One Weeend Stand

Saturday Night

He took the final key from the lid of the trunk and dangled it teasingly in front of her face. The key to the lock of the last secret. He knew what was in the locker. The cabin's owner had been quite proud of this possession. The owner hadn't needed to explain its use to him. He already had known some of the history behind it. Certainly, it was something that she'd never tried. Something she would surely enjoy. Yet...

Yet, it wasn't what he wanted to do right this second. Right now, his perfect event would entail the two of them falling into bed together, limbs entwined, bodies slipping against each other, his manhood exploring the very comfortable environs of her womanhood. He wanted them to laze together, to slowly and deliberately mount the steppes toward a very enticing peak, tease and deny, tease and deny, both pushing the other to display their most cunning enticements and their most iron-clad willpower. Until at last one of them fell or leapt from the precipice, pulling the other down into a maelstrom of sexual pleasure.

That very compelling scenario wasn't going to take place anytime soon, of course. She was on the hunt, very close to revealing the final secret of the cabin. He doubted that anything would lead her from that path. And, truth be told, even if he were able to set her in another direction, she would no doubt spend some of that time wondering about the contents of the final locker. And allowing herself to be distracted from the pleasures at hand.

She'd told him of her resolve to remain nude for the rest of the evening. And though he hadn't explicitly agreed to do the same, he now found himself back out in the darkness without a stitch of clothing. And feeling, somewhat incongruously, a bit self-conscious about it. That was the human condition for you: sometimes proud, sometimes vain, never predictable.

He gave her the honor of unlocking the final locker. Inside was a large cardboard box, about two feet on each side. He smiled when he saw her look of consternation. She'd have to wait just a little bit more to see their latest surprise. He twisted the box out of the locker and indicated that she should bring the small toolbox that had been revealed. Then, with exaggerated care, they made their way back to the cabin, where he silently gave thanks that the door was not the self-locking sort. Huddling together for warmth, no matter how sexy the huddle, wasn't his idea of a fun night.

From the markings on the cover, it was clear that the box was designed to lift off the contents. He set it in the middle of the floor, ensuring that it was directly centered underneath the roof truss with the eye hooks in it. As he prepared to unveil it, he saw that someone had graciously hidden an electric outlet in the middle of the floor, precisely where it was needed. Their host had thought of everything.

Just to heighten the tension, he made a grand production of the unveiling. He lowered the lights. He moved the rugs. He fluffed a pillow and set it on the floor as a seat for her. And every time he moved past her, he caressed her. On the ass. On her chest. On the leg. On the shoulder. He smiled openly as he saw how exasperated she was becoming. Even as he knew that he'd probably pay for it somewhere down the line.

Finally, after he'd delayed as long as possible, he strode over and deliberately lifted the cover from the device. He could see the puzzlement in her eyes. He wasn't that surprised by her lack of recognition. She was, by her own admission, somewhat untutored in the many varieties of sex. Still, she'd indicated that her husband was somewhat fond of lesbian scenarios, and this device was certainly a favorite in the lesbian porn genre.

To all intents and purposes, it looked just like a barrel that had been split vertically, with the resultant flat portion resting on the cabin floor. About a third of the way from the front of the front rim, a small spike protruded from the top of the rounded crest. The sides of the half barrel were covered in padded velvet, with some areas showing signs of wear. A small electric cord extended from the rear, which he plugged into the cleverly concealed floor socket.

"It's a, it's a..." she began, the effort of finding the correct word causing her brow to furrow.

"Sybian," he finished, not sure if she had really known the name or was simply hoping that he would supply it. The next portion of its assembly would make its purpose abundantly clear, so he suggested that she bring the toolbox over. Deliberately he selected a T-shaped piece of rubber and attached it, stem-up, to the small spike. As he stepped away, she approached to examine the newest addition. It was, clearly, a smooth-sided dildo, about six inches in height and about two inches in circumference. The front of the base was molded into a small ridge, with nubs of rubber dotting the sides and top. She touched it tentatively, seemingly surprised at how rigid it was. He could tell that she'd surmised its full purpose by the way she tenderly ran her fingertip up and down the shaft, and then along the extended nubs.

