Hannah held onto the headboard as if restrained by her own volition. The steady pounding of my pelvis as my cock drove into her 19-year-old, tight, gorgeous sex made wet, filthy noises that could be recorded and used by sound editors for the perfect essence of sexual supplication.

My hands behind her knees, pushing up to her shoulders, were turning white; gripping so tight. Still this gorgeous, busty, blonde southern goddess begged me to go harder.

“Fuck me like a whore who stole from you!”

I know we will both have bruises when we are done with this, our fifth fuck in 24 hours, but they will be colors proudly worn by both of us.

“Or something like that… I haven’t quite gotten all of the specifics lined up, but I really want her to be begging me to fuck her.”

I wait for Klaus’ response in the messages on Lush and all I get are three infuriating dots dancing about.

Finally, after an excruciating 90 seconds, he responds with the simple, “…whatever you want.”

Umm…?

Klaus is a friend of mine.

Klaus is Norwegian and does not like the spotlight.

Klaus is one of the finest writers that I’ve ever known.

He’s also a pain in my fucking ass (both good and bad).

^^^^

While I promise there will be some good sex in this, it’s not so much a story as me getting a bunch of frustrations off my chest... while also indulging some kinky obsessions I’ve been having. And I feel, “Kink is in the eye of the person receiving the orgasm.”

"It is ironic that Lush is having an Obsession Competition yet there is no "obsession" category/genre."

Yes, Klaus, I know that. Could you please not interrupt? I’m trying to explain why my twisted brain wants to manifest a fictional character for sexual encounters.

"Isn’t that what fantasy is in its purest essence? The smoky wisps of 'what may be' coalescing into conjured sensations…?"

Yeah, OK… We get it, you like words.

I would like to acknowledge that there is also not a genre for celebrated fictional character sex.

No fanfic here. Just man-dick.

“That's not very funny, Matt.”

Goodbye Klaus.

^^^^

Is he gone? Good...

If there were an alternate universe version of Lush, I would be right on point to be creating a story where I, an aging retired teacher with a thing for redheads, black women, and pregnancy kink, would have sex with a fictional character written by a fellow Lushian.

Now before anyone gets their knickers/panties in a twist or a bunch-

(While I can imagine it would be uncomfortable for anyone wearing said twisted/bunched undergarment, it escapes me why it is a metaphor for being unnecessarily irritated. Seems to me it would be a very valid reason to be irritated. And don't get me started on the sexist, hysterical implications in said metaphor.)

-Klaus gave me permission to use his masterpiece, Hannah.

Not use sexually, although that will happen, but as a character in my own story. Which hasn't gotten past the intro and is already a whopping 497 words. (It was 495 but I added "a whopping").

Klaus_B_Renner, formerly dogme, wrote a brilliant story series about a college freshman at Harvard. Hannah Reed is a Georgian Psych Major (Georgian Psych is not a specific area of study in the field; she's just from the state of Georgia) with a killer blonde bombshell body and a libido that plans on tearing down every pre-existing definition of safe sex (physical, mental, ethical, emotional). If you have read the series, you know also that her mind is more brilliant than any other she meets, whether occupying the cranium of man, woman, or person with a degree. She intellectually challenges every professor and arrogant peacock she meets and always sways away triumphant and soaking her panties, if she is wearing any.

When I started reading Klaus, it was with interest in another series he had written, Veronica: one of the most beautiful stories of someone transitioning that I think I’ve ever read.

So here’s the problem I find myself in… I am obsessed with this man in his writing.

That obsession has turned into quite the crush that for some ungodly reason I have manifested into ridiculous fantasies of flying across the ocean to Norway and spending a weekend listening to heavy metal—him drinking me eating… And lots and lots of sex.

Klaus enjoys my flattery and attention, yet sex is off the table. So why do I keep coming back to that fantasy? Could it be that dark, brooding Nordic persona that draws me like insects to a bright light? I know I wanna be close to it, unaware that it may eventually hurt me. More on him later.

