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Our world is limitless; time is our plaything.
For my sweetest Cricket

Time is a lie. There is no past, no future. There is only now, only this moment together. Only you, only I, only the moon hanging in the clouds like a tarnished ghost.

We have just returned from a lifeless black tie gala at the art museum. We stand at arm’s reach from each other. A full moon shines through your open window, grey and cryptic, spilling moonlight across your face. Your eyes twinkle, your lips part, yet you do not otherwise move. I watch your chest rise and fall as you breathe. You are waiting for me. I hook a finger through the pearls looped around your neck and pull you to me, carefully, so as not to break the strand.

Before we met at the gala, I called and gave you very specific instructions on what to wear. You know what this means, when I want you to wear something very specific. You love what this means. You breathlessly memorize every detail. In my mind you are touching yourself, fingers sliding inside your panties as you listen to my voice, but I know this is not true. You work in a cubicle. You are surrounded by bored, nosy co-workers. They do not see you the way I see you, my Cricket. They do not know what we know. They do not live as we live.

I dress in the generic black tie uniform required of me and arrive fifteen minutes after I have instructed you to arrive. I spot you leaning against the far wall of the room as soon as I walk in the door. The effect is cinematic; everyone and everything else falls out of focus, leaving only you in the center of the frame.

You are wearing exactly what I have asked you to wear. The tight black dress I love so much hugs your body, plunging dangerously low to show off your small and flawless breasts (in bed I do not call them breasts, I call them tits, but we are at a party that requires decorum so I think of them as breasts; later in the evening they will be tits, your lovely tits). No one knows you are wearing thigh high stockings except you and I. You know how much of a fetish I have for your stockings. You know how it teases me for you to wear them. You are not wearing panties either. No one knows except you and I. You love so much to tease me, and I so love to be teased.

More importantly, you are wearing a long string of pearls, in two petite loops around your neck.

Remember the pearls.

I make cool eye contact but I do not approach you. That is part of the game. We circle each other, adrift in this sea of rich, well-dressed old white men and their decorative trophy wives. Waiters offer goblets of wine and tiny pieces of drab cheese. Tastefully dull art adorns the walls. Occasionally a painting or sculpture breaks through the dross, pulsing with light and soul and energy, begging for connection. They are the only things I notice, beyond you of course, my love.

We make occasional light conversation with those we know as we mingle, hardly pretending to pay attention. Several men attempt to hit on you; you brush them away effortlessly, like flies. Our eyes are forever glancing at each other, and we each know where the other is at any given second. We are predators, we are prey.

I pass behind you several times, and slide my finger lightly along your ass as I pass. I do not think anyone notices, but I do not particularly care. You have always loved showing off your ass, and you do so for me whenever the opportunity arises tonight: bending down to pick up a glass from a table, or pretending to accidentally drop a napkin. I can just see the edge of your thigh highs peek through from under your dress and am instantly erect. You, of course, know this. Oh, my Cricket, you love to toy with me, don’t you? Other men may notice you tight and perfect ass, the teasing promise of your stockings, but we do not care. They are not a part of our world.

I am standing in leaden conversation with two other men, one of them with his wife silently at his side, and you walk just outside our circle, a silent request asking to join us. The men, of course, instantly make room for you, looking down your dress as you take your place, scanning your breasts (or do they think of your breasts as tits, as I will later?), your liquid eyes, your soft pout. The wife glowers mutely. You introduce yourself to all of us, saving me for last, and as we shake hands your fingers linger for an instant too long, fingertips brushing against the palm of my hand.

You play idly with our pearls as you talk, your fingers running down the length of them, and I realize I can wait no longer, my dearest Cricket. I may order you on what to wear, the place and time to meet me, when you are allowed to speak, when you are allowed to cum, in full control of our games, but you are the one who can control me, with the brush of a fingertip, a hand running down a strand of dazzling white spheres.

We are in a taxi within fifteen minutes, barely keeping our hands in check. We remain calm and poised. This too is part of the game. It is only in your apartment where we allow ourselves each other.


And here we are. We stand in the moonlight, back where we started. I pull you toward me, hooking a finger inside the dizzying strand around your neck. Our moments together are threaded along the string of time likes pearls. This pearl. Then another. Then another. Our world is limitless, my love. Time is our plaything.

You have a drawer dedicated to our sex games. You call it Pandora’s Box. In it are various toys, along with a large collection of colorful scarves (your lingerie is in the drawer just below it). I have used two of these scarves to tie your hands to the bedposts. I have used my tie I wore to the gala to blindfold you.

