless books and papers filled them. Drawers yielded anything from clothing to cutlery. The former crumbling, the latter black with the years.

I fought my way to the furthest corner. There was an odd little alcove that was invisible from the stairs. On one wall of it were two panels side by side, each about the size of a narrow doorway. They were paler than the surounding stonework. I reached out to touch the surface of one and the scariest thing, my hand went through! I drew the hand back as if I'd been burnt.


I brought the lamp over and hung it on a hook in the beam overhead. I risked another touch with the same result. My hand was unmarked, unharmed. Nerving myself I stepped closer and this time my arm went through to the shoulder. Fear and curiosity, I felt a large measure of both.

I don't know how long I took to get myself right through the 'doorway' but the other side was an anticlimax. Just like standing in a grey fog. No sensation at all except that the floor under my feet was thankfully solid. I simply turned round and stepped back into the basement. Of course I then tried the other 'door' and the result was the same. 'What was this all about?' I wondered, and, 'why two doorways?'

After some pondering the obvious thought occurred and I went out of one portal and moved across a little and tried to pass through the other. It worked! But...


This was a much changed basement. My hanging lamp was gone, now the only light came down the stairs and the whole place seemed empty. Noises too in the house above me! Heart bumping under my ribs I slowly crossed to the stairs and very cautiously crept up them. Peering over the top step I could see into the kitchen. A young woman was at the sink, washing up. On the fridge door was a calendar. 2013! Dear God, ten years in the future! Slowly I backed down the stairs and I reversed my route back to 'my' basement. I stumbled upstairs and got a beer from the fridge and sat down, heavily.

Well, it seemed that the other basement had been cleaned out and presumably I'd sold the place or had I remarried? Who was the girl? Maybe I was dead. Dead in 2013! In the end of course I went back downstairs.

If 'going out' and then 'coming back' took me forward ten years, would two cycles produce a twenty year jump? And of course, would going the other way take me back to 1993? For now maybe the forward trip would be best or maybe I should have another beer? Procrastination comes easy when faced with time travel so I went to get one. I took the rechargeable flashlight off the wall too and headed back downstairs.

I stood for quite a while in front of the two doorways and sipped beer and idly thumbed the switch of the flashlight. The sound was oddly loud in the basement's gloom. Was this how Columbus felt when he yelled for the moorings to be cast off? I moved towards the pale patch in the wall.

Twice out and twice back in, via that first dark empty cellar. This time I arrived in pitch darkness. I clicked on the flashlight. Boxes and furniture this time and a bicycle. The bike and the furniture looked odd to my eyes. What year was this? I crossed to the stairs and crept upwards. The door at the top was closed. I opened it, oh so carefully. The house was deserted I was almost sure. I crossed to the table, there was a newspaper on it. Sure enough 2023!

I headed 'home' and that night slept little ... I had a time machine in the basement! Not easy to sleep with that sort of knowledge for company.

I must have dozed off eventually. My bedroom was bright with sunshine when I awoke. Hungry, and halfway to the kitchen before thoughts of the basement and its secret popped into mind! Well, it was Sunday and I had nothing planned. I made a big breakfast and sat down to eat. I told myself I'd have more coffee and then do the crossword. Who was I kidding? I did manage to dress and brush my teeth but that was all. The basement drew me like a magnet.

I stood under the naked bulb and stared at the wall. I'd half hoped I'd dreamt it but the two portals were still very much there.

By lunchtime I'd spun my way, basement by basement, through to 2083. Eighty years in ten year jumps. The contents changed very noticeably over the years but it never became anything but a storage area come dumping place. I met and befriended a tabby cat in 2053 but that was all in the way of encountering anybody. I was lucky I suppose, hard to explain your presence to a Rottweiller or a startled homeowner when you appear in their basement. I stopped then, hungry and feeling very grubby. I was in no doubt by then how things worked.

I took a long hot shower. I'd go on after lunch until the century's end and then maybe try going the other way. Into the past, if it worked that way. I assumed it would, after all I kept bringing myself back to 'now' OK.

I drove over to the mall, had a sub and a coffee and looked around at my fellow diners. I bet they'd not had a Sunday morning like mine.

Back in the basement I stood and contemplated 2093 and 2103 or at least the doorway to them. I stepped forward ...

The dirty old basement was gone! Well, not gone but completely changed. Furnished now as an office. Even ninety years in the future an office was somehow still an office. Chairs and desk and much that I recognised or at least more or less recognised.

I froze as I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. She was swiveling slowly in her chair. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

I simply stood and stared. Clothing styles had changed!

"I wondered if anyone would ever appear," she gestured at the alcove behind me. Her English was strangely accented but easy enough to understand. She controlled her shock very well.

"Is staring considered complementery wherever ... er... whenever you come from?"

"I'm sorry, yes of course, no ... it's ill-mannered," I was almost stammering, "it's just that fashions have changed in a hundred years."

She stood up, stretched her arms out from her sides and cocked a hip and smiled, "Do you approve?"

I certainly did and tried to tell her so. I doubted I'd ever be able to talk to her unless I closed my eyes.

