@ 2018 Asmodeus

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The ScrapYard

Oh what an unknowing fire you fanned with that one. Silk and steel - such a powerful aphrodisiac for me. (Just me? Or are all men drawn to it?) Today had been one of those days where I hadn't had time to read your mail at my customary leisure and it was later into the evening before I found a spot where I could concentrate on it with the focus it deserved. Like an erotic kaleidoscope, you drew together so many elements of a personal favourite of mine that it left me ever so slightly uneasy. Erect, hard, and so rampant that I'm afraid I may well fuck you in your sleep tonight my dear.

Let me take you now….

Feeble shafts of sun fight the gloom as best they can, but it's a lost battle. Early evening already, a day with momentary hints of optimism so cruelly crushed by the rains of late September. At least it had stayed warm. Warm enough for thunder maybe. Perhaps tomorrow would be better….

I slow the car as we drive through town, out towards the coast. The outskirts of town doesn't so much stop at the countryside as simply dissolve into it. No clear boundaries of where town and country separated.  I had planned to take you further out along the coast, to show you a sunset and green flash, to gently share with you a togetherness as tender as the first bloom of spring. To hug you, pressing into you from behind as the sun sets and our moon rises in simultaneous salute to each other. Fiery passion doffing its cap to the cool desire of the night. And somewhere in-between, between that heat of day and cool of night, there is that elusive mix of energies that was neither one nor the other. An energy we called our own.

But -

A sudden mischief overtakes me as I see him. A giant of a man, 350lbs. Almost as round as he is tall, yet with an underlying power to the physique. Widowed, he had brought up two kids on his own for, oh, it must have been the best part of 10 years now. And all that time I had known him to have that beaming smile across his face.

But it wasn't his smile I wanted to share. Without a word, I pull in and lower the window of the car.

You can hear, I'm sure, our conversation, but we speak way to fast for you to keep up. I also - deliberately - run my brogue as broad as I can, mixing local vernacular with guttural mumblings to add to your difficulties. Coupled with my back slightly turned from you, it would take a miracle for you to understand.

A roar of laughter echoes around the deserted yard. "Chunky" as he was known (I don't honestly think I can recall his "real" name.) bellows his agreement to my deal with his characteristic guffaw. "Are ye serious?" he asks one last time.

I nod, and turn to you. "Certainly am big man."

I can see the questions in your eyes. The slight uncertainty, the permutations of what Chunky and I had talked about. The momentary panic as you thought of taxi rides and forfeits, and that strange, hurt-innocent look as you conjure with why I would possibly want to punish you after the day we had had. No, surely not. Not with a 350lbs man. But also the bravado to accept, and the trust to let me guide you. But, as we make eye contact, you know this is not punishment. It is a moment for both of us.

I fish in my wallet for a moment. One £10 note. Then another. "Here man, go get yoursel' a chinky," I say, passing the notes to him.

"Yer mad, man," Chunky bellows. A set of keys quickly exchange for the two notes, and Chunky heads for his pickup. "Mind lock up after you, ye mad bastard."

You look at me, silent questions filling the air.

"I hope you don't mind ladders in your stockings," I say, driving in through the front gates of the yard….

Cars of all ages litter the yard. Not a large yard, but as wreckers yards go, adequate. He used to be a sponsor of mine when I raced, and I had spent many an afternoon finding parts for the racer here. It was as familiar as an old boot. I know where it is safe - and not so safe - to go. As I crank the heavy metal gates closed, you realise the privacy a half inch of steel and nine foot walls gave.

Walking round the car, I open your door and you unsteadily get out, supporting yourself on my arm as we walk further into the yard proper.

Already my cock is pressing against my jeans, hardening in expectation. I see your face light a little, as you yourself conjure with what we can do in such a place.

We pause, our lips hungrily meeting. Tongues, juices, I pull your hair slightly, bunching it in my fist to hold your head as I devour you. Already, I want you. I want the warmth of your cunt, or perhaps your mouth, I'm not sure. To feel you engulf me within your body is all that matters. I lift your skirt and pull you onto me, already feeling you unzip me for a brief, frantic mini-fuck.

You are slick, my moist haven ready for me as my cock springs free. The fingers of my free hand rub against your clit as my cock slides effortlessly into you. There is a warmth, a reassurance in there. We are one. But, we are an uncomfortable one. With you unsteady on your feet, my cock can just reach you and no more. Gentle teasing your gateway, but I want the full length of me in you. I want to feel my balls slam against your ass. I want a complete and incomparable jointing with you. I let go of your hair, and your clit, and lift you up, encircling you around the waist as I pick you up.

You are animal, kissing me heavily, tongue threatening to gag me, your fingers raking down my face, leaving, I can feel, light scratches down my cheek. Your legs are struggling to grip round me, to somehow keep my cock in you as we - I - the collective being that is our sexuality - make our way towards the first available wreck.