I am naked. You are still fully dressed, but for your shoes. I run my cock along your outstretched arms after I bind you, then press it against the soft skin of your face: your cheeks, your forehead, your closed eyes as they flutter like leaves. You let escape a purr of anticipation. In response I run my cock along your lips. You gasp and your tongue snakes out in an attempt to pull it into your mouth, but I do not let your temptations lure me. I slap you lightly in the cheek with my cock. You pout in response, knowing how alluring I find your pouting lips.

I kiss my way down your body. As my cock slides down your neck and between your tits (they are tits now, my Cricket, transformed from breasts into your verdant tits by my desire, my need, my love). I leave a wet trail of pre-cum. I use the head of my cock to toy with your nipples. I watch shivers pass through your body like waves. I see your arms strain at their bonds, longing to touch me. I continue to slide down your body. As my cock reaches your wet slit your hips jerk up to meet it, but I do not let you have me.

As my lips find your pussy I allow you a moment of pleasure, licking your wet pussy lips before sucking them into my mouth. I enter your pussy with my tongue as I lightly press your clit with my thumb. Your trembling body explodes with hunger, your back arching, your head thrown back to expose your ivory white neck.

“Oh, please, baby? Please let me cum, my love, make me cum, I am so close, I need you so badly,” you beg, in a series of ever more urgent moans. How can I say no? How can I not allow you such pleasure?

“Cum for me baby,” I whisper. “I love to watch you cum.”

I move my mouth to your clit and begin to flick it with my tongue as I slide two fingers inside you. Your pussy grasps my fingers greedily. You grind your wet slit against me and cry out in a wordless frenzy as you cum. Your mouth forms a sighing wet oval of pink, round and inviting, like the moon in the window, like a pearl on a string. It takes you several full minutes to calm, each moan an echo of the last, your beating heart slowly winding down. I lick your pussy gently, keeping your nerves alight for more.

Shall I continue?

I slide my tongue down your leg to your foot, suck at your toes, lick my way back up the other leg. I slide my fingers inside the elastic of your stockings and snap them. You inhale sharply. I leisurely peel the thigh highs off your playfully kicking legs. I use them to tie your feet to the bottom bedposts. You are now spread out before me like a new world, tied to all four posts of my bed. You are all mine. I will use you however I want. You are powerless. And oh, my Cricket, my storm-tossed sea, I am ever powerless to refuse you.

I kiss my way back to your neck. I have refrained from biting you until now, but I can wait no longer. I nip at your neck and feel your sighing mewls vibrate from your throat. My lips and tongue join my teeth. As my bites become more insistent my fingers catch up with the rest of me, circling your neck as if to choke you, though you know I will not do so. That is not what we do. That is not part of our game. I will never hurt you.

I reach instead to the clasp that joins the ends of the loops of pearls around your neck.

Do you remember the pearls?

I pull them off your neck like a spool of thread unwinding. I hold them just above your lips and even though you are blindfolded and unable to see them you know they are there. Your tongue curls out like a flower toward the sun to taste them. I lower the pearls into your mouth and let you suck on them. You can still taste your pussy juice on them from our last time, can’t you, my sweetest Cricket? You can taste my cum as well, for we have used them so many times, they are forever imbued with our juices. After you have thoroughly tasted our treasure, pearl by precious pearl, I pull one end from your mouth and suck it up into mine, our juices mingling. I take each pearl into my mouth until the string grows taught. I follow it until our lips touch. The Lady and the Tramp, I think. We kiss, trading the pearls back and forth between out tongues.

I drag them down your neck, then to you sweet soft tits, leaving a wet trail along your body for a second time, following the path of the first. I dangle them over your nipples, teasing then, making them swell and harden. You long for my teeth to scrape against them, don’t you? You want me to touch you so badly, you want to touch yourself, anything to grant you relief, but I won't allow it.

I dangle them over you pussy, just as I did to your lips. I lower the string so that one pearl, only one, lay between your wet and swollen pussy lips. You make the tiny birdlike cry that consumes me every time, so much like the one you release when I nip at your neck. I lean down so close to your wetness you can surely feel my breath against you, and you begin to whimper, wanting more, always wanting more, my insatiable Cricket.

