Goldenrod Ch. 02

The message I left went as follows:

'Mikaela, this is Tom. I don't know what you're telling your friends but I've had a lot of people- I'll call them short haired girls -grinning at me and making crude remarks on campus and in town, and I'd like you to knock it off. Thanks. Sorry if I bothered you. I hope everything is cool. Bye.'

I was sitting in a coffee shop working on my laptop when a bag dropped on the ground beside me and Mikaela plopped into the chair across the table. It had been several weeks since I'd last seen her, and over two months since our night at the theater. She'd taken me with her strap-on three times after that first encounter (at her apartment during lunch, in her car, in a train station bathroom) but something was essentially wrong with the situation and we had drifted apart. Seeing her sitting in front of me in a sweat-stained track top instantly got me hot again, though. Her head sat with imperious intelligence atop her neck, the black framed glasses on, and her hair was still too short to be messy. She leveled a calm gaze at me.

"I got your message, Tom. Are you ready to talk?"

"What's there to discuss? I just don't want you telling your friends about me."

"Then you should have kept your fantasies to yourself."

I bristled at that.

"What do you mean? You read my paper. I never wanted to talk to you."

"You let me do you. A few times, actually. You love it madly."

I frowned at the table, wishing she'd lower her voice.

"I have the right to brag about you. You should take it as a compliment," she continued.

"I just don't want everybody in the world knowing my personal business."

She beamed one of her grins at me. "Is that all? You're embarrassed? You certainly weren't embarrassed when I had your ankles in my hands and was driving my cock down in you." I could still remember the look of angry determination on her face from that night when she was laying into me. "In fact, you went on a laughing jag. It was magnificent. I don't remember ever feeling like such a man. Tom, listen," she said, leaning close to me. "None of the women I talk to are the type who would try to humiliate you over this. They only talk to you because they like you, and they like what you do for me. Emotionally, I mean."

"They like me?"

She nodded.

"How much?"

"They're not above propositioning you. You could get a lot, and I mean a lot. But if you think this is moving too quickly, I can discourage them."

"If what is moving too quickly? I haven't even seen you in weeks!"

"And we both know why that is."

"No we don't."

"Sure we do. And don't tell me it's because you don't like it."

"Okay, we've established I love it."

"'Love it'? Well, I knew I was good. Then what's the reason, Tom? Is it because I'm too strong for you? Do I do it too hard?"

I blushed a stinging red and looked down again. "That's not it."

"It is, and don't you dare lie to me about it either. I've got my gear with me," she said, kicking her bag. "I'll put it on right here and do you over the table, in front of everybody. Tom, look. You should talk to my friend. She can help make it so you don't have any trouble doing what you want to do."

"Is she a shrink?"

"No, she teaches Eastern traditions downtown. Promise me you'll go talk to her. She'll fix this for you. She can make it so it doesn't hurt anymore. Really, I know people she's helped. Let me give you her card," she said. She picked up her bag, and dug the number out of it.

"Okay," I said, accepting it.

"You done here, or what?"

"Why?"

"You've had a few weeks to recover from your last tangle with me, and we're not doing it regularly. I think you can afford to give me a roll in the hay."

I stared at her, fascinated by her audacity. We got up to leave. When we arrived at her apartment, she was still faintly aglow and sweaty from the gym session she'd had before meeting me. The long blinds were pulled in her bedroom, and the clean air was scented with jasmine. Mikaela dropped her bag on the floor and moved to encircle my lower back with her arms, joining me in a kiss. My hands ran up her trunk, one to her rough hair, and the other to her shoulder. Like a dancer, she dipped me, and gently deposited me on the bed. Then she tore off my pants as if waving a battle flag.

She fucked me in the missionary position, with my hands gripping her powerful upper arms. Though in appearance still a tall, lean, young man, she had gained somewhat in strength and size since last we'd met. Her glistening, corded thighs set the hard curves of her pelvis crashing into me between my bent knees. That dark, serious face was turned down to her chest, which was bound in a gray sports bra. Businesslike deliberation sent ripples of tautness through the jigsaw muscles of her back and her chiseled abdomen, utterly mesmerizing me. Gradually, her rate of thrust increased to trigger the single orgasm she had planned.

