Latest Forum Posts:


Time in New England Part Three

Tags: fantasy
A sexy trip through Salem's witch country.
This is the third in a fantasy series that began with Time in New England Parts one and two and inspired during chats with WholelottaRosie


Because Salem is only a forty minute drive from Boston and there’s much more to see here, we commuted up to that tiny village on the coast. Along the way I gave in to a whim and stopped in a sex shop in Lynn. Rosalind rolled her eyes but giggled like a schoolgirl as we entered the store and shopped around their products and videos. We shared many laughs over the assortment of vibrators and dildos, a couple of which liked more like fire hose nozzles rather than something that would go inside a woman. One in particular was ridiculously outsized. “He must have been quite a burden!” Rosalind said brightly, suppressing her giggle.

After a half hour of browsing and laughing, I bought a vibrating woman’s panty with a remote control. As I paid for the toy, I asked the salesgirl if they had a ladies room there but Rosalind interrupted and said, “Forget it you!” Once we were in the car and moving again, Rosalind said, “Let’s see that thing.” And she removed the new toy from its packaging and inserted batteries in the battery holder on the panty and in the remote control. She buzzed it, feeling the vibration on her hand and against my cheek as we drove along. “Oh what the Hell,” Rosalind quipped, “No peeking you!” She lifted her cute ass off the seat and slid her hands slipped beneath her pleated skirt and doffed her panties, replacing them with our new acquisition. It was difficult to concentrate on the road ahead and especially so when Rosalind shrieked as she gave herself a quick buzz. “I’m not so sure I trust you with this remote. From the cars console I picked up the panties she’d removed and gave them a deep sniff just to tease Rosalind and said, “Well, this’ll do for now.”

“Pervert!” Rosalind challenged as she snatched back her panties and stuffed them into her purse. “OK you, here are the keys to the castle, but be gentle with them” Rosalind said brightly handing me the remote. I gave the button a cursory push and Rosalind jumped, but I found myself so focused on her that I nearly ran into a utility pole and so I dropped the ‘clicker’ into my pocket for use later.

Salem is known best for its history in the 1690’s when paranoia gripped its residents and a combination of fear, hysteria, political ambition and greed led to the arrest and prosecution for witchcraft of more than 150 people.

I’d been to Salem twice before but it’s always an interesting place to visit. Rosalind was fascinated by the tours and the incredible stories from the town’s sad and shameful history. Salem served as the prosecutorial center for those accused of practicing witchcraft or consorting with Satan. Prisoners clapped in irons were brought in from nearby Boston, Ipswich, Andover and other towns and villages in Essex, Suffolk and Middlesex counties.

Trials took place in those towns too but the conviction rate was deemed too low by the prosecutors there and so venues were moved to Salem where due process was less of an obstacle and the path from accusation to the gallows was better assured. Of the many cases of capital felony witchcraft held in Salem in 1692 and 1693 alone, at least twenty-nine poor villagers were hanged.

Some of the hysterical accusations in town came from a small group of teenage girls who had become frantic and acting out as if drugged. History would discover that a form of mold had grown on loaves of rye bread they’d eaten. The mold was mildly toxic and hallucinogenic. The girls were curious about the Voodoo practices of a slave woman called Tituba, and together they tried to use Voodoo in order to divine the professions of their future husbands, much the same as teens today play with Ouija boards.

One of these girls became hysterical when she thought she saw a coffin when she expected the image of a future husband. The girl screamed and they all began screaming as their histrionics fueled each other’s hysteria. The girls were accused of witchcraft as was the slave girl, but the girls claimed that they were innocent victims under the spell of a neighbor whom they, themselves suspected of witchcraft.

“Imagine if they had these panty buzzers, back then." I whispered into Rosalind's ear, "Oodles of women might have felt 'possessed." She elbowed me, grinning broadly. As the narrator’s story continued, the girls were acquitted and the neighbor and Tituba were hung. Many of the accused died in prison from filthy conditions and disease, insufficient food and in some cases the jail cells were so shallow that the prisoner was forced to stand 24/7 wedged between the bar doors and the rear wall because the cell was barely a foot deep and two feet wide!

Sometimes when I’d see Rosalind deeply engrossed in a story, I’d give her clitoris a buzz and she’d nearly jump out of her skin! Other times she’d whisper, “I could use a buzz now, Lord of the Buzz” and we’d generally, if quietly, act like high school kids on a field trip.

We visited the House of the Seven Gables, so called because there were seven parts to the gable roof atop the large house, thought to be haunted by the spirits of the condemned villagers. Rosalind was completely fascinated by the ghost stories and her bright eyes twinkled sometimes and went glassy when lost in faraway thought.

Apart from its sad history, the property is quite beautiful and commands a stunning view out over the sea. Rosalind is a tekki by trade and she was fascinated to learn that the actual site of the witch hangings is a telecommunications equipment center today!