Back to Hannah.

Applying her intellectual superiority is her go-to catalyst for arousal lubrication.

She has lovers and partners yet struggles with love and partnering. She knows every analytical take on sex ever written and calls on authors and theorists regularly. She is a big fan of Foucault, someone I had to look up. (Klaus is a pain in the ass - see above.)

All this to say, I fell in lust with her after the second chapter and her first lesbian encounters with her fearless black roommate Shavonne.

Hannah is a bisexual, blonde force of mind-opening-mind-numbing nature and is sexy AF. She does three holes and even likes to take facials. Don't get me started on her cunnilingus prowess.

She would have me as if I were hypnotized. BTW: I know that consent is necessity for sexual interaction, but why the fuck is there a genre called “mind control”? Is the belief that if the controlled partner has an orgasm or enjoys themselves, they are giving consent?

“My body (pussy) betrayed me!” is a trope I have read in more stories than I care to count. Almost as bad as “It fit her like a second skin.“

So here is just one scenario floating around in my fucked-up vision.

FANTASY TAKE ONE

While visiting an old friend at Harvard, I, Matt, a slightly pudgy balding writer, with killer green eyes, walk into a bar near Cambridge Mass and see a vision in a short skirt and a bra-less tank top doing shots whilst arguing Kant with a bunch of troglodytes that would put the "How do you like them apples?" dumbasses to shame. (Run-ons are sexy… trust me.)

After striking up a conversation about sexual hygiene and day-drinking, Hannah introduces herself. I charm her (offer to buy her drinks and explain my take on Skinner) and we head back to my hotel.

In the Uber, we fuck with her riding me. Then I get a blowjob in the elevator, before spending the night arguing Disney's sexual imagery and the rightful place of School of Rock as the best school/education comedy ever.

She drinks... a lot.

I eat chocolate and popcorn, and we fuck in every possible position that my old body can handle.

She is a magician trying out new methods, making her own satisfaction the ultimate prestige.

My favorite is from behind, but holding her up in an arch, my hand around her neck, my other pulling her hair. It is brutal and something I have never done, but I execute admirably per her request.

“Make me fucking feel it, Old Man!”

Perhaps there is some witchcraft in her psychological seduction.

She even fucks me while I am snoring loudly, having left my CPAP at home, thinking I was going to be alone this week. I take her word for it as she claims I never woke but still came. Sleep sex... a first for me.

Witchcraft.

END SCENE

I believe it is important to note that Hannah is a whore. She calls herself that several times in the stories. Because, spoiler alert, she does eventually take money for sex from strangers. I would like to think of a “whore” as anyone who has sex merely for transactional reasons. In this case, Hannah absolutely loves sex and likes to get it every day at least once. So, does that make her a slut? Or is she also a whore? I leave you to ponder that the next time you write a story.

"I am a whore."

Um, Hannah?! How the fuck did you get in my narration?!

"I am a witch, or so you say."

"I thought you were a whore?"

Klaus!

Hannah laughs. Even her laugh has a southern lilt. "That's okay. Daddy's correct. I am both. Now where is this all goin', Matt?"

Hold up, can we talk about you calling Klaus, 'Daddy'?"

"He created me..." I stare as my derailed mind tries to right itself. "Do we have to present a diagram?"

Okay, Klaus is Daddy.

"Excellent."

Isn’t calling yourself a whore accepting a lack of morality?

“If you want to talk about morality, we’re gonna need much more than a 5000-word story on an erotica website that caters mostly to men your age. Please, I can do 5000 words on morality while getting fucked on a Saturday night, writing half of it mid-thrust.”

“Hey, that’s from my chapter two!”

(You said I could use the character, but I can’t use what she says? That doesn’t make sense.

“Salient point, Daddy.”

“Norwegian swearing.”)

Wait, if Klaus is Daddy, what does that make me?