"Mikaela!"

She stabbed harder and faster, bounding upward freely into a maddening ecstasy.

"Do you feel me, Tom?" she asked through gritted teeth. "Do you feel my will inside you?"

"Yes!" I cried, and my legs straightened reflexively to post my feet in the air above her exceptionally performing body. My hands tightened and we came together in clenching fits of wet heat that drowned out everything around us. Then we paused for endless minutes to suck down the cool air, like two fish out of the water. When she finally dislodged herself from me she sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, and regained her wits. She rose and peeled off her bra as she walked, dropping it on the way to the shower, but she left her dripping dick on as if it really were a part of her, or perhaps as some kind of a trophy. As I heard the water run I suffered the after-effects of one her rough invasions, and looked in the low light for the card with the phone number she'd given me.

One month later, I was practicing special breathing, nude in the lotus position, in a wide, bare space on the third floor of her friend's studio. I had enjoyed six trying lessons with the sex magic master, Ray (short for Rachel) Erhart. Our goal, the instructor had said, was to equip me with "a mental discipline that would create endurance for physical pain, while increasing concentration to the level where pleasure impulses could be totally isolated from the influx of sensory data, and perceived thoroughly." To this end, Ray had spent many grueling hours strap-on banging my ass.

As Ray entered the room I was struck as usual by the sight of her, because of the incredible vitality she exuded. Simply sharing a small space was enough to make one feel an electric tingle. It was extremely exciting, and I often had to make an effort to stifle erections in her presence. If she ever noticed this awkward problem (and she seemed to know everything) then mentioning it was never worthwhile to her. Even from where I sat there was a sultriness in her voluminous limbs and torso that I was afraid to understand, as if learning the secret of this unconventional attraction would bind me to her forever. She strode over smiling in attire that was typical for her: a black cotton halter top below a large, blue t-shirt with the neck cut out; loosely-fitting, faded red shorts; a variety of exotic necklaces, bracelets, and earrings featuring the likenesses of Buddhas on their medals. Her hair, like Mikaela's, was spiky, but Ray's was two inches long, and jet black. She wore sneakers without socks. Strapped over her shorts was a luminous orange dildo, the obvious artificiality of which, she had explained, would place me in a specific psychological state that was crucial to my training. She towered over me, licking her lips as her heavy, oiled, white thighs kindled lust before my eyes. A low vibration manifested in my ears, nipples, and other sensitive areas. I swallowed and leaned forward subtly to hide my groin.

"Honor your teacher," she commanded.

At once I got on my knees before her and formed my mouth into an O, which I dutifully placed over the head of her cock.

"Assume Position Four. You've been doing your exercises?"

"Yes, master." I turned my back to her, still on my knees, and waited for her to descend behind me. My hands gripped my thighs, and I straightened my arms to a deathly stiffness.

"Have you seen the Golden Flower?"

"No, master."

"Perhaps today, then." At once on her knees, she took a large breath, and pulled me back, down, by my elbows onto her waiting phallus. When the tip had breached my sphincter, she held me still and lifted her own ass off her ankles to fill me up. My face screwed into a wince and tears sparkled in the corners of my eyes, but there was no pain. When she had bottomed out, and we were fully linked, she slowly descended again, bringing me with her, and sat on her calves breathing calmly, with me on her lap. I felt her feet beside mine on the floor, and her pliant belly and copious breasts warmed my back through the soft fabric of her shirts. The orange dick stood alert, inside me. She patted and caressed my arms to soothe me, but I kept them straight. Her influence saturated me in slow, invisible waves. I took a deep breath. "Good," she said.

To fuck me, all she had to do was raise and lower her ass from her ankles. Her thumbs and forefingers were fastened to me above each elbow, and she easily created a counter-force to the swells of her hips by drawing me back that way. This was why it was necessary that I keep hold of my legs. Every movement in this range of motion was easy for her; her hands had the lifeless, unbreakable grasp of brass rings; her arms had the durability of iron chains; her thick thighs operated with unrelenting indifference beneath me as if steel hydraulics. My jaw trembled on most downward trips like the tiny bell hammer on an ornate clock. My breathing was quick and cold.

"Easy, boy. I'm going to raise your energy."

