Would he rouse her, then try to arouse her?
Or would he try to grope her as she slept?
He grinned with the wild idea. Could he? Could he really sneak up and fiddle with a girl in her sleep? He had seen such things all over the Internet, but could he do it for real? One more longing look at that pouting puss, and he knew the answer was yeah. Yeah, he could do it for real.
Buster crept to her side, wobbling on the unsteady footing of the sandy ground. As he drew closer to her, his confidence waned. She was going to wake up and find him with his hand in her cookie jar, and it was going be another Carla incident all over again. He was lucky to escape with just a broken jaw last time. Carla had to drop the sexual assault charges after Dale found those pictures of her with a mouthful of Little Buster and a smile on her face. Should he tempt fate again just for a lick of that tasty lolly spread so prettily at his feet?
Oh, hell, yes he would!
But just to be sure, just to excuse himself the burden of what he was going to do to this unconscious woman, he asked, “Hey, you awake?” She stayed silent, filling him with even more bravery. “I was thinking I might go down on you a bit.” She didn’t object, so he pressed on. “I’m gonna eat your pretty little pussy. Would you like that? Just lay there nice and still and don’t say nothing if you think you’d like that.”
Of course, his dream girl didn’t move a muscle.
Which gave him all the permission he needed.
Buster loosened his slacks, giving Little Buster a bit of well-deserved air. His cock was hard just from the prospect of touching the woman. He stroked himself, ever so lightly, as he fell to his knees between her wide- spread legs. What a sight that lay before him! Such a woman, all primed and raring to go. Seemed a waste to spend time on oral foreplay when she wouldn’t be awake to enjoy it anyway. As Buster pulled on his aching cock, he decided that he would skip the appetizer and go straight to the main course.
He leaned into her, placing a hand on either side of her waist, flat on the ground. It occurred to him, somewhere in the back of his small mind, that the island wasn’t made of sand, but of something else. The ground was soft and wet and rough to the touch. Rough but not sand? Sure, why not? Buster pushed this thought out of his mind, replacing it with the prospect of his first fuck in five years. He lined up his cock and thrust himself home.
And nearly came on the spot.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
Her puss was as tight as a fist, gripping him with such power, he almost checked to make sure he wasn’t in her back door. Buster gritted his teeth as he held himself inside of her for a moment. Sure, she might not have been awake, but it wouldn’t do his delicate ego a lick of good if he came before the first thrust. At length, he was ready to fuck her and fuck her good. He shifted his hips, trying to unsheathe himself from her heat so he could plunge her depths again, but found instead that he couldn’t move. He was stuck to her, inside of her, and she wasn’t letting him go.
For a second, he thought it was the result of his overactive hormones. That maybe he was so swollen with need and she was so tight with inexperience that there was nothing better to do than just come and be done with it. He took the pretty thing by the hips, intent on getting a better grip as he tried his best to hump her. Yet the moment he touched her skin, he was affixed to her. He couldn’t lift his hands from her hips, couldn’t pull his cock from her cunt, couldn’t wiggle his groin free from her groin. It was as though she were made of some kind of glue instead of luscious lady bits.
As he was held there, helpless and horny, the island about him began to shake.
The girl beneath him trembled, quivering from head to toe in time to the shivering ground. Buster, who was doing his best to keep his wits together, finally lost it. He screamed for help as he struggled against her. But the more he wriggled, the more he writhed, the more he got stuck into her. Like some seductive tar-baby, the sleeping beauty pulled him to her, skin for skin, until Buster was trapped in full atop her, screaming for his life.
All the while, the island moved and shifted. The lake roiled, the water slapping the shore with boiling waves as the ground quaked. Giant boulders and razor-sharp rocks burst forth from the shoreline, surrounding Buster and his sticky sweetheart in a sweeping arc. Then the island rose! Up, up, up into the sky it took Buster, lifting him into a hover over the lake itself. Above him, there fell a dark and chilling shadow. Something the exact shape and size of the island was dropping over him and closing fast! And that’s when Buster knew. His mind tried to warn him, but his cock wouldn’t listen. When he first got to his knees and touched the ground, he knew it wasn’t just rough with sand.
It was rough just like a tongue.
Buster stopped struggling and laughed aloud when he realized that after years of despising the act of fishing, after years of working his lines, trolling the shores and reeling in his catches, he had finally fallen for someone else’s bait. His mystery woman had lured him onto the tongue of some great beast. Hell! She was the tongue of some great beast! And there he was, stuck to the bait, ready to slide down the thing’s gullet and into the oblivion beyond. His last thought, before whatever the hell it was swallowing him did indeed swallow him, was this:
Buster fucking hated fishing.
PINS AND NEEDLES
Jacquelyn Summerset
She gathered many needles on her way to her grandmother’s house. Her arm was full of the track marks that proved it. And here she was in her own little world yet again. She couldn’t find the wolf this time, though she was looking for him. She never found him when she was looking for him. She picked up the red coat she left draped on the back of the chair and stumbled out the door. The cottage seemed to shift and bend till it resembled a rundown apartment building. She didn’t know what was real anymore, but she knew she wanted the wolf. He made her feel good; made her feel warm and safe. Not like her grandmother, she never felt safe there. She was a tool to make money… locked in a dark room made to service the woodsmen whenever they pleased. She closed the coat (
“What’s going on, Red?” a familiar voice called. Yellow eyes gleamed in the dark… her wolf… She smiled and approached him slowly. His lips, moist with booze, brushed her face gently. “Where are you going, Red?” he asked gently.
“I’m going home…” she whispered. He frowned. That beautiful muzzle pulled downward in a snarl and he looked up at the moon.
“You’re cold… ” he said darkly.
“That’s why I’m going home where it’s warm.” She kissed his cold nose and ran her hand through his shaggy brown mane. “Why don’t you walk me home, Wolfie?” He looked away again and smiled slyly.
“I have something else to do tonight.” He stepped back into the shadow of the stone trees. “I’ll catch up with you later, Red.” She frowned wanting to hold on to him, but the opium night took him away.
It was late when she reached the door to her home. Her grandmother lay on the couch unmoving. She