"A horny, clumsy, balding, chubby man of indistinction with a cock curve the best engineers would admire."

I blush. Thank you, Hannah.

^^^^

See, this is what I mean. She insulted me and complimented me in the same sentence but made sure the positive came after the negative so that is what I would remember of the whole exchange while subconsciously being taken down a peg. (Run-ons are sexy.)

I even crave her negativity…

In his missives, I think Klaus' strongest skill is his use of metaphor and simile. "He walked through the door, perfectly filling a suit that looked like it owned the room more than the man wearing it."

"I would never write that. That's shit...."

Can you not, please? I am trying to pay you a compliment.

"Oh, unnskyld (‘sorry' in Norwegian.)"

His apology stumbled like a drunk finding the wrong car.

(He loves the word "like"... probably because he used to be Canadian. See his profile.)

Back to Hannah - which was a great position where she was stroking me while grinding her wet vulva against my tailbone, her nipples attempting acupuncture on my sore shoulders.

FANTASY TAKE TWO

I wander the Harvard yards looking for her, any sign of the sunlit blonde hair shining like a welcoming beacon on a needed storm-drenched dock. I see many of her type but none of her ilk.

She is an ilk unto herself.

I remember her relating a tale of a trip to Bakersfield, California. The sex she had for three days was desperate and rang unfulfilling and bordering of troubling.

That is how I felt. My obsession was raw and sat like an ulcer forming in my soul.

Unfulfilled, bordering on troubling.

I was defeated, the cold stone bench providing little comfort. I actually didn't want any. I was leaving to go back to Chicago tomorrow and felt like wearing a scarf of self-pity, preferably in blues.

I wanted to see Hannah - I wanted to taste her, to fill her, to... have her linger past next week.

With a ridiculous sigh even for an actor like me, I stood and headed back to where I could meet my Uber.

"Just where the fuck are you going?"

The voice behind me settled my shoes like they were cement. My heart raced, my ears rang. I could not turn around. I didn't need to.

She was on my right, a whisper away from my cheek.

"Y'all leave tomorrow, yes?" (In Klaus' version of Hannah, she would never use y'all. I like it because it settles her southern roots in a comfortable blanket for me.)

All I could muster was a nod, my voice having dropped to my stomach to encourage my erection to stand the fuck up.

She took my hand and right there in the middle of the hallowed greens and autumn colors of the famed Crimson Halls she sucked my fingers.

NEEDLE SCRATCH

"Hold the fuck up, y'all! I would not suck fingers unless I was already naked and wet."

“That is not true. You have sucked fingers in stranger circumstances.”

"When, Daddy?” her voice was remarkably petulant.

Klaus cleared his throat and said softly, “In the sequel, episode three.”

I smile, knowing it’s true as Klaus gave me a sneak peek.

“And you don't say 'Y'all."

That was for me.

I gulped, feeling his eyes of disappointment, chopping away at my confidence.

Hannah scoffed and gestured for me to continue.

Back to bed.

I could not get enough of her. The way her vaginal muscles gripped like a 3-D printer mapping my contours. Like they could tear my cock off at its root should I not deliver quality sexual release.

Her breasts sat on her chest as delightful throw pillows on an already beautiful sofa. Pink marks from my teeth sprinkled them like perverted confetti.

Her corn-hued hair stuck to her forehead and the back of her neck, giving evidence to the exertion she and I had executed through our earlier initial intercourse.

^^^^

I’m really enjoying this setup. I might cut Fantasy Three and go right to Four.

“What the fuck? Fantasy Four is my least favorite.”

How do you know what I’m going to write?

“I’ll give you a hint, it starts with W and ends with craft.”

Fuck me…

“Not if you insist on skipping to Fantasy Four!”

Yes, Hannah…

^^^^

I will acknowledge that Fantasy Three involved some bisexuality on my part. Which Hannah would not mind at all being bisexual herself.

