MS FRANKENSTEIN

 

PERSONAL LOG ENTRY - Day 211:

I finally solved the transition factor problem. My schematic is ready. Lord, what a day. I got, maybe, three hours of sleep. Then, this morning, it came to me.

 

He walked through a wall and into the room like a ghost, directly to me. I stared into his eyes, his placid, comforting eyes, saw him smile, familiar and . . . enticing.

Aware of my own breathing, I realized I was still dressed. It seemed odd, being clothed in what I knew was a sexual dream, but I disregarded the thought. He knelt before me and gently pulled my shoes and stockings from my feet. Then he placed the bottom of my foot against his chest and his heartbeat reverberated from ankle to hip. More than his pulse, I felt his magic. Just as I knew the inside of the apple without seeing it, I knew the essence of this man. I knew he was beyond real, capable of satisfying me completely by means . . . supernatural.

The warmth and realness of his skin punched into my heart like a shout. I flinched, my body jolted in the chair, and my arms banged into the control console. My breathing heavy, I blinked, trying to change the vision.

But he remained. He stood and leaned over me. Putting a knee on the seat between my legs for leverage, he placed his hands on my breasts, gently kneading me through my T-shirt.

I wanted to close my eyes and soak in the feeling but I didn’t dare lose the vision. I held his eyes with mine, his sparkling, clear, friendly, loving eyes, and I said, “Touch me.”

 

His arms came about me like a breeze and we coiled around each other, pressing together, his come on my tits becoming this emollient for our bodies, squishing between us, gluing us together. His lips fell upon mine gently but fevered, his tongue tasting himself in my mouth.

This made up for so much time alone. So many nights alone. Now I could have him. Have him any time. I could have an army of “him’s”. But now, this moment, it was just this one. He was everything I needed. Everything sublime and fulfilling. For a moment I wished he wouldn’t vanish in the hour.

His hands squeezed between us, to my breasts, his palms cupping my breasts, his tongue in my mouth, his cock an iron bar at my crotch, and I unbuttoned my pants, let him peel them down, his face falling away, to my navel. A quick kiss, a lick, and my pants were off. Then he dragged my undies down, but so slowly, drawing attention to the sensation of being exposed, of being stripped totally naked right here in my lab. Yes, it belonged to me, it was my lab, but it wasn’t my bedroom, for crying out loud, this was out in the open, and it thrilled me, freed me, excited me. And when his mouth crushed against my pussy, his tongue found my clit, I couldn’t hold back! I grabbed his head, threw a leg over his shoulder and mashed into that perfect face, that inhuman tongue, and lightning struck instantly! Struck and gouged into me and I shattered against his face and shattered again and again and it came too fast, but I bucked into his mouth, pumped and pumped and wept as I shattered over and over hanging on desperately, wringing every drop of electricity from his mouth, squashing against his mouth, smearing against his mouth, his gnawing lips, and . . . and . . .

Before the last spasm faded he stood, dragging his chest against me on the way up, letting my leg and foot fall to the floor, wobbling. He held me by my waist, and I needed it. I wanted more, but couldn’t focus. I wanted to command him, but needed to recover.

Then he turned me to face the chair. I would have fallen into it, but he held me by my waist and I leaned into it, bent forward at the hips, my ass in his hands.

“Spread your legs for me,” he said, and his voice gave me sweet shivers.

 

I wanted to linger, wanted to torture him with ecstasy, but the texture, the gooey cream on my nipple so intoxicated me, I fell on his cock with my lips. I sucked him in, filling my mouth with the flaming, enchanted staff of heat raging between his legs, and I pushed his knees wider, my head rising and falling, our groans bouncing off one another. I wanted to put a hand to my lap, yearned for pressure on my clit, but this spread of thighs in my face kept my lips stroking and slurping, his hips twitching.

His hands gripped my head, fingers entwining in my hair, and pulled me against him, his cock growing even larger, and I wanted to escape, but prayed he wouldn’t let me. I had taken too much, I’d gone too far, but his legs tightened, muscles torqued, and he pushed my face down again and again and I wanted him all the way down my throat. He humped my face, my lips hitting his pubic bone, again, again, spit spraying, and his cock, his cock, his splendid, stiff cock reaching right down to my stomach and he ruptured with a shout, oh, a sweet shout of, “AH! . . . UHN! . . . YES!” as he filled me with come, squirting down my throat until it was coming out again. And with every lunge his come spurted from my lips, splashed back up to my face, and more and more. I guzzled and gulped, so full of his come it squirted from my own pussy, squirted with my pulse, pounding and gulping and squirting until the seizure of thunder struck me, straight up my cunt, my cunt squirting his come. And I wrenched with rapture, his cock down my throat, and wrenched again, and again . . . again . . . AGAIN! . . . and . . .

I quivered uncontrollably. The wrenching eased . . . ebbed . . . faded . . . and his cock slipped from my lips, my lips drooling with sperm to his thighs, his spread open thighs.

I unbuttoned my jeans and peeled them off, kicked them aside. Standing over him, a foot on each side of his chest, I put a hand into my panties, already saturated, already viscid and gummy. But I wanted more. I wanted to shower him with my come, drench him, drown him, but also wanted to tease him by concealing myself.

My thighs open directly above his head, I looked down, past my crotch, right to his face, his confident, peaceful face. His eyes lingered on my panties, his mouth slightly open. Then his eyes moved up to meet mine.

“Finger fuck your pussy,” he said, and they were the exact words I needed to hear. They struck me like a needle, and when I pressed two fingers up inside, my undies flooded with cream. I groaned as the fluid spewed out of me as though from a faucet, gushing over my hand, filling my panties. My fingers sloshed inside me and my thighs trembled as my come dripped, and when I looked down at him a thread of come, like clear honey, trailed in slow motion from my panties to fall to his lips and cheek. He licked, drawing my come into his mouth, and my pussy blossomed, sparkling and bright, and I humped against my fingers, blossomed again, watched my come drain onto his face, his tongue, and I blossomed again, and “aaAAHHH!” I cried — and I mean wept — as my hips flinched, my fingers gripped my cunt and I blossomed again and showered him with my come, a torrential spray of come raining on his face, his open mouth, until I gave up watching, closed my eyes tight and blossomed and BLOSSOMED and CRIED and . . .

The blossoming diminished, bled into a dizzy descent, fresh and clean and still buzzing between my legs, and I was moving, flying, falling, spinning, until he caught me, his hands on my calves, pulling gently, and I couldn’t believe I was still standing, now bending, my trembling knees bending. Soon sitting on his chest, sitting with a squish, my come stuck to my thighs, I focused on him, on his face, glistening with my come, shiny and smiling.

That smile.

 

COPYRIGHT 2003 CHAZ THOMPSON