By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2002 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

“Wake up, baby.”
Sean opened his eyes slowly. Cassandra was sitting astride him, dripping lotion across her shoulders, along her arms and over her breasts that hung well below her tiny waist. She cradled her tits with one arm and squeezed more oil under them, over her belly and across her slender thighs. She leaned over him, dragging her heavy tits across his bare chest, taunting him before placing the container on the bedside table. Oil dripped lazily from her body onto his.

Sean reached for her.

“Don’t touch. Just watch,” she commanded.

With languid grace she began to spread oil over her body. She lifted her chin and smoothed the length of her swan-like neck with slender hands. She caressed her breasts and teased her hardening nipples. Crossing her arms to rub her shoulders, she squeezed her massive breasts to bursting and then let them fall apart; hid them and then lay them bare. She massaged her arms, belly and thighs until her skin glistened all over.

Sean could feel his cock pulsing and twitching under her seeping cunt and ever-shifting ass. She had pinned his dick against his belly and he wanted to grab her and grab himself so badly that his balls ached. But he couldn’t move. She had commanded, “Don’t touch,” and he might as well have been bound in chains because he couldn’t move.

“I need … ”

“Pleasure,” she whispered coyly, her voice liquid sex.
Sean felt his right foot slipping into the crevice between her mountainous breasts. The sensation sent an electric current straight to his groin. His toes swam in a pool of warm saliva as her tongue slipped snake-like between them, separating them, pressing them this way and that. And then his other foot was being tit-fucked, sucked and massaged. Sean was adrift in an erotic haze. Every part of his body seemed to be connected to his heart, which pounded dangerously and to his cock, which had reached new heights in stature and horniness. She seemed to be everywhere. Her tits hugged his legs, then his cock, belly and chest. She blanketed him with her oily breasts, her fingers stroked and her mouth, teeth and flickering tongue seduced him relentlessly.

“Please, let me … ”
“Cum?”
She moved quickly, kidnapping his cock inside her breasts’ deep cleavage. She pressed her tits against the length of his cock.
“Fuck them, Sean. Do ‘em, Sean. Fuck ‘em til you cum.”

She leered down at him, an incredibly beautiful beast in heat. She was all power.
He began to thrust. She squeezed and released. They moved as one, one pumping, grinding fuck-machine. Her tongue darted to capture a large gob of pre-cum from his tip. She swallowed and then licked her lips lasciviously. She pressed her dripping pussy against his leg.

“I’m cumming, Sean. I’m cumming!”

He thrust his leg past her lips and onto her hard knob.

“Sean … Sean …. Sean …,” she growled hoarsely.

And Sean shot his load from the bottom of his rigid body. From the deepest recesses of his primitive soul and he came and came and came.

After a while she slithered onto him. “Hold me,” she whispered. They clung to each other. They rolled onto their sides and kissed, their tongues lost in the swim, their breaths mixing to create new erotic chemistries. Totally spent, they soon drifted off to sleep.

The morning light streamed mercilessly into Sean’s bedroom, forcing him awake.
Empty arms, empty bed; Sean was alone. His body felt weary and saturated with sex. Cassandra?
His balls tingled at the memory of her and he reached for his cock, past the sticky, messy goo that had deposited itself obscenely on his belly. He stroked himself soothingly.
“Ah, that’s good,” he said.

His head was a jumble of thoughts and memories.
He’d made love to Cassandra, fallen asleep in her arms and awakened alone. What had happened to her? How had she disappeared?
Reality and illusion fought for supremacy, laying waste his capacity for rational thought. He could still smell her sex, hear her voice, feel the texture of her skin rubbing against his. Still feel the oil on his body. But how could that be? Cassandra was a character in his novel, a figment of his imagination. Cassandra wasn’t real … but he believed she was.

Sean pulled his duvet up to his neck. He felt cold. He didn’t understand what was happening to him and he was always anxious. When had all of this started? He had to try to unravel it. He’d start at the beginning.

When he was about eleven years old, Sean had crept up on a group of senior boys in the locker room at school. They were huddled over what Sean discovered was a naked pin-up. They’d caught him gaping over their shoulders and he’d been beaten up for his trouble. But he’d taken his licks and fast-talked himself into an unholy alliance with the bully of the bunch. Every month, for the rest of his High School days, that same bully would deliver a tattered second-hand copy of a girlie magazine. It cost Sean a week’s allowance but it was well worth it. Because each month, with adolescent hormones raging, he’d greedily devour each picture in the book, stroking his cock to orgasmic ecstasy. Then, with only himself and his cock as judge and jury, he’d pick his favorite girl and pen his ‘STORY OF THE MONTH’. And so began Sean’s writing career.

Sean continued with his stories all through high school and by the time he moved on to university, writing had become his life’s blood. His adolescent fantasies had evolved into full-length complex short stories and he had disciplined himself to write at least a few pages every night. By the end of Sean’s second year in university, he’d begun plotting his first novel, which he finished just before graduation. After graduation, he took a part-time job writing copy for an advertising agency and set about peddling his novel. He sold it about a year later to a mass paperback publisher who put him on contract. Twelve novels later, he was writing full time, eking out a modest living and quite satisfied with his life.