I could see by just looking down that my energy had been raised the second she slid into me. She obviously meant something else, because she settled into a trot that lightly bounced me, while maintaining control of my posture as effortlessly as if I'd been weightless. Her grips slackened considerably but all her fingers rested along the widths of my arms. In a moment I knew what she'd been talking about. Shaking me that way, jiggling me, she set something off inside me.

"Oh, wow."

"Let it happen," she urged, patiently.

In my mind's eye I could see my body filling up with golden light. That became warmth, and sent intense white beams bursting out of me until my skin was like a shimmering, starry armor. My respiration became automatically steady and deep, the air taken in sweet and perfectly satisfying. Instantly I felt as though a heavy knitted blanket had been pulled from my head, with my thoughts bright and crystal.

"Ah! Ray!"

"Imprint the feel of the dick in your memory. I'm taking you to an altered state of consciousness." She reached under my arms to grab my shoulders from the front, and was now really slamming into my backside, but she could have been a million miles away for all I knew.

"Ah!" I started laughing. "It's so simple!" Up and down, up and down, she served and returned me forcefully with blinding speed, until in my vision a golden flower opened that filled the universe, and became everything. I heard the high whine of its radiance. "I see it."

"I know," she said, and laughed with me. She stopped fucking.

Basking in the vast, invisible light of the spirit blossom, we became wholly composed and reverent. Like a machine that was powering down, Ray slowly lowered herself back a final time, and I remained kneeling. We came apart with a little pop. The wincing and tears had disappeared from my face, replaced by a calm, friendly knowing. A smile slowly broke on my lips.

"Congratulations," Ray said. "You've reached the final level." I turned to look back her, and thought I saw sparks leaping from her shocks of ebony hair. A wave of heat escaping from her crotch distorted the image of her briefly. Scarlet had broken out on her cheeks and chin, and poured down into her great cleavage.

"How can I thank you?" I asked, illuminated with pleasure.

"Think of something," she replied, and smiled.

I laughed one more time, turned my back to her again, and fell forward onto my hands. She took hold of my hips and pressed her wand into me for another go.The message I left went as follows:

'Mikaela, this is Tom. I don't know what you're telling your friends but I've had a lot of people- I'll call them short haired girls -grinning at me and making crude remarks on campus and in town, and I'd like you to knock it off. Thanks. Sorry if I bothered you. I hope everything is cool. Bye.'

I was sitting in a coffee shop working on my laptop when a bag dropped on the ground beside me and Mikaela plopped into the chair across the table. It had been several weeks since I'd last seen her, and over two months since our night at the theater. She'd taken me with her strap-on three times after that first encounter (at her apartment during lunch, in her car, in a train station bathroom) but something was essentially wrong with the situation and we had drifted apart. Seeing her sitting in front of me in a sweat-stained track top instantly got me hot again, though. Her head sat with imperious intelligence atop her neck, the black framed glasses on, and her hair was still too short to be messy. She leveled a calm gaze at me.

"I got your message, Tom. Are you ready to talk?"

"What's there to discuss? I just don't want you telling your friends about me."

"Then you should have kept your fantasies to yourself."

I bristled at that.

"What do you mean? You read my paper. I never wanted to talk to you."

"You let me do you. A few times, actually. You love it madly."

I frowned at the table, wishing she'd lower her voice.

"I have the right to brag about you. You should take it as a compliment," she continued.

"I just don't want everybody in the world knowing my personal business."

She beamed one of her grins at me. "Is that all? You're embarrassed? You certainly weren't embarrassed when I had your ankles in my hands and was driving my cock down in you." I could still remember the look of angry determination on her face from that night when she was laying into me. "In fact, you went on a laughing jag. It was magnificent. I don't remember ever feeling like such a man. Tom, listen," she said, leaning close to me. "None of the women I talk to are the type who would try to humiliate you over this. They only talk to you because they like you, and they like what you do for me. Emotionally, I mean."

"They like me?"

She nodded.

"How much?"

"They're not above propositioning you. You could get a lot, and I mean a lot. But if you think this is moving too quickly, I can discourage them."

"If what is moving too quickly? I haven't even seen you in weeks!"

"And we both know why that is."

