Halloween Erotica...
"Rain in a Mirror," a spooky sex story by Peter Baltensperger
Maureen Black went to the corner store on her way home. She bought a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, some cold cuts for herself, and a package of cheese slices for the boys. Her live-in boyfriend Bob told her he was going to be working late and would eat downtown or make something for himself when he came home. One less thing to worry about.
It wasn't until she was in the kitchen that she realized that she was completely naked, and nobody had said a word. She was sure she had looked into the mirror by the front door before she left. She had sent the boys off to school, she had walked up to the bus stop, she had taken the bus to work, she had been at work all day, she had taken the bus back home, she had gone to the corner store, she had walked home, and nobody had said a word. She just didn't understand.
The evening newscast reported that a naked woman had jumped off one of the main bridges into the river. The newscast failed to report that in actuality, her boyfriend pushed her over the railing and sped away, tires squealing on the bridge, in a light-blue Toyota Camry bearing the distinctive license plate "I M BOB."
The late news reported that the body of the woman had been fished out of the river a couple of hours after she jumped. She was later identified as Maureen Black.
In all fairness, and with due respect to the mandate of full disclosure, it should be noted that Maureen did have a full wardrobe of clothes in her closet and didn't need to go naked anywhere. Bob didn't have a wardrobe. He lived out of his suitcase. She should have known.
Somewhere it rained. It rained all night, washing the skid marks of the tires off the bridge. Somewhere else, it didn't rain at all. The skid marks wouldn't have been washed away if they had been there.
On any other day, Bob would have been half-sitting, half-lying on the couch with his feet, as always, on her good coffee table, watching some inane show on TV. She never said anything. She was glad he had to work late and she didn't have to look at his feet on her coffee table.
As soon as the boys had been put to bed and were asleep, Maureen filled her bathtub with scented bubble bath, lit several aromatic candles around the room and the tub, and slid into the soothing water. She fondled her breasts, stroking and rubbing and squeezing them, splashing the fragrant bubbles over them, rubbing and tugging at her nipples until they were standing big and firm on her breasts. She reached down and fondled her pussy, slowly and gently so as to prolong the pleasure of her bath. When the bath water cooled, she rubbed her clit vigorously until she reached a very pleasant and satisfying orgasm.
Maureen loved her breasts and her pussy. She sometimes stood in front of the full-length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door and looked at her breasts. Sometimes she took them into her hands and watched herself fondling them, tugging at her nipples until they were big and firm.
Some time ago, she bought herself a hand mirror with a handle so she could look at her pussy. She held the mirror in one hand and spread her lips with the other so she could see all the interesting parts on the inside. Sometimes she exposed her clit and then watched as she masturbated to an orgasm.
That's how much Maureen loved her breasts and her pussy. They were always a source of intense pleasure and deep gratification for her. Not with Bob, though.
Bob always slapped her breasts when he started to have sex with her. He pulled at her nipples until they hurt. Then he climbed on top of her, quite unceremoniously, rammed his damn rod into her, and came before she had a chance to say "orgasm." She really had to get rid of him.
Sometimes Maureen went for long walks in the rain. Sometimes she went for long walks down by the river. She was there when they pulled the poor woman out of the river.
She heard Bob drive his light-blue Toyota Camry into the driveway, without squealing his tires this time, and come into the house. She climbed out of the bathtub and went downstairs, furious with herself for having put up with him for so long. She didn't bother putting on any clothes, even though she had a whole closet full of them, including negligees and a housecoat and a bathrobe.
By the time she came downstairs, Bob was already half-sitting, half-lying on the couch with his feet, as always, on her good coffee table, watching some inane show on TV. She knew immediately, instinctively, that he didn't have to work late. He had been with another woman.
"Get out!" Maureen said. She didn't even bother saying anything about the other woman. He knew as well as she did.
He didn't budge. He didn't even look at her.
She kicked his feet off the coffee table. "Get out," she said. "Get out right now."
He muttered something under his breath – she didn't want to know at all what he muttered – he pushed himself off the couch, packed his suitcase, and walked out the door. An incredibly satisfactory feeling of liberation and content washed over her. She heard his tires squeal as he pulled out of the driveway and took off down the street. Had it been raining all night, the skid marks in her driveway would have probably been washed away, but it didn't rain at all that night.
Maureen went and stood in front of the full-length mirror for a while. She felt so much better about herself and her life again.
