My pussy is stuffed full of contradictions. The last set of photographs got to me: I sent her out on an errand so I could deal with it. Midori has green eyes and blonde hair, hips like a boy and tits like the buds of a child. She’s older than I am by a couple of years. She is horny. She’s a walking hard-on. I told you about the contradiction didn’t I? Midori is my assistant. Right now she wears latex and cracks a whip. In my contradictory mind she is not mild and agreeable. Midori makes me kneel so we can play pony together. Where she rides through my imagination she is one with her small, hairless mount whose mane and tail shine black, black, like the shiny skin that covers them both.

One finger. One finger tells me little. One finger is a tease. One finger tickles. Midori says she loves me like no other. She nuzzles my ear while that one finger gently presses around the mouth of my sex. I feel rudely swollen like a red-assed ape in heat. I’m thick between the legs. Midori nuzzles a breast and puffs air into my ear. She’s showing her cock to me. It nearly drags the ground.

Two fingers. Two fingers draw my interest, suggest something substantial. Two fingers can wrap around the spongy ridge just inside me and push downward.. Midori impales me on this hook while my hips sway back and forth, I’m yawning wide open. Midori taps her cock on my ass, grazes with her face buried in my snatch.

Three fingers. Three fingers makes her whinny softly in my ear, this delicate little woman in slick black, playing pony. Three fingers makes me long for hobbles, my hands tied to my ankles, face to the floor. Midori is not nice. When she asks me sweetly about how long I want a certain print left in the solution she is really thinking about fucking me with her whip-handle. This I know with certainty. I can see the hard-on under her clothes.

Four fingers makes me think we are getting somewhere. Four fingers make room, pull me wider. Four fingers allow her to shove her cock in me for a while. She pumps it up with the little squeeze bulb until I feel locked to her. She’s snorting and blowing softly in my ear, trailing her long hair over my back, my ass. Four fingers draws my other hand to stroke my rigid clit until its length rivals her cock. I could fuck her right back. It could wrap around her and choke her.

Five fingers. She has reared up, pawing the air with her lotus-blossom hands. Her teeth and nails leave jagged red welts on my back. Five fingers crack the sky, make me stampede toward oblivion. It hurts, but she tells me that I want it, her sibilant whinnying little voice echoing in my head saying that she will possess me by my blood and all that is unspoken. One, two, three, four – my thumb nestled flat against my palm, Midori’s arm is indistinguishable from her cock or my hand, pushing, tearing, my wrist vanishing until at my pleasure it opens like a blossom, spreading wide inside.

For a guilty moment I panic, fearing I will not be able to extricate myself from this clutching madness before she returns with our mid-day coffee and sandwiches I can once again regard her as my gentle, responsible helper.

“Five Fingers” ©2001 by Helena Settimana. All rights reserved.