"No we don't."

"Sure we do. And don't tell me it's because you don't like it."

"Okay, we've established I love it."

"'Love it'? Well, I knew I was good. Then what's the reason, Tom? Is it because I'm too strong for you? Do I do it too hard?"

I blushed a stinging red and looked down again. "That's not it."

"It is, and don't you dare lie to me about it either. I've got my gear with me," she said, kicking her bag. "I'll put it on right here and do you over the table, in front of everybody. Tom, look. You should talk to my friend. She can help make it so you don't have any trouble doing what you want to do."

"Is she a shrink?"

"No, she teaches Eastern traditions downtown. Promise me you'll go talk to her. She'll fix this for you. She can make it so it doesn't hurt anymore. Really, I know people she's helped. Let me give you her card," she said. She picked up her bag, and dug the number out of it.

"Okay," I said, accepting it.

"You done here, or what?"

"Why?"

"You've had a few weeks to recover from your last tangle with me, and we're not doing it regularly. I think you can afford to give me a roll in the hay."

I stared at her, fascinated by her audacity. We got up to leave. When we arrived at her apartment, she was still faintly aglow and sweaty from the gym session she'd had before meeting me. The long blinds were pulled in her bedroom, and the clean air was scented with jasmine. Mikaela dropped her bag on the floor and moved to encircle my lower back with her arms, joining me in a kiss. My hands ran up her trunk, one to her rough hair, and the other to her shoulder. Like a dancer, she dipped me, and gently deposited me on the bed. Then she tore off my pants as if waving a battle flag.

She fucked me in the missionary position, with my hands gripping her powerful upper arms. Though in appearance still a tall, lean, young man, she had gained somewhat in strength and size since last we'd met. Her glistening, corded thighs set the hard curves of her pelvis crashing into me between my bent knees. That dark, serious face was turned down to her chest, which was bound in a gray sports bra. Businesslike deliberation sent ripples of tautness through the jigsaw muscles of her back and her chiseled abdomen, utterly mesmerizing me. Gradually, her rate of thrust increased to trigger the single orgasm she had planned.

"Mikaela!"

She stabbed harder and faster, bounding upward freely into a maddening ecstasy.

"Do you feel me, Tom?" she asked through gritted teeth. "Do you feel my will inside you?"

"Yes!" I cried, and my legs straightened reflexively to post my feet in the air above her exceptionally performing body. My hands tightened and we came together in clenching fits of wet heat that drowned out everything around us. Then we paused for endless minutes to suck down the cool air, like two fish out of the water. When she finally dislodged herself from me she sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, and regained her wits. She rose and peeled off her bra as she walked, dropping it on the way to the shower, but she left her dripping dick on as if it really were a part of her, or perhaps as some kind of a trophy. As I heard the water run I suffered the after-effects of one her rough invasions, and looked in the low light for the card with the phone number she'd given me.

One month later, I was practicing special breathing, nude in the lotus position, in a wide, bare space on the third floor of her friend's studio. I had enjoyed six trying lessons with the sex magic master, Ray (short for Rachel) Erhart. Our goal, the instructor had said, was to equip me with "a mental discipline that would create endurance for physical pain, while increasing concentration to the level where pleasure impulses could be totally isolated from the influx of sensory data, and perceived thoroughly." To this end, Ray had spent many grueling hours strap-on banging my ass.

As Ray entered the room I was struck as usual by the sight of her, because of the incredible vitality she exuded. Simply sharing a small space was enough to make one feel an electric tingle. It was extremely exciting, and I often had to make an effort to stifle erections in her presence. If she ever noticed this awkward problem (and she seemed to know everything) then mentioning it was never worthwhile to her. Even from where I sat there was a sultriness in her voluminous limbs and torso that I was afraid to understand, as if learning the secret of this unconventional attraction would bind me to her forever. She strode over smiling in attire that was typical for her: a black cotton halter top below a large, blue t-shirt with the neck cut out; loosely-fitting, faded red shorts; a variety of exotic necklaces, bracelets, and earrings featuring the likenesses of Buddhas on their medals. Her hair, like Mikaela's, was spiky, but Ray's was two inches long, and jet black. She wore sneakers without socks. Strapped over her shorts was a luminous orange dildo, the obvious artificiality of which, she had explained, would place me in a specific psychological state that was crucial to my training. She towered over me, licking her lips as her heavy, oiled, white thighs kindled lust before my eyes. A low vibration manifested in my ears, nipples, and other sensitive areas. I swallowed and leaned forward subtly to hide my groin.