She put on her housecoat, just in case one of the boys might wake up, went into the spare room, and sat down at her computer. She logged into the Internet, clicked on her "Favorites," and brought up the website for single people looking for dates. She scrolled through the listings until she found a man who looked rather decent and whose description sounded sensible enough. His name, the listing read, was Henry Parker. Good enough for her.
She sent him an email with some details about herself; he sent her an email with some additional details about himself. He didn't have a light-blue Toyota Camry. He had a red Pontiac Grand Am without a distinctive license plate. They met on Friday evening after her ex-husband picked up the boys for the weekend. Her ex-husband drove a taupe Honda Civic. He didn't have a distinctive license plate. He didn't squeal his tires when he left. He just wasn't her husband anymore.
It wasn't raining when she left. She made sure she had all her clothes on before she left the house.
They went to a restaurant and had a cup of coffee and talked. They went to a bar, had a couple of drinks, and talked. He drove her home in his red Pontiac Grand Am and they talked. He didn't squeal his tires, even though he could have if he had wanted to. She took him into her house and they talked. She took him up to her bedroom and they didn't talk anymore.
He wasn't anything like Bob. He didn't slap her breasts and he didn't ram his damn rod into her. Quite the contrary. He proved to be a very sensitive and observant lover and seemed to know quite a bit about her anatomy, judging from the way he was able to push all the right buttons. He started by putting his arms around her and kissing her deeply and passionately, keeping his lips glued to her for the longest time and doing wonderful things with his tongue. She thought she was going to faint right there and then.
When they went to bed, Henry knew exactly what to do with her breasts. She just wished he had more hands to fondle her, and she helped him with her own hands. He seemed to like that. In fact, he told her that he liked that. She put her hand on his to make him squeeze her harder. She took her breast into both hands and squeezed them from the sides while he rubbed and squeezed the top of her breast and her nipple. Her nipple was quickly getting large and firm. She fondled the breast he was fondling with one of her hands and the other breast with her other hand.
She gasped with pleasure when he put his mouth on her breast, closed his lips around her firm nipple, and skillfully ran his tongue all around it and all over it and began to suck greedily. She put both her hands around her breast again and squeezed it further into his mouth so he could suckle her more easily. He told her how nice her nipple tasted and she felt terribly turned on by it.
He let go of her breasts and moved his hand down to her pussy. She gasped even louder. She writhed with pleasure and pushed her pelvis against his hand as hard as she could. He knew exactly what to do with her pussy. He ran his fingers up and down her lips, between her lips, into her opening, pressing here and there where he knew she liked to be pressed, squeezing her and manipulating her until she thought she would climax right there and then.
"Oh, yes," she cried. "Yes, yes, yes."
She only wished he had more hands to fondle her pussy, so she thought she would help him with her own hands there as well. She parted her lips for him so he could probe her deeper and with more ease. She pulled her hood back from her clit so he could rub her and press her and squeeze her. When he put his finger into her, she grabbed his hand and pushed him into her as far as he could possibly reach, then she put her own finger next to his and shoved it into herself as far as she could. It was an incredible feeling, being in there together with him.
He pulled his finger out of her and went down on her. She gasped when his mouth touched her pussy and he began to lick and suck her fervently and with great expertise. She could feel her juices running all over her pussy and he greedily licked them up as quickly as they came.
Again she helped him with her hands, pulling and tugging at her lips while he ran his tongue up and down her slit, in and out of the crevices, over her inner lips and up to her clit. He paused briefly, then bore down on her clit with his whole mouth, took it into his mouth and sucked and sucked until she couldn't contain herself any longer. He brought her to such an incredible orgasm that her whole body shook and trembled from the ecstasy he had kindled in her.
"Oh, yes," she moaned. "Yes, yes, yes." There just didn't seem to be any other words for it, but then she did find the words and she told him how much she enjoyed what he did to her, how incredibly good everything felt, how wonderful her orgasm was. He seemed to like that, too. In fact, he told her that he liked that a lot, so she kept telling him exactly what she liked so much and how good it all made her feel.
"Oh, yes," he said. "Yes, yes, yes."
Outside it was raining, but neither of them was aware of the rain pelting down on the roof and against the windowpanes. Nor did they see, or, for that matter, care, that the skid marks her former boyfriend had left in her driveway were slowly being washed away until they were completely gone.
