A Day of Lust

by Scarlett M Butler

She wore nothing beneath her trenchcoat but a thong.

Those words kept singing in his head, slowly driving him insane with lust.

Nothing but a thong.

He could barely think straight as it was, and now, with this new information …

A thong.

He could imagine it now: It would be white, like the purest snow, marred only by several large brown stains, on the front and the back. He shuddered, as he imagined himself kneeling before her spread legs, and looking up into her passion-filled eyes … and tasting the brown spot …

“Mmm … tastes just like chocolate,” he’d murmur, his eyes still caught in the spell cast by hers. And then, slowly, agonizingly, he’d crawl up her body, until his lips could press against hers, and drink from her lips the nectar of the gods that he had been so long denied …

“WAKE UP YOU MORON!”

Her voice quickly ended his daydream and brought him to his knees before her—in a very unladylike manner, as he had leapt out of his chair and fallen with a crash to his knees, his pants still around his ankles and his exposed member throbbing due to the stroking he had unconsciously begun during his daydream.

He looked up at her—all 4’11, 346 lbs of her—blushing with embarrassment at being caught this way—by her of all people! His eyes, however, refused to be swayed by her anger. They roamed hungrily up and down her body—she was so beautiful! —taking in the tiny patches of skin that were visible through the trench coat. And the thong … oh, how he wanted to lick that thong right off of her body and then enter her and give her what he needed most, what she needed most, what they both needed more than life itself …

His penis began throbbing again, more visibly this time, and his face flushed a deep, deep crimson as he tried to conceal it, but to no avail. He sighed and turned away, prepared for her punishment. He knew she would have no mercy on him—he’d seen how she treated the others when they in some way mocked her. And, of course, they would think that him becoming aroused by the very sight, the very sound, the very smell—oh, what a glorious smell! —of her, would be an indirect insult towards her person.

So, he braced himself for the blow.

The blow to his pride, the blow to his ego, the blow to his jaw.

The blow that never came.

After about an hour of silence, he was still hard, and throbbing—his mind could not wander away from thoughts of her, for more than a second or two at a time! He peeked up at her through his long, long lashes. She was just … standing there, staring down at him. He wondered what was wrong.

And then, for some reason he would never be able to name, he looked down.

Down, at her thong.

Oh, lord. There was the answer to all his questions. To all his hopes and dreams, his prayers. Night after night he had dreamed that something like this would happen to him. That he could be so blessed as to …

Lord, he was going insane. This couldn’t be right, could it?

He blinked, the covertly pinched himself, wondering if this was all a dream.

But when he opened his eyes again … no, this certainly was no dream. This was more than a dream. It was a fantasy. It was a dream … come true.

Because her thong was, to say the least, wet.

No, more than wet; it was drenched.

Drenched with her unbridled love juices; drenched because of him.

He wanted to get up, and do a little dance in his underpants. He was so ecstatic.

The only problem was, he had no idea what to do now, with this new knowledge of his.

He was a virgin.

He didn’t want to ruin this, the moment, by doing the wrong thing, at the wrong time.

So, his body tensed, and he waited.

He hoped that she would be comfortable with making the first move.

Because he was paralyzed—with lust, with doubt, with fear.

He needed her so much …

And then, in the next moment, as he held his breath in anticipation, his life changed forever.

She made the first move.

She knelt down to his level, so that they were face to face. He could feel her breath on his face—smell the aroma of her breakfast. Eggs, bacon, sausage, hash brown potatoes, pancakes, waffles, and a spicy meatball. He could feel his arousal reaching epic proportions as his sense of smell took over his body, and he could feel himself quickly nearing the edge—but no! He had to last! He could never let her know the truth, that she was about to be the first woman who’s body he would ever enter of his own free will … because, after all, being raped by “butch” lesbians doesn’t count!

Her lips … he could feel them on his, brushing them, ever so lightly. He moaned, deep within himself, and his penis strained to be inside her; he wanted her so badly, he didn’t know if he could hold himself back.

“Don’t hold back,” she whispered against his lips. “I want you … I want you so much.”

And then her eyes looked into his … and he was lost, forever. Gently, he pushed her onto her back, and she let the trenchcoat slip open, revealing her glorious body to his eyes. All those curves … each roll of fat was like another miniature hourglass figure to his eyes. She was so soft, her skin so cushiony. Kind of like a bed, or a pillow. A body pillow, he grinned at his lascivious thoughts. Oh, he would use her body as a pillow alright! But not yet. He wanted to please her first.

He bent forward, until his nose brushed against her thong. He took a whiff, and then growled. She was so wet, so aroused … she smelled strongly of dead fish, and he would die before he ever let anyone know this, but his secret, favorite smell had long been that of a dead fish rolled up in a newspaper. And, while her achingly wet pussy smelled like a dead fish … The thong smelled like an old newspaper. He grinned. She just kept fulfilling all his fantasies, one by one! She was the perfect woman for him!

His tongue emerged from the cocoon of his mouth, and gently brushed aside her thong with a single lick. His eyes widened in surprise.

It really did taste like chocolate!