"Honor your teacher," she commanded.

At once I got on my knees before her and formed my mouth into an O, which I dutifully placed over the head of her cock.

"Assume Position Four. You've been doing your exercises?"

"Yes, master." I turned my back to her, still on my knees, and waited for her to descend behind me. My hands gripped my thighs, and I straightened my arms to a deathly stiffness.

"Have you seen the Golden Flower?"

"No, master."

"Perhaps today, then." At once on her knees, she took a large breath, and pulled me back, down, by my elbows onto her waiting phallus. When the tip had breached my sphincter, she held me still and lifted her own ass off her ankles to fill me up. My face screwed into a wince and tears sparkled in the corners of my eyes, but there was no pain. When she had bottomed out, and we were fully linked, she slowly descended again, bringing me with her, and sat on her calves breathing calmly, with me on her lap. I felt her feet beside mine on the floor, and her pliant belly and copious breasts warmed my back through the soft fabric of her shirts. The orange dick stood alert, inside me. She patted and caressed my arms to soothe me, but I kept them straight. Her influence saturated me in slow, invisible waves. I took a deep breath. "Good," she said.

To fuck me, all she had to do was raise and lower her ass from her ankles. Her thumbs and forefingers were fastened to me above each elbow, and she easily created a counter-force to the swells of her hips by drawing me back that way. This was why it was necessary that I keep hold of my legs. Every movement in this range of motion was easy for her; her hands had the lifeless, unbreakable grasp of brass rings; her arms had the durability of iron chains; her thick thighs operated with unrelenting indifference beneath me as if steel hydraulics. My jaw trembled on most downward trips like the tiny bell hammer on an ornate clock. My breathing was quick and cold.

"Easy, boy. I'm going to raise your energy."

I could see by just looking down that my energy had been raised the second she slid into me. She obviously meant something else, because she settled into a trot that lightly bounced me, while maintaining control of my posture as effortlessly as if I'd been weightless. Her grips slackened considerably but all her fingers rested along the widths of my arms. In a moment I knew what she'd been talking about. Shaking me that way, jiggling me, she set something off inside me.

"Oh, wow."

"Let it happen," she urged, patiently.

In my mind's eye I could see my body filling up with golden light. That became warmth, and sent intense white beams bursting out of me until my skin was like a shimmering, starry armor. My respiration became automatically steady and deep, the air taken in sweet and perfectly satisfying. Instantly I felt as though a heavy knitted blanket had been pulled from my head, with my thoughts bright and crystal.

"Ah! Ray!"

"Imprint the feel of the dick in your memory. I'm taking you to an altered state of consciousness." She reached under my arms to grab my shoulders from the front, and was now really slamming into my backside, but she could have been a million miles away for all I knew.

"Ah!" I started laughing. "It's so simple!" Up and down, up and down, she served and returned me forcefully with blinding speed, until in my vision a golden flower opened that filled the universe, and became everything. I heard the high whine of its radiance. "I see it."

"I know," she said, and laughed with me. She stopped fucking.

Basking in the vast, invisible light of the spirit blossom, we became wholly composed and reverent. Like a machine that was powering down, Ray slowly lowered herself back a final time, and I remained kneeling. We came apart with a little pop. The wincing and tears had disappeared from my face, replaced by a calm, friendly knowing. A smile slowly broke on my lips.

"Congratulations," Ray said. "You've reached the final level." I turned to look back her, and thought I saw sparks leaping from her shocks of ebony hair. A wave of heat escaping from her crotch distorted the image of her briefly. Scarlet had broken out on her cheeks and chin, and poured down into her great cleavage.

"How can I thank you?" I asked, illuminated with pleasure.

"Think of something," she replied, and smiled.

I laughed one more time, turned my back to her again, and fell forward onto my hands. She took hold of my hips and pressed her wand into me for another go.

goldenrod

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