Then it was his turn. As soon as she caught her breath, she reached for his penis, took it into both hands, and started to roll it between her hands, squeezing it and rubbing it, pulling at it, stroking it, moving her hands up and down and he was getting harder and harder between her hands. She moved her hands down to his balls and squeezed them gently, rolled them around in her hands, and felt them with every fiber of her skin. He decided to help her with his own hands, too. He took hold of his penis and rubbed it and stroked it while she worked feverishly on his balls and on the root of his penis. Sometimes their hands met and they stroked his penis together for a while. He seemed to like doing that a lot. In fact, he told her that he liked doing that a lot.
"Oh, yes," she said. "Yes, yes, yes."
"Oh, yes," he said. "Yes, yes, yes."
She let go of him and moved down on him and took his penis into her mouth. His whole body shuddered and trembled when she closed her mouth around his head and started to suck him while she stroked him with her hands. He put his own hand over hers and helped her stroke him more forcefully and more quickly. He moved his penis in and out of her mouth, guiding it with his hand, until he shot his whole load into her mouth and he writhed and moaned for the longest time while his plentiful jism just kept flowing and gushing out of him and into her receptive mouth.
"Oh, yes," he said. "Yes, yes, yes."
"Oh, yes," she said after she finished swallowing. "Yes, yes, yes."
This time, they didn't need any more words. They didn't even have the inclination to use any more words. They had said it all with their actions, and their actions culminated into the most unbelievable experience she had ever had. She hoped it was the most unbelievable experience he had ever had. And after he caught his breath and was lying quietly beside her, he did tell her that it was the most unbelievable experience he had ever had and she told him the same thing. They were both utterly content and fulfilled.
She definitely had to keep him around for a while. Maybe even longer. She would wait and see how everything would develop.
After they had recuperated from their most unbelievable experience, they climbed out of bed, went into the kitchen naked as they were, and started to cook themselves a well-deserved meal, kissing and pawing each other while they cooked. They just couldn't keep their hands off each other. But then the meal was ready and they did let go of each other. They sat down at the table and ate ravenously, their bodies yearning for nourishment after all the exertion.
They went back to bed and had sex again, more leisurely this time, more concerned with details than with overall effects, and engaged in further explorations of each other's bodies, much to their mutual delight. They had a shower together and soaped each other all over their bodies, he paying particular attention to her breasts and her pussy, she to his penis and his balls. They went back into the kitchen and ate some more, then went back to bed and had sex some more, then had a shower again and soaped each other again, particularly her breasts and her pussy and his penis and his balls.
During one of their showers, she thought it was probably Saturday night, Henry turned her around and started soaping her back, then her buttocks, then her legs. She shuddered when he soaped her buttocks and took quite some time soaping them, rubbing them and squeezing them with his hands. Then he inserted a soapy finger into her hole and started moving it in and out, in and out. She squealed with delight. She felt absolutely wonderful with his finger going in and out of her. She had never experienced anything quite like it.
Henry withdrew his finger and turned his own back to her. She took the soap into her hand and soaped his back and his buttocks and his legs, lingering on his buttocks for the longest time, rubbing and squeezing his cheeks with gusto and delight. Then she inserted a soapy finger into his hole and started moving it in and out, in and out. It felt incredibly good, having her finger inside him and he squirming and moaning all the while. She could have gone on forever like that, but there were other things they wanted to do as well.
They kept alternating between bed and kitchen and shower all weekend until it was time for Henry to go because her ex-husband would be bringing the boys back soon.
Henry drove out of her driveway in his red Pontiac Grand Am without squealing his tires and disappeared down the street. She went and had a quick shower by herself, fondling her breasts and rubbing her pussy while thinking about everything they had done and how he had fondled her breasts and rubbed her pussy every time they had a shower together.
The evening news didn't report anything about any naked woman jumping off any bridge into any river. She figured it must have been an isolated incident.
Her ex-husband brought the boys back home in his taupe Honda Civic without a distinctive license plate and drove off down the street without squealing his tires. She fed the boys, gave them a bath, and put them to bed. As soon as they were asleep, she ran herself a bubble bath and submerged herself in the soothing water, basking in the afterglow of her incredible weekend experience.
"Oh, yes," she said to herself. "Yes, yes, yes."
She realized that it was raining again and this time she listened to the raindrops drumming on her roof and being whipped against her windowpane. It was still raining when she climbed out of her tub and went to stand in front of the full-length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door to look at her breasts for a while, fondle them for a while, and wait for the afterglow to subside. She could see the bathroom window in the mirror and she could see the rain in the mirror as it was running down the windowpane.
Originally published October 2008
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.
