It was a pretty hot early summer day, I was returning from a short visit to some relatives in a out of town. Still a student, I didn't have a car, so I had to take the train back home. I embarked, I quickly found my compartment. An older lady was was there alone, and needless to say, she was dying for some company. In about 15 minutes, I learned all about her f****y history, her 6 nephews and 4 grandc***dren. "Quite e prolific f****y she has...I wonder how hot she was when she was young" I thought to myself. However, it was enough of grand k**s stories for me, so at a given point I excused mys... Continue»
My doorbell rings and I rush to the hallway. My heart leaps into my throat, my pulse quickens and my skin becomes moist. I have been waiting for you, here in my house, for so long. Now you have come and I can hardly wait for you to enter. I stand at the back of the long hall, itching to rush to the door and loving the exquisite prolongation of this moment, my body becoming weaker, my love for you becoming stronger.
From my warm secret hiding place deep in the dark of my house I see your silhouette through the frosted glass. You press your nose to it and you see nothing but shadow. Already penetrating through the door, I can feel the heat of your body . It pulses and throbs like mine. I know you can feel how aroused I am. On the security monitor I see you finger the button of my doorbell again and flick it gently, teasing me. You rub it gently with your palm, then lean in and take it tenderly between your lips. Your tongue caresses the small, round, red, stiff lump. The sound of your breathing through the intercom deepens and slows. You hear my moans of anticipation though the door. You know how much you’re turning me on. Again you press my button, the bell rings and I gasp with excitement, my entire body thrilling to the touch of your fingertip and the sound of my bell. Ding! Dong! Ding! Ahhh, ring it! The long hall between me and the door is waiting for you. You don’t need my permission to enter. You know I want you. So you push the unlocked door hard with one thrust. And you’re in.
Your bald head enters first, it’s pate shining from the street lights, then darkening as it moves inwards. Your lovely long body follows and the walls of my hallway shudder. One or two framed pictures fall to the floor and smash on the tiles, but I don’t care. You see my face right at the end of the hall poking out from behind the grandfather clock while the rest of me is hidden. I smile at you, blow you a kiss and beckon you to come to me. As you edge further inside the walls suddenly slide inwards and squeeze you, stopping you from making further progress. My hallway embraces you, feeling every contour of your rock hard, muscular form. The veins in your neck stand out as more bl**d pumps into your head turning you a bright shade of purple. Pictures and furniture crash around our ears. As you push, my walls grip you more and more tightly and you are f***ed to withdraw. Not until you are again at the door do the walls relax and allow you to make a second attempt. You slide forwards, gingerly at first, eyeing the walls with suspicion. The heat in here is making the walls perspire and when they grip you again the lubricating sweat allows you to push yourself further in than last time, but only slightly. For the second time you are f***ed to retreat, the walls rippling and contracting around you until you are pushed back through the open door and are once more standing outside on the porch.
Tears of frustration leak from your eye and ooze down your skin. You brush yourself down, straighten up even more, lower your head and rush back inside as fast as you can. I gasp with fright and the pleasure of seeing this masculine display of brute f***e. With your head poised just inches from me you are once again frustrated in your plan to reach me. The hallway’s strength is too much for you. Both walls, the ceiling and the floor have the length of you wrapped tightly leaving just your head poking out from between wallpaper, carpet and ceiling. The lamp shade dangles from around your neck while you are choked by the wire. The bright berry of your head looks ready to burst. Eventually my hallway relaxes slightly. Bulges in the walls, floor and ceiling carry you back to the door. The light’s wire catches your head briefly until the wetness of your skin allows it to slip through. You hover on the threshold, your head thrust forward just inside the house.
From both ends of the hall we survey the scene of chaos. Look what your lust has done to my house! It is flooded an inch thick with a swamp of detritus swimming in hot sweat. I hardly care, myself inflamed with joyful lust. I want you so much. I stretch out my arms from behind the clock, pleading with you, begging you to come to me. Just one brief touch from you, I know, is all I need. Gathering your strength, for a few moments you move to the doorbell again and rub your moist head all over my button. My knees tremble and almost buckle with the pleasure this gives me. I hear your breathy moans over the intercom. For a while I allow myself to think that this is enough, that the ecstasy from the feel of your face moving back and forth across the button, your breath against it, the hardness of you pressed against the house, will satisfy my craving. But this is a delusion. Nothing, nothing in the World will ever be enough until I feel your hardness as deep inside my home as it will go. You know this too and so you cease making love to my doorbell, stand on the doormat, fix me with the stare of your one eye and run at me down the hall, never breaking eye contact with me for a second.
The floor becomes concave and rushes up to meet you, but this time you’re ahead with the narrowest point caught around the base of your body. Despite your considerable girth you slide deeper and deeper. The wall has pushed me further into the middle of the passage. You f***e yourself inwards more and more, delighting me with the heat and smell of your maleness.
Just as your face is about to meet mine at last we are frustrated by the slightest miscalculation of distance. Your beautiful body is curving away from me. Your head passes me and butts against the kitchen door. The tight walls hold both of us firmly in place and all I can do is watch is disappointment as you are carried back by the rippling walls, past the grandfather clock where I stand, across the rumpled, sodden carpet to the opposite end of the hall again. You are not to be defeated so easily and so begin a persistent pistoning of your smooth, erect but slightly arched body down my hot, wet hall, back and forth, back and forth, our excitement growing more frenzied. Your hot head butts against the door of the kitchen until I am afraid you’ll bust yourself open prematurely. Pressed against the burning wall I see you whoosh from side to side continually, now aided by the hallway’s constrictions rather than impeded by them. You’re turning your body gradually as you thrust and withdraw. Each time you pass me your head is just a little bit closer to me until I feel your steamy breath upon my cheeks. You can do it, baby! You can do it! Come to me, darling, come to me now!
With the f***e of a subway train you hurtle at me and finally we touch. Inflamed from the heat of you I scream with ecstasy into your ear while you desperately grasp for something to hold onto and prevent your sliding away from me. I embrace you and wrap my entire being about you, forbidding you to ever leave me.
Around us the house is shaking. From the foundations to the roof every brick and tile is loosening. Titanic convulsions are shaking the earth. The ceiling collapses, the walls constrict us, the floor rushes up to meet us and our bodies are squeezed into one. Somewhere in the kitchen behind us there is a huge bang and flames rush through the door.
The gas oven has exploded.
There is no pain, only a never-ending infinite submersion in the searing fire created by our lustful coupling. We burn and burn, our bodies partly melt into the stone and wood. Then we are ash drifting on the breeze. The flakes of our burned bodies are carried up and up the road to the church where we circle the spire forever.
Copyright © Irma Cerrutti 2012