I deposit - there is no other word for it - you on the hood of the car, your skirt falling over your waist, your open, pouting cunt visible to my gaze. The hood, as befitting an occupant of a wreckers yard, is covered in dirt, oil and remnants of the day's rain, everything you'd expect to find on such a hood. As you land, rather unceremoniously on it, the oil / dirt mix smears your butt, stains the tops of your white stockings, your dress - you.

My jeans fall to the ground. Hooking you behind the knees, I pull you flat onto the hood, entering you and tilting you in one easy motion. The first stroke is sublime. I throw my head back, closing my eyes and breathing in deeply. For a moment, I feel your cunt clamp me, readying itself to accept the fountain of cum that it feels will follow immediately. The cacophony of emotion and energy almost tips me over the edge. A barrage of sensations flooding me before control re-establishes itself and I can muster my concentration to continue the rhythm. But it is not easy. I can feel the pulse in every part of my body. The blood as it flows through every artery and vein, the electrical impulses shooting along every nerve in my body. But above all, I feel your tight cunt wrapping itself around my shaft.

There is a time for poetry, a time for relaxing, a time for watching green flashes. And there is a time for plain, cruel, fucking. And right now, the most basal, carnal fuck is what I want. I look down at you, and feel the response returned. Your cunt is hungry tonight, my lover, hungry for the rawest of meals. Ready for the most natural, decadent, basal of fucks. In the blink of an eye, we jump back a thousand generations. No longer are we two sentient and erotically sophisticated beings. We are cave dwellers. And you, my dear, have just been dragged into my cave.

I slam into you, running the full length of my cock in and out as fast as I humanly can. I grasp your shoulders with my fingers, biting into them with my nails, pushing your legs and knees higher up, easing the access into you as I do.

My thumbs reach out slightly, catching the collar of your blouse, and slowly, firmly, rip it apart at the buttons. Your breasts heave through the material of the bra, nipples pulsating in time with the motion of our fucking. Two quivering mounds of flesh, reverberating to the battering from below. I lean forward, gripping, then biting your right nipple through the material.

It is enough to shock you into orgasm. I feel you draw me in a little further, the pulsating grip trying to milk me, the way your hips grind into me.

My fingers release your shoulders for a moment, to release your breasts. It's a front opener, but I don't care. I simply rip it off you, raising it over the top of your breasts and letting it fall out of the way of your erect, pleading nipples.

My mouth falls on them in turn. Torturing them, nibbling, suckling, biting. Clamping my mouth over their entirety and sucking them with all my strength, drawing nipple, aureole and as much breast flesh into my mouth as I can before closing my teeth around it. I feel you lurch into another orgasm.

Then it is my turn. I feel it start at the back of my head. The slow, knotting pain that spreads down my spine, around my kidneys and then, and only then, starts to involve my balls and cock.

You clamp onto me, feeling my cock engorge itself in your cunt. Drawing me further in, enveloping me, hungrily preparing itself for the coming explosion.

The "pain" starts to fire in my balls. The hot jet searing up the shaft of my cock. Then…


A million years of primal fuck energy. As ancient as the sun dropping below the horizon. As fundamental as electrons and protons.

I jerk in time with my spasm, feeling your cunt relax and contract naturally in time with them. Milking me further and deeper, symbiotically reacting to my cock as it fills you.

In a few seconds, it is over. My cock, still pulsing, but softening slightly. Your cunt, still hungry, but understanding, reluctantly releasing me, allowing to stand back slightly, looking down at you, your laddered stockings, smeared skirt, split blouse. Light teeth marks on your breasts, the flush of orgasm on your clit. The unmistakable clean trail on the hood where your cunt juices have washed it clean. And the first hint of cum dripping - escaping - from your cunt.

I look into your eyes and see a hunger.

My cock twitches again.

I toy with a momentary thought of taking you along the coast, to watch the moonlight rise and to hold you as the darkness took hold. But you're looking chilly. Scottish autumns and tattered clothing don't always go hand in hand, and despite me having the heating on almost full, there is still a fine texture to your delicate skin that told me you felt the chill.

And you look sleepy too. The hint of gossamer hangs over your eyes and your head sways slightly as the car makes its way through the streets. (The BIG difference between roads in the US and the UK, other than you drive on the wrong side, is that yours are mainly straights with a few corners thrown in, while ours are mainly corners with a few straights here and there.)

So we pull up at my house.

"I thought we were going to the beach?" You ask.

"We were." I run a finger over your goosed thigh. "But it'll be there another day, when you're a little warmer and more awake.

You smile, perhaps disappointed at missing the greenflash, but also a little grateful that your tattered dress can be replaced sooner rather than later. I am out the car, round it and at your door before you can unfasten your belt, and I scoop you out of the car as I'd put you in it. I slip the keys into my mouth before I pick you up, so you can lock the car, and unlock the house door without breaking my stride.

Inside is warm. Not as warm as the car had been, with its fan and heater cranked up, but still well above the now gloomy temp outside.

It has to be one of the easiest strips of you I've ever done. You no longer have clothes on, mere shards of cloth. The stockings, the dress, the blouse, all "ruined" but with such memories of their demise that my cock arches as I discard them.

