Written by Zarathustra
03 Apr 2015
- 2 Comments
- 1454 Views
5 minute read
I am enthralled with the transformation: we meet this attractive woman early 30's, with her carefully groomed, bobbed blonde hair cut to a fringe above her intelligent grey-blue eyes and ready smile,wearing her quite new, Triumph Bra and panties set (in pink, from Woolworths,) her great legs and bum beneath a neat dark business skirt, contrasting short-sleeved blouse to show off toned arms and manicured hands. Her Bra size : 36b. She loves her breasts, not too big, not too small, pert, pink-tipped and perfect. She drives a small newish Toyota, which is as well-kept as she is, and she works as the operations manager for a medium-sized Shipping company. Her name is Helen, and she went to School and University in Johannesburg. See her controlling a commercial meeting of some kind, how clearly she communicates, how focused on her task, perhaps she sips bottled water as she works. She is quintessentially a modern, successful woman, with well-developed sense of herself. She is what the psychologists might call a high-functioning person with normal self-esteem. She has all the attributes: intelligence, ambition, that need to be recognized and rewarded, a sense of humour, she has a love of life, and, she has the capacity for passion.
Where, when, does her transformation begin? I think it begins in the morning of an ordinary day, somewhere in the early part of her cycle, when, living alone, she awakes after a good night's sleep, her bladder full, and she in her half-awake half asleep dreaming, feels a tight, aching throb at the core of herself, just inside and behind her vagina, pressed by the fullness of the need to pee. She luxuriates in that feeling...delicious, painful ache which is at once relieved and intensified if she places her fingertip just..there.. below the nub of her clitoris, and presses gently. Little tiny almost-orgasms remind her of the pleasure of sex, and of her desire to fuck, and to be fucked. She fantasises....in her own mind, she posesses her totally private universe, she may act as she wishes, explore each and every avenue if she chooses it....discover for herself, alone, the full flavour of the pleasures she could enjoy.
She sees another figure, in her mind, fills in just the detail she wants, an outline, shaded and shadowed, coloured just so, moving and being exactly what she wants it to be. Dresses it in blue jeans, a shirt, makes it male...tall, strong, modelled after an athelete , or figured from an image on the cover of Men's Health magazine. Gives him no personality, no name, he is not actually a man, just....a toy, the less loved the better for now...
Here, the mysterious transformation has begun. She looks at her man, admires him, makes him perfect for her uses, suited to herself. Turns him around, strips him nude, and admires the tight, muscled curve of his back, stares exactly at the fissure where his buttocks meet...lower so that she may glimpse hanging freely his beautiful balls that she has given him...now she makes them loose, warm, hanging, now, at her pleasure, tightens his sack and has them shielded, tight. She plays. She imagines his scent. Wants to put her face close, there, smell him, sweet.salty, musky, damp. Feels her own melting opening...a descending, parting, swollen feeling has engulfed her. She knows a finger placed inside will come away wet. She is wet for his cock, already.
Now, she is not the woman we saw, earlier. Now, she is engaged with another purpose, she is in another world, where she herself is naked, vulnerable yet totally safe, about to be ravished, raped by rampant cock, yet she is totally in control, she turns him around, rejoices in the huge manly errect cock she has given him, and selfishly makes him wait, bids him sit in a corner where she can see him, as she opens the door to another she has created. She will make her lover wait, and watch, whilst in her mind she lies back, displays her wet, open, willing bushy vagina and clitoris for this other new man she has invented. Makes him kneel in front of her parted legs, looks over his back at Mr Jealousy sitting, pouting in the corner, and she crooks a finger, sends telepathic signals to mr New Man...who at her bidding places his electric tounge underneath her clitty-bud and softly licks her perfectly.
Now, she is a perfect woman, engulfed by her own pleasure, she is now on her back legs parted, now astride, first her man faces up to her and wills her sex down onto his waiting mouth, Now she impales herself on his cock and rides to her orgasm, and then disposes of them all.
Which of the two have I met? In my life I have met them both, been in love with both, loved both and just as neatly, been disposed of, by both. Once, I was the chocolate. Now, I am the wrapper. I have been eaten by Mrs Sex, and been kissed by Mrs Office, Tossed off and tossed away by them both.
Once, I felt enraged by it, jealous as I was replaced; felt useless and small after the rage passed; then I loved again, fucked again, and again and I realised that none of it matters, in the least. This morning I watched a leaf fall from a tree in my garden and realised there is as much meaning in that falling leaf, as there may be in this universe, and my agonies of love are just as precious, every bit as fleeting.
Grasp and remember every moment of pleasure, if you can, because, all too soon, it's all gone. The hardest part, for me, is watching it enjoyed, wasted, by others.