“Guys sucking cock is really hot. Gay guys, sure, but mostly men who claim they have no interest in it, yet suddenly it becomes their drug of choice.”

It was a side trip to Canada to meet Klaus as he was visiting old friends. I seduce him and we spend a wonderful weekend in a posh hotel in Toronto. I willingly spread for him and he takes my ass several times. I even put his rod in my mouth to clean it, not caring where it has been.

Just that it belongs to him.

I want him to dirty speak to me like he writes. Fuck me like a metaphor.

Unfortunately, I had to water it down due to his uncomfortableness with my flattery.

Only makes him that much more sexy.

Did I tell you that I think his writing is incredible? I am totally obsessed…

At the end of Fantasy Three, Shavonne and Hannah show up and Klaus and I watch as Shavonne allows men to use Hannah for money. We personally do not get involved; Shavonne would not allow it.

“The Daddy conundrum? Don’t want an I/F label? It’s a nickname. I’m not technically her father.”

No… it’s because we refused to pay.

“Ha! Sounds like Shavonne.”

“ ‘Use them for money.’ Really?”

Is the statement untrue?

She pauses for contemplation.

“OK, Plato, you win that one. Usage denotes specific function. I want you to report that there were many different functions and that I could not walk straight for 48 hours.”

I don’t know, “couldn’t walk straight” feels like another trope.

I like it when Klaus says things like “My cunt panted. She felt like I had offered the blue plate special and they took me for the brunch buffet.”

“Yes, Matt, that was a good one. Not as poetic as I would say, but it fits her personality.”

(OMG, he gave me another compliment. I’m lightheaded.)

FANTASY FOUR

I was going to say the Final Fantasy, but I did not want to get anyone upset because I was using the title of another creative product. As in the video game. Although I didn’t capitalize it, nor mention any of the weird ass creatures that are in it. (However, this software capitalized it for me as it is a very famous creative property.) Nor the movie adaptations which were not exceptionally successful. I just hope it’s OK.

**“IT IS ACCEPTABLE“

Oh wow, thank you, sexy moderator that I lust after.

**“WELCUM” (wink emoji with heart and kiss)

I see how you used the spelling I usually use for welcome. Wink, wink, wink.

“Can we get back to the fucking? Jesus Christ, I’ve been sitting here with a dripping snatch for the last 12 paragraphs. I feel like I’m your prom date and you’re off giving blowjobs in the men’s room.”

“Wow, that was harsh. Just for that, Hannah, I think you’re going to get spanked.”

“Fantastic, anything is better than sitting here waiting… My Cunt on fire.”

“I get it, OK?”

In this fantasy and comes to Chicago. She’s here for some type of exchange program with Northwestern. One of her professors suggested it because she has turned into an expert in sexual anthropology.

She calls me and asks me to meet her at her hotel.

“I can’t come. I have to be here to take care of my cat while my wife is out of town. Can it wait until tomorrow night?”

She doesn’t answer, merely hangs up the call.

Now, yes, people her age usually text more than they make calls, but I think she was trying to make a point with me, hearing her voice. Casting to spell her aggressive alto can deliver even over cellular signal.

I turned on the TV to try to find something interesting to distract me. My erection keeps yelling at me for being a big coward when I am suddenly surprised by a knock on the door.

I step up and see an Uber drive away. I open my red door and there, silhouetted in the amber of my porch light, is the blonde vision that is Hannah Reed.

She’s in boots, a leather mini skirt, a crop top with “fuckin’ bitch” written on it. The ensemble is completed with a black leather jacket. She smiles, a six-pack of beer in her hand.

“Are you going to invite me in or just make a puddle of your drool on the floor?”

I step to the side, my erection, squeezing its fists and shouting, “Yes!”

No comments on my home. No comments on the pictures or the knickknacks my wife and I collect. No comment on my sweet cat who really is sick but a sweetheart. She simply steps into the kitchen and with no trouble finds a bottle opener. She pops one bottle and begins to drain it. I’m standing there staring, my heart beating rapidly.