I push the pearl, this one pearl, just inside your pussy lips with my tongue. Your legs begin to shiver, your stomach muscles clench in anticipation. When the first pearl is fully inside you I take up the next pearl with my teeth, and push it inside you with my tongue. It is a long string of pearls, my love, and I will give them to you one at a time. We have all the time in the world, for there is no time, no world, only us floating within this perfect bauble of a moment. I push in the next pearl. Then another. Then another. You are now grinding your pussy against my tongue as I push them inside you, and I allow you this pleasure, thrusting my tongue deep inside you. You begin to twist and cry out and I know you will cum again so soon. I love to feel you cum, watch you cum, hear you cum, my love, my whirling tempest.

While I am pushing one end of the pearls into your pussy with my tongue, I take up the other end by pinching the last pearl between thumb and index finger. I begin to roll it along the moist crack of your ass, back and forth, and then I push it against your asshole, playing with the rim. You convulse beneath me and your whimper turns into a sharp gasp of need as you press your ass hard against the pearl, forcing it inside you. Oh, my Cricket, I can tease you no longer, you have waited so long. I will fill you with whatever you need. I am powerless.

My fingers push a second pearl into your ass, then another, then another, as my tongue feeds them into your pussy. You are so wet it floods the surface of your ass, paints my lips and tongue and face and fingers, coats pearl after pearl with your glistening juices, dripping slowly down the entire string of jewels like honey. You strain against the scarves and the stockings, longing to be set free, as if you were untethered from the bed you would rise into the air like smoke. Your entire body curves toward me so you are almost fully off the bed, pushing your ass and pussy against beads, fingers, tongue, lips, teeth, and I can wait no longer, it is all too much.

I must have you, my dervish, my sweetest Cricket, my hot beautiful mess.

I fall on your body, slapping us down onto the surface of the bed, my lips on yours, my cock against your wet slit, your juices coating me as I slide within a loop of our glittering pearls, and though I want to tease you I cannot hold back. I ease myself inside you, the head of my cock parting your pussy lips. You tilt your head back, again exposing your long pale neck, and cry out my name as I push a little farther inside you with each thrust. You are so wet, my Cricket, your pussy clenching my cock like soil grasping at the roots of a tree. I am fully inside you and hold myself there, pinning you to the bed. I feel every inch of you as you feel every inch of me.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” I whisper in your ear. I emphasize the harsh dirty cacophony of the word “fuck,” and feel the electric reaction as your pussy grasps me harder.

“Oh God, yes.” Every muscle in your body is tensed, every nerve alight and alive.

“Tell me, my Cricket. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me. Please fuck me,” you moan, thrashing under me.

“Again. Tell me again,” I sigh, inches away from your ear.

“Please, my love, I need you so bad, please fuck me hard, I need it hard,” and even before the sentence is fully out of your mouth I am thrusting inside you. We find our rhythm instantly. I take you hard and you push against me with the same intensity, our bodies in exquisite collision. Everything that is me is deep inside you, everything that is you surrounds me, soft and wet and wanting.

With each thrust the string of pearls snakes around my cock, looping and twisting. Each thrust pulls against the pearls inside your ass so that they stretch the rim of your sweet wet hole before popping out singly, this one, then another, then another. You whimper with each withdrawal. Your pussy grips my cock as your arms and legs strain against the restraints and you grind against me, moaning loudly, my lovely Cricket. I know we will both cum within seconds and cum together, we have waited for hours for this, to hold this pearl of ecstatic need between us.

Your body trembles in wordless submission, begging my permission; you will not cum until I allow it.

“Cum for me now, my love, around my cock, let me feel you cum,” I cry. Your muscles convulse around me, my cock the epicenter of your quaking body. I groan and plunge deeply and let out a flood inside you, a dam breaking. Your pussy milks my cock as your entire body flutters and ripples like wind coursing through a field of wheat.

We collapse on the bed. It takes several minutes for us to return to reality. The bed and the room and the world gradually materialize around us.

But we are not finished, are we? Once has never been enough for us, my cool rain, my summer storm.

I pull my wilting cock from your wetness. A loop of pearls is wrapped around the head. I hook a finger inside this loop and pull the jewels slowly out of you, eliciting a long, intoxicating coo of satisfied need. The pearls are wet and sloppy with saliva and thick cum and the taste of your honeyed juices.

I have traveled this trail twice now, and I follow it again, pearls in hand. They flow up your stomach, marking a wet trail. I stop at your tits and tease them, circling your nipples, exploring your cleavage. Then I continue my trip, following the bite marks on your neck, up your chin, over the soft curve of your lip. Before I lower them into your mouth I feel a need to see your eyes, to watch you as you watch me. I loosen my tie from your eyes, fling it to the floor. We share an endless moment of eye contact.