While he attached a corded control box and other accoutrements, he explained that the sybian was actually a modern interpretation of a device that, in ancient times, had been reserved for the richest queens, princesses and nobility. It allowed them to, in the coarsest terms, get themselves off without another man or woman intruding upon their royal privacy. Those had been powered by all manner of levers, pedals, water power and other contraptions, usually driven by slaves behind a screen or wall. Said screen or wall probably didn't keep the servants from hearing their mistresses wails of pleasure. The modern version was a lot more powerful, and a lot less private.

With just a few seconds examination, he'd quickly figured out how each option worked. He explained that the one he'd attached would simply vibrate, at a pace set by the control box. The other accessory would gyrate in a circular motion, presumably stimulating a woman's g-spot. He could tell that she was taking it all in while also wondering how he knew so much about such a unique device. He smiled inwardly. Part of his knowledge came from a History Channel special on sex. The rest was just conclusions made by examining the pieces. Not that he was going to tell her that.

He glanced up at the cross beam and wondered whether to employ that twist to the proceedings. Once she sat astride the shaft, he could attach a rope to each wrist, then loop the ropes through the hooks in the beam. Simply by tying her arms up in the air, he would effectively bind her to the sybian's barrel, as it was almost impossible to rise from it without the use of one's hands. The thought of her, tied, stretched out, vulnerable and completely at his mercy made him lick his lips in anticipation. But it might scare her, too. And it was always something that he could introduce later. In fact, if he played it right, she'd probably beg for it.

He helped her mount it, smiling as he saw how easily the shaft slid inside her. She was wet with anticipation, and her face glowed brightly as she realized what he'd just deducted. He showed her the controls. One dial to control the vibration speed. Another to control revolution diameter or strength of penetration, if either of those accessories were attached. Single women who used a sybian found it much more satisfying than any vibrator, thanks to better stimulation and the feeling that they were having something done to them, rather than doing it themselves.

Couples used it for two main purposes. Sometimes a man wanted to watch his partner get off in the most ecstatic way possible. Other men used it as a form of control. As he explained all this, he took the controls back from her. Settling back, he smiled at the sight, her thin legs lustfully clamped on each side of her new mechanical lover, the rubber shaft deeply encased in her dripping cunt, her firm breasts already heaving in anticipation... and turned the controls to the third position.

Despite the warning, her legs convulsively tightened around the barrel of the device, in exactly the same worn spots she'd noticed earlier. For a brief moment she worried about how she must look, sluttily riding what amounted to an electric fuck machine. Then the thought was torn from her mind and replaced with the scintillating sensations buzzing up through her pussy and clit. And she'd only just started?

The sensation was curious and at the same time compelling. Like she was riding a man who was an impossibly enthusiastic lover. The shaft inside her wasn't just thrusting up and down; it was also vibrating back and forth. Most interesting were the nubs at the front. If she leaned just so, they would stimulate her clitoris at the perfect spot, just around it but never on it. And if she leaned back, the shaft would rub against her inner walls in a way that sometimes happened with a man, but not usually quite so dependably. Sometimes he would get it in just the right place, but then he'd move the wrong way and the ecstasy would be gone.

But with this, this, sybian thing, she controlled it all. Well, almost all, as her lover actually had the master controls. And he was doing his best to keep her on a roller coaster of pleasure, speeding it up, then dropping the pace whenever he noticed that she was getting too excited. She tried to keep her emotions to herself, but that just wasn't possible. It was as though she'd lost control of her muscles and voice and quite possibly her volition. She moaned every time he turned the control knob. Her legs kicked convulsively in response to his torturous manipulations. The only way she could stop it was to leap off, and she was never, ever going to do that.