This is going to happen.

“So, you told me you have three bedrooms. Do you want to use the guest room, the room you sleep in because you snore too much, or fuck on your wife’s bed?”

My mouth widens in a wicked smile.

Her eyebrows raise as she tosses her leather jacket

“Exemplary choice. Lead the way.”

My very short hallway feels like a mile; my legs don’t want to move. Why am I reluctant to fuck on my wife’s bed? I think she deserves for it to happen.

What’s that about? I turned to start removing my clothes and I’m not shocked at all that Hannah is already completely naked. I hear my cat meow, hoping he’s not throwing up on one of the items of clothing littering the hallway.

It does not take much force to push me down on the bed. She grabs my sleep pants and yanks them down. My cock bounces up with a comment of disbelief. He’s nothing special, but he sure is excited.

Her mouth is on my head, my frenulum; her hands running up and down the shaft. My balls are caressed and squeezed. She knows exactly what to do - her pressure perfect, her salivated moisture just enough. I remove my shirt and toss it to the side.

I deserve to be naked for this.

I’m disappointedly close and I grab her hair for the purpose of thrusting up into her. But she pops off and slaps my hands away.

I hold my breath; this is the Hannah I love.

This force of nature with the greatest vagina ever made.

“Take me, Hannah!” I beg.

She also knows I love her ass.

She turns her back to me and lowers herself; twin globes of muscular perfection revealing a well-traveled path to her anus.

Her pussy is the glove that every erotica wants to describe, but can never quite get there. It is wet, wonderful, and willing.

While her bouncing ass and arching back are splendid examples of the power of her physiology, I can’t help but acknowledge the fact that she’s not letting me see her face. Or even have access to her breasts.

“You have to earn it, Matt,” she grunts.

She has read my mind. Witchcraft.

Hannah has a signature grind. It’s designed for her own selfish clitoral stimulation yet it almost inevitably draws out my release. Once she starts, she knows I will not last long. But I think that is the point.

“Fucking cum, Matt. I know you’ve been wanting to all fucking day. Mmm, fuck yes! Give it to me and we’ll see how much of it I can keep in there for the rest of the night.”

With a deep groan and minor exertion, I push up into her and my release sings out. Five notes long, but louder than the finale of Wacken Open Air!

“FuuUUUUcckkk!”

Hannah just simply screams. Her orgasm evident by the way her back bends and moves like a snake.

Rather than lift off of me, she decides to fall backwards. I catch her and move my head just in time to keep us from bumping skulls.

She lies on me, arms flopped to the side. I cover her round, never sagging boobs in my hands, her nipples crying like a neglected puppy.

“You are a witch.” Pant, pant, moan. “And I am lost in your spell. I cannot wait to see what Klaus has in store for you.”

She scoffs slightly.

“I just hope he jumps forward in time to when I’m actually a therapist. Maybe I’ll write my memoir. What should Dr. Reed call it?

“Anything you want.”

“Hmm.” She rolls to the side and kisses me. My cock slips out and she plants her dripping, well-used pussy on my upper thigh. My hands instinctively grab her ass globes. My right index finger circles her back star.

I’m going to need to fuck this hole before the night is over.

She is surprisingly contemplative. “Anything I Want. Great title.”

I smile and she turns her body until she is on all fours, her ass right next to my face.

“Now suck my ass. It needs to get some foreplay in before you stick your magical curve of a cock into it.”

I comply, my mouth ready and wet and willing.

I just hope I can keep up with her.

I don’t drink coffee, but I think I’m gonna need some Dr. Pepper Zero soon.

Final fantasy, END SCENE y’all.

Thank you for reading this very different story. If you liked it, hit the heart. If you really liked it, clean yourself up and then hit the star.

And as always, please leave a comment. I try to answer them all.

Thank you, Klaus, you’re pretty fucking spectacular, you bastard.

XOXO Matt