“My life was normal then,” Sean mused, glancing at the clock on his bedside table. 8:08 AM. Good. He didn’t have to be at the agency until 11:00 AM. He closed his eyes and continued to inventory his life.

His last and thirteenth novel, “Cassandra’s Way,” was the story of the relationship between a reclusive and forbidding millionaire and the bright young woman he’d hired to run his household. His demands for perfection and a complete absence of any personal or emotional interaction backfired when he became drawn and then totally obsessed with Cassandra. She was the flame, warm, seductive, intriguing, beautiful and totally irresistible. He was the moth, warmed, seduced, intrigued, and left helplessly under her spell. Inevitably, he ended up on his knees, her humble and very willing servant.

Sean remembered typing the story outline and then whimsically, rummaging through his trunk for a picture that had been his childhood favorite. He’d found it in a ‘Women Over Forty’ issue of a lingerie catalogue. The woman was about 5’9” and modeled a black silk V-necked nightgown. The sleek material clung to her luscious curves. Her magnificent breasts overflowed from the bodice and her cleavage was a direct line to heaven. Dark curly hair fell heavily below her shoulders and her mysterious gray eyes seemed to look right through him. How Sean loved that picture! He’d meticulously removed the page from the magazine, placed it carefully in a plastic frame and set it next to his computer. What an inspiration, he’d thought.

As soon as he’d started work on the novel, he’d begun dreaming about Cassandra. The dreams were so vivid that he’d wake up at odd hours of the night, his pulse racing with the compulsion to write. He’d rush to his computer and pound out whole chapters as if he were reporting rather than creating a story. The novel seemed to be writing itself.

And then came the morning he’d never forget. He’d been up most of the night writing and after only a couple of hours’ sleep had gone back to his computer. He’d been daydreaming, staring mindlessly at the picture when the woman began to move. The picture frame had become a TV screen and the woman began to smile at him. Sean had jerked away from the desk, almost falling off his chair. He’d looked away, stretching his eyes wide in an effort to clear his vision. When he looked back, she was not only smiling but had shifted her body and was leaning forward provocatively.

Sean’s heart was beating out of his chest. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing and he couldn’t believe that his cock was getting rock hard as he gazed at her huge swaying tits. Fear and desire are a potent mixture and Sean found himself urgently stroking his cock through his jeans, wishing it were her hands instead of his own. Involuntarily, his free hand reached for the picture, wanting … more. But there was no more. The movie was over and the picture was standing still in its frame.

Something changed for Sean after that. He was always restless and horny, always wanting Cassandra. He’d write with one eye on the picture frame, willing her to come to life. Sometimes she would and often she wouldn’t. He stopped taking care of himself. He’d go for days without shaving or showering, stopping to eat only when the griping hunger pangs got in the way of his work. He’d resent having to go out, even for essentials and when he did, he’d search for her in the street or along the aisles of the supermarket or drugstore.

Despite all this madness, Sean finished his novel in four short months. 200,000 words … and maybe the loss of his sanity. He remembered typing the words: THE END. He remembered the relief, the joy. He felt like a woman who had given birth. Tears ran down his cheeks and through his tears he’d noticed the picture … quivering and then dissolving into nothingness. The frame sat empty on his desk and Cassandra appeared magically beside him. She took his hand and led him to the couch. Sean followed happily and obediently. He felt no more resistance. Sean believed that Cassandra was real and furthermore, he loved her with all his heart and soul.

She sat on his lap, her tits pressed against his chest.

“I’m so proud of you,” she’d said, touching his face lovingly.

She drew his head to her bosom, smothering his face in her warm flesh. He could feel his whole body falling into her cleavage. Into her …

She’d pulled back, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“I want to make you happy. You deserve to be very happy.”
She took his hands and placed them on her huge tits. His hands looked small as he fondled them greedily. She squirmed with pleasure, rotating her ass and pussy against his cock. She climbed off him.
“Hurry,” she said. “Show me. I want to see your cock. I want to feel your cock inside me.”
Sean’s breath came in ragged gasps as he struggled with his zipper. Success! His incredibly long and abnormally thick cock sprang free. And then she was on him. Sean felt her heat and then her wetness. Her pussy juices seemed to be flooding over him, raining warmly over his balls and running along the crease of his ass. She squeezed, released and twitched her cunt muscles, an exquisite bit of choreography that brought him to the edge and pulled him back … again and again and again.

“Are you ready, baby?”
Sean nodded.

She rode him high, kissing and nibbling his head with her thick pussy lips. She rode him low, her cunt devouring and controlling every inch of him. She eased off, making him beg, inviting his hips to thrust maniacally. And then she was back and they were growling, thrusting and fucking in a mating ritual that soon reached that point … climax or death … and so they came, speaking words that had no meaning.

Sean had slumped against the couch, either passed out or asleep and when he came to or awakened, she was gone … from the couch and from the picture frame.