Then you are naked, snuggling into a throw on the couch, peeking out from your warmth at me with those eyes. And a dirty nose.

"I'll be back in a moment," I say, leaving the living room. Closing the door so you can't see what I'm doing.

You know I'm running a bath. That sound is unmistakable, even through closed doors. But what else was I doing? I know it would be irritating you, the closed door. How you hate closed doors. I could almost imagine your eyes boring into its wood. The thoughts of "Well, I could always just get up, go and ask him if he needs any help," drifting through your mind.

But you also like the mystery of the unknown. Your imagination would be counter painting for you. A delicate, or perhaps a not so delicate, scenario would be unfolding, stroke by stroke in your mind. And I could also sense the cunt slickening effect that would be having on you.

So I toy. Drop something I wouldn't normally. Let it roll harmlessly down the stairs. Thump, thump, thump. I can imagine you counting each resonance, trying to gauge weight, size and use of what I had just dropped.

But soon, the bath is filled. I open the living room door. You are still there, encamped in your wrap, eyes and nose still peeking out. But the eyes are that little more focused. Concentrating that little bit more than they had been when I'd left you.

I slip the wrap off you, exposing your nakedness. Oily, scratched, bitten even. But still so ethereally sexual that my cock is hardening as I lean down to pick you up.

You arm reaches out. "I can manage."

I smile. "I know you can. But that's not the point." I brush your arm aside and scoop you up, feeling you arms enclose me as I lift. Our lips touch. Not kissing, but touching. Then I take you to the bathroom.

It's small, the bathroom. Probably too small for the purposes I have in mind, but it has to do, I can't get an annex at such short notice. Along one side is the bath filled with bubbles. Overflowing with bubbles in fact.

Lined up along the various shelves, the sink, etc, are twenty candles, all various sizes, light dancing across the bubbles and wall of the room with the chaotic elegance that only candles can muster. A hint of Lavender (I don't want anything too strong, in case it triggers your migraine.) slowly wafts from a burner. I feel you sink a little more into my arms and kiss your forehead.

Placing you on your feet, I help you into the bath and let you settle.

"Coming in?" You ask.

"In a moment."

I fill the sink and, taking a flannel and some unperfumed soap, start washing your face. Wiping away the grime, I smile, kissing each part of your newly discovered features. Your forehead, delicate, warm strokes of the flannel washing away the sweat and the grime from the yard. Your eyebrows next. Then kissing your eyelids, delicately feeling them respond to the unusual feel of lips on them. Then your cheeks, and, of course, not forgetting your nose. I run the flannel down them, then kiss each side, savouring the feel of your flesh under my lips. Then, I linger at your jaw, cleaning, kissing, anointing. Then your lips. Those beautiful lips. The lips of a slut and a scholar. I rinse the flannel out and let you suck on an edge of it, watching the water slide down the sides of your mouth as you bite lightly down on it. Watching the water drip over your newly cleaned chin and drop off you into the abyss of bubbles below.

I tilt you back slightly, gently pulling your head back by the hair. A bottle of apple lotion comes to hand and I gently pump a few drops from it, watching the green soapy liquid fall down from your neck, down your cleavage, winding it's way over and round, you. Then it is my hands turn. Gently massaging the lotion into a foaming, slick covering of your breasts. The tactile sensation flows from you. I am firm, but gentle. Feeling the shape, texture, weight of each breast in turn. Femininity, its firm yet compliant mass of all things female. The smoothness of the flesh itself, the slightly ruffled flesh of the aureole and the firmness of your erect nipple. Even the gentle teeth mark have their own unique feel as I caress them.

My hands follow the shape of your body, under, into the foam. I feel your taut flat stomach, flicking playfully at your navel as I go. Then your thighs. Constricted by the width of the tub, but open enough to allow a "cleansing" hand to explore, clean, purify. I feel an uncommon resistance, the water robbing the natural slickness of your cunt and my fingers fight to enter the inner sanctum of your hole.

You tense around my fingers, tightening, drawing me in, grinding down with a conversely gentle movement. My head drops down, kissing your lips firstly, then down your throat, tasting your newly anointed flesh. Spring Apples dance on my tongue, the bubbles, for I've not yet rinsed you off, tingle in my nose. I draw concentric circles in the foam, centring on your nipples, and drawing larger, firmer circles in it as I circle out.

You hand comes out of the bubbles, gripping my still denim clad cock with your fingers, fumbling for my zip, teasing as you go.

My mouth finds the nerve complex at the side of your neck, teasing it, nibbling on your ear, then darting down the side of your neck. Your cunt twitches in time with my tongues movements. So far apart, yet so linked, as if your very cunt has roots that permeate your entirety. Sometimes I use the flat of my tongue on you, at others, the point, feeling the differences translated into reactions in your cunt.

I feel an orgasm rise in you, and want the flesh to flesh contact that is important at a time like this. Quickly, almost hurriedly, I throw my clothes off, and slip round behind you, slipping into the bath with you while keeping my fingers in your cunt.

As my hard cock finds a natural resting place in the small of your back, I feel you orgasm erupt.