Lines on Her Face

The summer sun billowed through the half-closed louvered window dressing, casting several wide lines of light across her tense face. Pressed against the wall, she had limited options for movement; she would try to keep her eyes protected from the piercing sunlight, but she yearned to keep them open to view the unfolding drama. Light illuminated her parted moist lips at times, or would highlight her raised cheeks, or the locks of auburn hair which would dance across her face, light to shade, as her face would slowly rotate from side-to-side, or up-and-down.

The row of shaded windows which lined the ocean side walls of the spacious veranda set the room a blaze; lines of sun and shade obscured grassy plants, and pictures alike on the opposing wall held many secrets. The room was in part disarray from the events of the previous evenings encounter; three-half full wine glasses sat on the large oak coffee table which stood majestically in front of a large leather sofa. Stale cheese, a remaining half-bunch of red grapes and soiled napkins lay on a silver tray next to the wine glasses. In the corner stood a large TV monitor, hidden from the sun filtered effects of the louvered shutters, and emitted barely audible sounds; a hushed murmur or two, and at other times, a deep and slow breath, followed by several hurried grasps for air, would raise the volume to a curious level. Wires led from the monitor to an array of video equipment which neatly lay across the figured-oak floor, and a female voice could be heard singing from a nearby radio...

"Baby, baby, I love you

Baby, baby, I love you

But baby, I feel so bad"

She winced with delight and fear with each passing moment; uncertainty could be measured with each twinkle of light on her face, and life's subtle lines which now appeared across her face, told volumes about her storied encounters. Her bound hands pressed firmly into her buttocks from behind, and she could feel her lengthy nails being pushed into her bare skin as he pressed into her...

"And tell me, "Baby, baby, I love you

It's nonstop memories of you

It's like a video of you playing

It's all loops of seven-hour kisses

Cut with a couple near-misses

Back to the scene of the actor saying:

'Tell me, baby, baby -- why do I feel so bad?'"

She had played the part many times before, too many she often thought. But better to live one day like a lion, then a lifetime as a lamb she often thought. Insatiable appetites for frenzied encounters would leave her satisfied for a short while, but invariably lead to wanton greed and lust for even more tempestuous liaisons. Her life could easily be rewound like a video, and often the script would stay the same. Only the passing days and the emergence of new lines on her face could tell the stories and the events. Places and dates, time and memories would leave her a lengthy legacy. Souls touched and relationship's forged and forgotten; too many to remember she often thought would invariably keep her mind occupied when she wasn't being 'taken.'

Fingers would push her panties to the side while the camera rolled, as he continued to subdue and take what he wanted. She could raise one leg and wrap around his side in an effort to accompany each magical thrust of thunder, which made her all the wetter. He had removed her stockings and bound her hands from behind; she had resisted in complete futility, because the aide of his accomplice made such efforts worthless. The woman who worked the camera mounted on a tripod, looked at the pair with a mesmerized glow on her face. With one hand on the camera, her eye pierced the monitor to ensure the couple was perfectly centered on the screen, while her golden locks would fall around her bent over face. Her freehand would cascade down her naked body, across her swollen breasts and down to her golden crotch, at times with a frenzied pace.

"Baby, baby, I love you

Baby, baby, I love you

But baby, I feel so bad"

Falling to the floor she would be mounted by her assailants; he would part her legs and wiggle his tongue through the forest of fine hairs which surrounded her moist lips. The woman who worked the camera, would temporarily hold her torso over her head, and then slowly and deeply press her vibrant vagina into her mouth, rocking back-and-forth on her knees, holding and tightening the grip she held on her breasts. Squealing like hungry pigs at times, the three would take their pleasure and depart from reality, all the while as the sunlight moved through the shudders, casting shadows wherever it pleased.