Her hair, at least the Mohican strip that remained of it, was silver. Like the punk styles of many years ago. She wore nothing but a triangle of brilliant green fabric that looked sprayed on. Its apex disappeared between her thighs. It widened as it rose, to cover her breasts and shoulders. She was lovely! Lovely but very 'different', from her armpits dense tufts of coppery curls sprouted. What little there was of the 'garment' between her legs simply divided another bush of copper. Damn it! I didn't know where to look.

She reached for a robe draped over the chair and slipped it on. I didn't know whether to be glad or sorry. She was tall, she'd match my five eleven if she wore heels. She laughed, a pretty sound, "Does the sight of me disturb you?"

"Given the style of that outfit it would be surprising if it didn't."

"When is your time?"

"2003, just ninety years ago." The words shocked me when I heard myself say them.

She seemed to ponder that for a while and suddenly said, "We could go into business together."

"How?"

"I deal in antiques," she waved at the desk, "supplying demands."

I gestured around me, "The old basement has changed, the one I left is, or was, filled with treasures."

"Really?" her eyes were alight at the thought.

"You should take a look sometime," The craziness of the remark made me smile, asking this lovely creature back to see my etchings ... 'it's only ninety years away,' I thought.

She glanced at the stairs nervously and I asked, "Is there someone you should tell?" Her eyebrow went up and she smiled a strange smile.

"My master controls the house and the house controls me," she sounded both sad and proud. "He's away on business, this is my daytime room," she gestured around her. She glanced at a clock, "I have four hours before I must go to the eating area". She reached for my hand and headed for the wall and 'my place'. I'd looked at the clock when she did, odd somehow to see that the time 'here' matched the time 'there'.

I counted aloud through the decades as we went back, hand in hand. Her trust surprised me. I was achingly aware of her nearness, the wonderful woman scent of her, no hint of perfume, just the lovely presence there in the dark that seemed to subtly say 'I am woman'. We circled doorway to doorway to doorway like childen playing a game. Suddenly, we emerged, squinting, after eight darknesses into 'my' basement with it's painfully bright, hundred watt bulb.

I said "I'm James."

"Cilla," she told me and pulled open a drawer and said "Ooh!"

"I'll make us some coffee," I said and headed for thestairs. Look around all you like".

While the coffee perked I stood, staring out of the kitchen window, lost in thought. The name, Cilla, the feel of her small hand, the incredible travel back and forth, her strange beauty, what to do about it all. For the first time in months, I felt really alive.

Her words startled me, "These figurines are beautiful. Worth a small fortune in my time."

"Do they still have coffee in your time?" I handed her a mug and slid the cream jug across the table.

She leaned her elbows on the table and held the mug between her hands. The robe gaped open and the green fabric shimmered inside. I felt arousal stirring. Her eyes were brown, her skin midway between milk chocolate and honey. A full-lipped, white-toothed smile and that strange silver mane of hair over her naked scalp.

"And you look strange to my eyes," she said softly, close to echoing my thoughts. "My master is very fashionable, no hair at all, not anywhere."

I chuckled, my hair and beard badly needed a trim and I had hair everywhere. She reached out a beautifully kept hand and ran fingertips up my arm. It was like a light electric shock. I broke out in gooseflesh and she gave a little squeal of delight, "Just like an animal!" Her hand flew to her mouth and she went crimson. "I'm so sorry, that was unforgiveable!"

I thought it funny and laughed at her embarrassment. "It doesn't matter, we prehistoric males must look very primitive." I was silent for a moment, "Anyway our females are headed for complete hairlessness at the moment I think; except for the head."

"Even ...?" she began a downward gesture with her hand but stopped.

"Very often, even there."

She looked a little uncomfortable and I tried to put her at ease. "You look very different but very, very attractive."

"Do you have a woman?"

"She died, nearly a year ago." I smiled at the thought of how Peggy would have reacted to 'my having her as a woman.'

"I'm sorry, you must be lonely."

Instead of saying that I was fine I simply said, "yes, I am."

Her hand caressed my arm again and it felt wonderful.

We finished our coffee and went downstairs. She stood and gestured around the basement. "So much treasure. Surely much of it has great sentimental value?"

I laughed, "None of it's mine; well it is but it was here when I bought the house and its contents. Take it all if you like, most of it is probably worthless."

"I would like that, but how would I pay you."

"Let me give it to you."

She glanced at a tiny watch on her wrist and a worried frown crossed her face. "I must be going, perhaps we can meet again."

I didn't like that 'perhaps'. She moved towards the alcove and I followed her.

"I must be out of the office at the proper time," she explained. It made little sense to me. She seemed pleased when I insisted on seeing her home. Travelling ninety years seemed suddenly easy.

Fifteen minutes later I was back at my own place, my own time, staring unseeing at the dimly lit basement trying to convince myself I hadn't dreamt it all. How I missed her presense! I turned and looked at the wall. Yes, the panels were there glowing yet not glowing. I was mere feet from Cilla but nearly a century away. I shook my head. I'd asked her if I could visit her again tomorrow. She'd hesitated and then said, "Come earlier." Then she'd brightened, "Maybe I shall come and see you."