She was having orgasms already, little ones that rippled out from her core, making her muscles spasm and her inhibitions loosen and then come completely undone. She could hear herself begging and pleading for more, no, slower, no, faster, no, oh god, yes, like that, anything to keep it like that, but no, forget that, now like that, right there, give it, give it, like that again, faster, harder, longer. The words fell from her lips like a torrent, unfiltered, unstoppable. And still that shaft worked her pussy, untiring, creating waves of pleasure that spread to every extremity.

She opened her eyes, surprised to find that she had closed them. He stood before her, looking down at her, as if he'd been studying her even as he tortured her with his wonderful, despicable machine. Registering his presence and then dismissing it, she began to catalog the sensations bursting throughout her. Her teeth, were tingling. Tingling! Like the way they do when she's had too much to drink, when she has to decide whether to stop or go all the way with it, damn the consequences. Tingling! Her lips felt afire. Her shoulders were tight, contracted, needing release in the worst way. Her nipples felt like hot coal embers, placed at the tip of each breast, shouldering and glowing brightly. She brought her fingers up and squeezed one. It felt harder than she'd ever felt it. Like it might never soften. Like a piece of marble, carved to last for centuries.

She turned her attention back to him, standing before her, looming over her. So lean. So powerful. His legs muscled. The wisps of hair on his chest catching the candlelight. His eyes penetrating hers, knowing what she needed and denying it of her. His manhood half swollen and swinging gently between his legs...

Suddenly the urge was impossible to ignore. Her body demanded it of her. She needed to do it, with the very same urgency as the need to have that giant, nerve-wracking orgasm that was just within reach, but not hers to claim yet. She managed to form the words "Come here," before her mind returned to its former babbling self, groans and cries of direction that went fully unheeded but still needed to be said.

She took his cock in her mouth the moment it was within reach, opening as wide as she could to get as much in. She cursed herself for having such a small mouth, that she couldn't taste his cock and balls all at the same time. He wasn't as large as her husband but was a bit thicker, the extra girth making up for the lack of length. She couldn't fully inhale her husband, either, but that had never really bothered her, because she'd never really, really wanted to hold as much of him in her mouth as she now did. So she cursed her small mouth even as she used her tongue to stimulate him more, feeling him harden in response and ironically forcing more of his manhood out of her mouth.

She didn't just want to suck him. She wanted to engulf him. To inhale him. To capture that powerful member and feel it pulse against her tongue. And she didn't just want it. She needed it. Like an imperative physical need. Like the need to take a breath when she'd been underwater too long. She felt driven, like some other being had taken control of her body. She licked and sucked his shaft, gazing up at him, trying to read his eyes, trying to relay her insatiable need to have him as far inside her as he could get. She tried to deep throat him but even in her present state of ecstasy, her throat still rebelled. So she licked and sucked and mouth-fucked him, barely able to stay astride her vibrating mount, her urgent, urgent needs split in two, but both with the same end in mind.

He steadied himself, placing his fingers on her rapidly bobbing head. His legs felt weak, unable to keep him from collapsing. Never before had a woman attacked his cock so vociferously. It was as though she literally wanted to eat him. And failing that, would lick and suck the skin from his cock, the muscle, the sinew, the veins, until finally reaching the pool of cum all ready to stream forth and mark her as his own.

He hadn't expected this when she'd first perched on the mechanical shaft. He'd been ready to play with her pussy, increasing and decreasing the tempo to keep her on the edge, near the peak, until she begged sufficiently to where he might bring the tempo up to ten, and listen to her glorious screams of pleasure. He'd planned, at some point, to bend down and suckle her nips, giving her another point of pleasure to deal with.

It had been easy to read her body, to see when she was getting near to the big orgasm. Her arms would become rigid and draw inwards. Her words would become dirtier and more vehement. She'd look like she was ready to leap off the barrel, though he knew that was the farthest thing from her mind. Then, with deliberate precision, he would dial down the stimulation, taking perverse pleasure in the look of dislike she'd give him. Up and down, up and down, he was taking her on a seemingly never-ending ride of pleasure, using that pleasure as both a boon and a punishment.