His tongue then delved into the depths of her soul. Her sexual soul, that is. As she moaned and writhed before him, he buried his face in her loose depths, licking and nuzzling his way into her vagina, and her heart.

He could feel the muscles begin to spasm, as she came on his face, and out gushed a flood of brown liquid, which he quickly drank, as the rest poured down his body, drenching him as though he had just swum a hundred laps in an Olympic size swimming pool. He grinned—if her thong tasted like chocolate, her juices tasted just like chocolate milk! Yum, yum!

He then pulled his head back out and stared into her eyes. She wanted him. Her eyes said so. And eyes never lie—not if they can help it.

And so, slowly, he trekked his way up her body, his mouth and his hands roaming across the numerous rolling hills of her belly, up to the tiny bumps of her breasts, and past the great planes of her chest to her neck and then finally, her face. Her round, moon-like face.

He buried his face within a fold of her flesh, once more inhaling her intoxicating scent. And then, he positioned himself, preparing for the kiss of a lifetime—the kiss of their lower bodies, as his head nudged her lips, and then parted them, and started towards his goal …

He closed his eyes and groaned above her as he began a series of rhythmic thrusts, matched by her rhythmic grunting. It was heaven! He had never imagined that anything could feel this good.

It was over in just a few seconds—he was, after all, very inexperienced. But, due to his youthful vigor, vitality, and, most importantly, virility, he managed to get himself up again in a matter of seconds, and was once again one with her, exploring her wide, well-used passage with his little spelunker.

They spent the entire day like that, with him inside of her, atop her, and her beneath him, snoring softly or grunting in time to his thrusts. And when the sun began to set, the lovers finally parted. She reached down and adjusted her thong back to its proper position, and then she retied the belt of her trenchcoat, hiding her body from his eager eyes.

“Becca,” he whispered to her as she was about to leave.

“What is it?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

He hesitated; what would she think of him, after this request?

“Will … can we meet again, like this? Can we be lovers?”

Becca sighed. “Little boy,” she said, causing him to wince—he wanted her to think of him as a man, not as a boy, dammit! “You know that can’t happen. What occurred here today was simply … well, to put it frankly, simply a day of lust! Nothing more significant than that.” She closed her eyes and looked away, successfully hiding from him the tears that burned for release just behind her eyelids. “All you are to me, boy, is nothing but another notch to go on the wall next to my bed. You were a good lay, I’ll give you that, but that’s all you are to me—just another nice piece of ass.” With that, she hurriedly began to take her leave.

Wounded deep within his soul, and feeling broken, he had nothing left to lose. He took a step towards her, and reached out a hand, as though, even from so far away, he would be able to touch her. “Becca!” he called out, his voice choking on his sobs.

She shuddered and stopped, but didn’t turn around. She couldn’t.

“Becca,” he whispered, loud enough for her to hear, his voice awash with pain and tears, “Becca … I love you!” He fell to his knees, his head in his hands, sobbing as only one kind of man is able to do. A man who’s very heart and soul have just been broken in the cruelest of manners, by the one person he loves most in the world—

Becca shook her head. No! she couldn’t keep thinking these thoughts. She couldn’t keep remembering the words that had been said to her on a night long ago, when she had been running home in the rain, across a barren field, and had been nearly struck down by lightning.

“My child,” the old man who had pushed her out of the way, only to be struck by lightning himself, had said, as she weeped over his body, mourning that he had to die instead of her. “You don’t understand. I have no more reason to live. I lost that reason long ago. I am the worst and most pathetic of all men—a man who’s very heart and soul have been broken in the cruelest of manners, by the one person I loved the most in the world … I do not deserve to live! I rue the day I let this happen to myself. But you must understand, child … you are just a little girl! You have your whole life ahead of you. You must live your life to the fullest, every day, and never let your joy diminish …”

But then the old man had looked at her, really looked at her, and his gaze had darkened, and suddenly was filled with hate and rage as he gripped her shoulders painfully.

“You! I see you for what you are, little girl! You are meant to grow up and to break some poor man’s heart, to turn him into what I am today! I will not let that happen, girl! I have given my life for you! Here I am, dying, and some day you will betray me, betray all that I gave up for you! I will not let that happen! I will not let you retain your joy, and break hearts and souls and minds left and right! I will crush you, little girl! I will prevent your evil!”

And with that, the old man took her, forcefully, breaking the barrier of her virginity and taking with him, in his death, any pretence of innocence that had ever been inside her head. She cried all that night, and in the morning, the once beautiful little girl began to fade …

…And in her place, one morning, stood the hideous monster that we all know and love today. Becca, a woman who refused to make commitments, who refused to love or be loved. Because she couldn’t stand to see a broken man. A broken man like the one who had saved her life, only to destroy it. Sometimes she wished she had died that day, and saved that man the trouble of causing her misery.

But now, as she looked at her lover, from over her shoulder … she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face the pain. She wanted to heal him, his broken heart. But she was just so weak. She was too weak to do it. And so, she did the only thing that she could, the only thing she knew how to do.

She fled, into the night, losing her soiled thong in an alley along the way.