Next morning there was a difference in the air. For the first time in a year I knew I hadn't woken to an empty house. I knew somehow who the company was, sensing her standing by the bed. I'd awoken lying on my stomach and I turned my head, opening one eye.

Not eighteen inches away was that shock of red pubic hair divided today not by green but by brilliant red. "That kitchen of yours is a museum!" said the owner of the curls from above me.

I didn't reply but just studied the prominent swell of her mound. The strange cloth outlined every contour, including the deep divide that disappeared down and back between her thighs. I so much wanted to reach out and touch those curls, feel them with the backs of my fingers. They had to be tinted surely? They were too red to be natural. I needed a leak badly and my cock was advertising the fact in its usual fashion aided, no doubt, by the nearness of Cilla's pussy. "I brought you a coffee, it may not taste correct."

I figured I could roll over AND conceal my masculinity but from the grin and the widening of her eyes I knew I'd not quite managed it. I sat with the sheet over me and looked up at her.

"Males keep all their body hair in this time," she sounded shocked.

"Well, you look very unusual to my eyes," I said, then adding quickly, "but the differences are very attractive." In fact, now that the initial surpise had worn off, I thought she bordered on beautiful.

She turned and left the bedroom, to get her coffee she said. But her departure gave me a look at the sweetest of asses. Effectively naked with just a strip of red coming up out from between those perfect, dimpled buttocks. Up to a silver collar around her neck. God,what an ass! She was barefoot and oh, the wiggle she had!

She returned with her coffee and sat at the foot of the bed. I wondered about the strip of cloth between her legs when she sat down like that. What it was doing to her and where was it getting? My cock hardened a little more, not easy.

I sat and looked at her profile. The house was morning chilly although it was only mid-Autumn and her nipples were very prominent. Hard to guess about her breasts. They seemed big but the fabric was tight and flattened them, perhaps bras had gone the way of male body hair? Oh but she was lovely! Her armpit hair was plain to see, a soft, small cloud of red curls at the front and just a few wisps at the back. Some reflected sunlight caught the silver of her Mohican. 'Let her stay all day!' I begged silently.

"Look, I've got to use the bathroom." I said quietly, figiting.

She turned and smiled, "Good."

"Good?"

"Yes, I've never seen a male with pubic hair before," her voice seemed to bubble with laughter.

I was embarassed and very conscious of my hardness. I decided I could wait a little while longer.

"A year without a woman, it must be lonely," she gestured to my groin area. 'It' was very lonely I thought. I'd got along fine, with my left hand, but... Suddenly, I wanted her very, very much.

Did it show in my eyes I wonder? She said, "I must not be unfaithful to my master but I would be happy to give you a massage." My cock actually twitched when she said the word massage.

She went on to explain that all slaves were obliged to take many courses, including massage.

All this master and slave stuff seemed rather out of place ninety years in the future or so I thought and I said so, rather hesitantly. I was getting to the knee pressing stage with my bladder now but hung on. "Pregnancies have to be government approved," she was saying, "my mother's was illegal and was scheduled for termination. A man with influence can cheat the law and my master bought me as a slave while I was still in the womb, it is a common practice."

"I will get my bag," she said, getting up. I happily watched that ass again and then swung my legs out of bed.

We all but collided in the doorway and I had to juststand while she looked.

"You did that purposely!" I said while my cock waved at her defiantly. It does things like that!

"Perhaps," she murmured, "we both have red hair I see, yours is prettier I think."

Minutes later I was on the bed again, face down.Persuading me had taken no time at all. She had blindfolded me explaining that it would focus my mind on the massage. It seemed to me that she'd planned all this; antique dealers of the future may be a force to be reckoned with!

My heavens but she was good! I lost track of time and place. I forgot perhaps about the lovely creature weaving this magic. My feet and calves then thighs. A delicious interlude while she worked on my ass. The incredible hands and fingers kneading and caressing, finally going between, exploring and teasing. The new erection was every bit as blissfully hard as its predecessor.

When she moved to my back my arousal was slowly forgotten, at one point I fell asleep and she had to waken me. Muscles seemed to unlock in my shoulders and neck and I felt better than I'd felt in many a long month.

She made me turn over then. How shy and vulnerable I felt! Attractive though she was, she was a stranger. Lying there, blindfolded, with my genitals exposed like that required a real effort of will. But there was something about this strange girl that made me trust her. "Well aren't you different?" she said very quietly and I felt the caress of her breath on my thigh. No doubt all the primitive hair, ... but seemingly it was more than that, "I'd heard of the practice of trimming the end of the cock before but ... "

Her gentle fingers touched the head of my cock and of course it began to rear erect. She squealed in surprise and delight. I opened my eyes and realised Icould just see her from under the bottom of the blindfold. My turn to be surprised. She'd unfastened the top of the costume and fastened it somehow around her waist. Her breasts were exquisite. Free of the tight fabric they swung with sweet heaviness at every movement she made.

Her hand closed over my erection and squeezed. I groaned.


contd in Part 2 .................

"age we may - but the lust? - it fadeth not - I pray" .............. Read more of my stories at: http://eroticklyours.blogspot.com/