Now, though, he wasn't sure how to proceed. His cock felt like it was in heaven inside her wet, warm mouth, as she hungrily devoured him. She would pause every so often and, unbidden, take his balls into her mouth, the lust in her eyes making it clear that she would do anything for him. Or that he could do anything to her. And there were so many things that he wanted to do with her. And to her.

Instead, he gently withdrew his shaft from her mouth, smiling at her pouting frown before advancing the control up two notches. The increased vibration in her cunt clearly registered on her face and she was once again focused on the myriad sensations coursing through her body. He turned the dial two more steps up, putting her in a range she'd never experienced before. It was hard to tell if she was smiling or grimacing, but he had to assume it was pleasure from the way she was absently twisting her nipples and pressing her pussy down against the saddle.

Another step up put her back on the edge, and he had a fleeting thought of teasing her some more. But there was a thin line between fun and cruelty, and he didn't want to pass it. He'd barely notched the next step when she began to cum...

Her body convulsed, wracked with pleasure of an intensity she'd never felt before. She saw stars before her eyes. Literally stars, white streaks of light as bold as the afterimage from a bolt of lightning. Every muscle in her body leapt into the air, every nerve screamed in absolute ecstasy. She almost bit her tongue, saved only by the wail that seemed drawn directly from the center of her soul. Waves of pleasure rolled through her, crashing into each other, peaks combining to create even greater peaks.

She slid awkwardly from her perch, legs splayed to let the air, the soft, sweet air, cool her womanhood, and chill the molten juices that were still flowing freely from within her. She felt delirious with pleasure, not sure where she was, only that her pussy still throbbed and orgasms were still ebbing back and forth within her.

She felt arms about her and clutched to them like a babe, seeking only comfort and some explanation of why she felt this way. She felt herself being hoisted up and carried, like a bride into the honeymoon suite, then deposited gently onto silken sheets. The coolness of the fabric against her skin started another round of smaller orgasms, and she shuddered and moaned as they coursed through her. She felt fabric being drawn up. A kiss on her brow. And then she surrendered to the exhaustion.

He watched her sleep for a while. Whereas before she'd been curled and tucked into a fetal position, now she was splayed out beneath the sheets. He could trace the curve of her body from the folds in the fabric. He ached to trace her figure from head to toe with his fingertips. To memorize every atom of her. To breathe the scent of her while penetrating her, deeply, passionately, possessively. But from the exhausted smile on her face, it was clear that his needs would have to wait.

She woke as if coming out of a dream in which reality and slumber had somehow been switched. She was clearly in bed. And naked. And next to someone. Her husband? No, the proportions felt wrong. The room came into focus. A cabin. The cabin. Now synapses started to firing and the memories returned in a flood, the most recent first. She looked for the sybian and found that it had been moved against the wall. The rugs were all back in place, and if she'd left a mess from her orgasm, it had already been cleaned up. The candles were burned down about half way. How long had she slept?

Long enough for her mouth to feel gummy. Long enough to need a trip to the facilities. She slipped from the bed, careful not to wake him. Grabbed a new pair of panties and his shirt for the trip outside. No need to make it easier for some backwoods slasher to get her, was it?

The light in the bathroom was painfully bright. Immediately she noticed a card perched on the edge of the sink. "I want you," the outside read. And on the inside: "To wake me when you get this card." She smiled. Her pulse had quickened when she read the front. She would wake him. And then he'd see what it was like to be so exhausted. First, though, fresher breath. And maybe some cool water for her more intimate parts?

Back in the cabin, she watched him sleep for a few minutes. He'd sprawled into her area, laying almost diagonally across the bed. Had he been drawn by the warmth? Or had he simply rolled around, expecting to reach some impediment but finding instead that the bed was unoccupied? Did people even have such motivations when they're sleeping? It certainly seemed that way to any nursing mother, whose husband would suddenly and conveniently be "sound asleep" anytime that the baby needed attention. Thinking of late night visits made her wonder about the time. Well, he clearly wouldn't be able to catch her checking the clock. Her cellphone read a little after midnight. Certainly not too late to start something, especially since they'd be leaving in just 12 hours.