We had dinner in a charmingly small coastal inn and I felt so close to Rosalind that I wanted to hold her close. Over dinner and some good wine Rosalind began teasing my leg with her toe and I had fleeting thoughts about sweeping aside everything and fucking her handily right there on the table as fellow diners shrieked over their lobsters and seafood combination dinners! I could just imagine it – Rosalind’s mouth gaping open and calling me dirty names while I slapped her ass and pummeled her cunny right there in staid New England. Check please!

Instead though, we shared a Tiramisu and I told Rosalind that I really wanted to eat her for dessert and we left for the short drive back to Boston, kissing and groping at every stoplight and turn. I imagined a yield sign on Rosalind’s vagina and smiled to myself.

At the hotel I practically ripped the clothing from Rosalind’s body but she slowed me down and so I grabbed a bottle of scented oil that we’d bought in one of the shops and I massaged her as fully and seductively as any horny man could muster. I began with her back using firm strokes radiating up and outward from her spine and then long stroked the length of her torso. From there I massaged the back of Rosalind’s neck and down her arms to each finger. Warming to my chosen task, I massaged from her lower back down, kneading her gorgeous ass and down her thighs to her feet. I used light karate chops on Rosalind’s calf muscles a little sore from our tourist walking and paid extra attention to her thighs. I had big plans for those thighs later. Rosalind turned over and I wanted desperately to be on top of her in a flash but chose instead to lay groundwork now and Rosalind later. I massaged her upper body and deliberately avoided her breasts just to make her want it more. I massaged her rib cage and tummy and low over her pelvis and Mons but I avoided her vagina in order to make Rosalind long for attention there as well. “You’re a prick,” Rosalind said smiling.

“Why yes,” I said and continued the massage using deep tissue techniques on her thighs, knees and legs. I pressed my thumbs deep into the arches of Jo’s feet and she actually moaned a bit in delight. As I finished and wiped my oiled hands off on a towel, I smiled and faked a cockney accent and asked Rosalind, “Did I miss anything, Mum?”

Rosalind’s genuine accent fired back, “Yes, you cheeky American bastard, now kiss me and finish this job properly!” It’s a shame that the Americas and Great Britain couldn’t have just fucked their way to peace back in 1776 because it sure worked for Rosalind and me! This was our first attempt at doggie style and I held Rosalind’s hips and slammed into her with merry abandon! The closet door in our room was mirrored and I was mesmerized by the sight of Rosalind’s gorgeous tits swaying to and fro as we fucked. I wondered if Rosalind was one of those women who liked having her hair pulled during doggie style and I ‘gave that a go’ as the Brits say and Rosalind responded immediately. I’m not sure if it excited her or angered her but it’s safe to say that our activity levels kicked up a notch and she hammered me as hard as I hammered her.

Later, Rosalind was examining her vibrating panty and as she’s an internet tekki and I’m a telecommunications tekki we began reinventing the wheel. The remote control had a useful range of about a hundred feet (32 meters). How could we improve on this system was the subject of our increasingly funny dialogue. Laughing as only those in love and half blitzed on wine can do, we created a concept for a whole new series of sex aids for people miles apart or even around the world. A vibrating panty or even an egg intended for vaginal or rectal use in most such toys was a cheap dc motor with an off-balance wheel driven by it. Centrifugal force on the egg-shaped wheel caused the vibration. Of course it also caused noise and sometimes was indiscreet. Why couldn’t we perform the same function with a piezoelectric chip? The chip has the advantage of varying frequency response and it is quieter and uses less power.

From a remote control perspective, why couldn’t the remote that might otherwise go in someone’s pocket also have a USB connection and thus be operated over the internet by a friend with password access.

Laughing, we carried our insanity to the next level and reasoned why couldn’t a remote have a Bluetooth chip and thus be operable from a web-enabled cell phone? That way, lovers could give each other a buzz anytime anywhere by password protected access over the cellular telephone network! The Bluetooth adapter in the toy would be just another such device in the phone’s list just as if it were a wireless headset.

If the wearer was in an important meeting all they needed to do was to turn off the Bluetooth function in their cell phone and they were safe from jumping up during – say – their annual performance review with the boss.

“Power,” I said, “What about power?” Bouncing an idea off of Rosalind, I reasoned that instead of a conventional battery technology like Lithium Ion or Nickel Metal Hydride, we could use a tiny hydrogen fuel cell. The cell would use a common hydrocarbon fuel such as a Butane canister for cigarette lighters to refill a small tank in the unit. A catalyst reformer in the fuel cell would extract hydrogen from the Butane and the hydrogen would electrochemically produce sufficient electricity to run the piezoelectric vibrator chips for hours on a single refill. The byproduct of a hydrogen fuel cell is a small amount of water vapor (or vapour, Rosalind corrected me with the British spelling) and heat. The waste heat from the electrical production could be routed with the vibrating elements, further stimulating the wearer. We laughed, sealed our deal with a formal handshake and a not so formal sixty-nine that left us breathless.

And delightfully sloppy…

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright (C) 2011 Mobius_NR

To link to this sex story from your site - please use the following code:

<a href="">Time in New England Part Three</a>

Comments (0)

Tell us why

Please tell us why you think this story should be removed.