Part One:
Professor Gregory Stimson noticed that every year there were a more Asians on campus, not only the foreign students, but the sons and daughters of recent immigrants. At one time there had been much fewer. They were good students, but drudges, automatons; all they did was study. They only lived to study and study more.
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The house was built on a rise, and the garden sloped gently down to the banks of the Hunter River. Willows and reeds lined the shore, and a few ducks busied themselves feeding in the water occasionally turning their tails up, as they lowered their beaks to the muddy bottom. I looked behind me. The house was impressive, a fine Georgian style home with 15 rooms, not counting bathrooms or laundry.
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It was nearly pitch dark in the bar, and an air of excitement was palpable in the quiet murmurs of the crowd. Frantic whispers broke out as the emcee stepped to the microphone and the house lights came up. Now you could see the large screens hanging from the ceiling in strategic spots along the room. Now you could see the pommel horse onstage, the examination table with stirrups, the loops and bars and stocks that permitted a variety of bound positions.
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Metallic grey skies had hung over London for days before finally bursting into hours of torrential rain. Tom felt his spirits dampen beyond retrieval. He had been walking in Regent's Park, the grim weather keeping it almost empty; now he needed some resolution to his mood. It was either Mozart on the South Bank or the whores out East.
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For some years it has been my fantasy to see my wife Gill make love to another woman. We have talked about this often and I always believed it was just a fantasy but last weekend it finally happened. However, Gill played a trick on me and it didn't quite happen as I imagined. The result was still very sexy, though, and I thought your readers would be interested to read the story.
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"Oh my God," he moaned as he slowly woke, wishing he hadn't. Zac Knight's head was throbbing; a hangover, first class. Slowly, gently he rolled onto his back. He waited while the spinning stopped. His tongue licked dry lips. His mind refused to work, so he shut his eyes tight to try to doze off. He could vaguely recall last night; party, Halloween party. Fragments of recollection, some gorgeous blonde, arrogant bitch, bit of an argument over ... over?
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"Touch it piggy," my wife Julie said sternly when she saw the indecision on my face.
We had been swinging for more than a year but we were a soft swap couple. I had no desire to watch my sexy wife with another man and she did not want to watch me fuck another woman.
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I watched one last set of waves roll into shore before turning and walking across the beach to the outside shower in the Beach Park. I leaned my surfboard against a picnic table nearby, tossed my bag by it, and stepped under the shower. The sun-warmed water cascaded down my tanned trim body. As I turned around under the shower I noticed a couple of guys sitting on another nearby picnic table; they were closely watching me rinse off.
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It was early morning. The sun had just turned a darkened sky to a pale silvery gray. A heavy fog blanketed the forest-floor while a mist continued to float down on everything beneath the canopy. I doubted very much that there was another soul near me, for miles. That was good. That was exactly the way I wished it to be. Becoming lost in thought, I ran harder, faster.
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There it was, shamelessly hanging out for the whole world to see. Like a big, denim-clad moon, just waiting for some enterprising astronaut to rocket aboard. Carrie bent fully over, kneeling in the vinyl seat and leaning out the passenger car window. Her ass swayed in counterbalance to her waving arm as she shouted goodbyes to her friends on the train platform. Her tight jeans struggled like hell to contain her flesh, but were losing the battle.
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