Oh, my Cricket. I will someday lose myself in the pooling depth of your eyes.

I dangle the pearls once again over your mouth. Our shared juices drip onto your lips and tongue in long liquid curls. I slowly lower the beads into your mouth. One pearl. Then another. Then another. Our time together has no past, no future, just now, now, now. One moment. Then another. Then another.

You leave me helpless, watching you as you suck the glistening strand clean, hungry for the combined taste of us both. Of course by the time you are done I am hardening again.

I reach behind you and loosen the scarves that bind your arms. You stretch. You grasp the pearls in your hand and pull them from your mouth. Small pearls of cum cling to your lips and tongue. You lick them away, fully aware of how this inflames me. You run your hands up my legs. I have longed for the touch of your hands these many hours. Denying myself to you, yet desperate for you.

You loop the pearls around my now erect cock. You pull me toward you carefully, so as not to break the strand, in much the same way I pulled you toward me in the moonlight.

“Mmm.” You look up into my spellbound eyes. “I love tasting you.”

Focusing on the head of my cock, you run your lips along the crown, where you know I am so sensitive. My Cricket, I know all your tricks, but not how you perform them. You are my magician; I am your rapt audience. You tongue wraps around the underside of the head of my shuddering cock. It throbs as if you are breathing life into it, for that is what you do, my love. You lend me your life.

As you begin to take me deeper into your mouth you pull the pearls down to the base of my cock and tighten your grip. You are the one in control now. You are not ready for me to cum yet. You want to suck me at your own languorous pace, so you use the pearls like a cock ring, holding back my cum until you are ready for it to burst forth. My cock reddens as you pull the looped strand tighter. You take my cock deeper.

Up until now your pace has been unhurried, but now it begins to quicken. You move your lips up and down the shaft of my cock, pulling it entirely out of your mouth with each upward stroke because you know how much I love to watch it disappear again between your lips. We know so much about each other. Our desires have merged into one. We know the response even before the touch.

You begin to gently tickle my balls with your free hand, then fondle them. You know well how quickly this can trigger me to cum. I love to feel you play with my balls. Now you are utterly in control of me, forcing me toward orgasm with your mouth and fingers, denying me orgasm with the tight bind of the pearls at the base of my cock.

I am so close, my loving Cricket. My cum builds, I am ready to explode, my cock throbs, your mouth moving faster on my shaft. You know how close I am, and in response you give the pearls one last twist to tighten them further and delay my orgasm, but it is too much pressure, the strand breaks, pearls fly in your face, against my chest, all about the room, sailing into the air in great arcs, pearl after pearl after endless pearl.

The world comes to an abrupt halt.

The moment freezes in time like an insect in amber. My cock is halted in mid-spasm, my cum paused in its leap into your mouth. Pearls are suspended above us like small moons orbiting our bed, a universe of bright orbs, lit by moonlight. Your tongue and lips coil motionless around me. The lie of time is exposed to us. Clocks are a convenient fiction, an artifact from another world, the world of the gala, the old white men, the decorative wives on their arms, the dead and poisonous art that lines the walls. There is no time, no future, no past, only now and now and now, only you, only I, only the ghostly moon in the window, and these pearls of course, all these pearls. This moment is ours. It is sacred, this blessing, this gift. It will live with us forever, carved from the clay of time, inviolate.

The world resumes.

I thrust hard and bend my back and growl, clawing at your hair as my cock is suddenly freed of its constraints and my cum flows like a fountain into your mouth, plume after hot plume. You take it deep in your throat, wanting every pearly drop. You hold me in your mouth for entire lifetimes, sucking me gently, milking me.

You fall back on the bed. I turn and untie your legs, brushing the stockings against your legs as I do. You sigh at the contact. I lay down next to you, you curl into my chest, sling a leg over mine. Pearls continue to move about us, as if alive. They roll about the floor, under nightstands and dressers. They drop off one bookshelf and bounce to the shelf below. Your cat toys with one in the corner. A few lucky beads have snuggled into the bed sheets with us. You smile broadly and open your mouth and I see one resting on the surface of your tongue. You are a magician, my Cricket, my love, my graceful and ever chaotic storm.

I pluck the pearl from your mouth, and hold our small treasure tightly in my palm until your fingers intertwine with mine. We share this immaculate globe in our hands, together. I wrap myself around you. You fold effortlessly into my arms. We close our eyes, embraced by moonlight, and fall into our dreams.

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 © 2018 Verbal P. Incandenza | Yeah, not my real name, but I still wrote this. Be cool. Please don't steal it.

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