Micky Feather and Rosy Glow Ch. 04

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Tem 17, 2022 // By:analsex // No Comment

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CHP 4 – IN WHICH MICKY TELLS ROSY OF HIS SMUTTY PLAN.

The world had gone to utter shite. But there in my little pussy scented bubble things just kept getting better and better.

But as I waited, with no word from Rosy – my sweet Dulcinea; as I’d come to jokingly refer to her when conversing with the cat – I began to despair of her ever returning to my smutty shores again. I presumed she was trapped by the plague in Malaga; unable or disinclined to travel. And soon I began to actively fear that never again would I get to experience the sheer pleasure of burying my face in those exquisite cum soaked knicker’s.

Slowly the foundations of a rude obsession began to support my every waking thought – actually, not so slowly.

To fill my otherwise empty nights – now thankfully bereft of all biscuity bullshit – aided by the images from her page – which was now empty, but which I had expediently downloaded before her trip – I feverishly imagined Rosy’s perfect sweaty, cream edged lip’s being multifariously messed with from every angle; again and again, over and over, until the muscles of her beautiful abdomen began to contract and convulse with unendurable pleasure and her breathing became an endless tortured growl.

All I wanted, every minute of every day, was to survey this goddess in the finest detail with the throbbing, glistening tip of my permanently aching yet ever hopeful cock. Oh god! She was so, so, so fucking hot!

Finally I’d had enough, I could wait no longer, so girding myself with a half bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a couple of loosely constructed joints, I sat down at my desk and composed my approach.

M: “Greetings sunshine! I hope you are well.

“I see from your panty selling page that currently you have no items for sale – I’m guessing you’ve stayed in Spain, or aren’t in the mood – so I’m not sure you will even get this email, but I’m sending it anyway because I think we might be able to do a last bit of business, and without the need for any postal involvement. In essence, I want you to pose for me in one hundred photographs (taken by you; suggested, and edited by me), wearing a combination of outfits (specified and paid for by me), and crucially to sign a release form; allowing me to watermark the images with the name of my website and post them on a popular porn site. I can assure you that in none of these images would I require or expect you to expose any more of yourself than you are happy to reveal. In exchange for this I am willing to pay you £200 (plus the cost of the outfits).

“A word about me. I am a fifty year old writer living alone, with a black cat named Cotton. Currently I am enjoying having a wonderful mid-life crisis. Just before the plague hit town and everything went crazy like WTF!, I published a novel called The Empty Headed Prick, on Amazon; a strange sort of smutty satire – a book that I worked on tirelessly for six years. Stopped in my tracks by lockdown, ever since then I have been trying to think of an effective way to get it noticed. And then I saw the photographs you sent me, and suddenly I had an epiphany!, setting this whole mad notion in motion.

“I honestly think the photographs I am imagining will have the power to send anyone who sees them directly to my website; where they can watch a short film and hopefully buy a book.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m inviting chaos into my life.

“Hope to hear from you soon, and the best of best wishes – if you do not respond I will assume you do not wish to be contacted again. Many thanks.

“Yours with complete admiration and respect. Micky x.”

Overcoming a wave of sudden sweaty terror, fear flooding my already anxious mind, I reached out a nervous finger and hit send. And since then, not a day has passed that I have not celebrated that simple clicking, and all subsequent clicking’s – which taken in combination have led me to where I joyfully stand today; right here, with a huge great grin on my happy beaming gormless face.

Falling asleep with an image of Rosy’s delectable arse on the screen of my whirring laptop, and a much abused sock bobbing about beneath the duvet, I plummeted deep, deep down into a full-on Rosy Glow moment (or was that a Carla Regaliza moment? – it was becoming hard to tell):

Taking Rosy gently by the hand I lead her blindfolded and naked into a large room. The room is dimly lit, alive with unseen spectators at its muttering border’s; all fully focussed on a small black leather plinth at its spot-lit centre. Sensing the crowd, Rosy’s tiny feet falter and stumble, as she slowly begins to realise the hopelessness of her plight. Tenderly I reassure her with a whisper – her soft hair teasing my nostrils as I lean in close to her half-covered ear – guiding her inexorably onwards to her inevitably cum soaked fate.

As we approach the centre of the room, entering a bright cone of piercing light, illuminating the plinth and the slightly raised section of red carpeted flooring bursa escort bayan upon which it stands, the invisible audience audibly gasps at the sight of such craven beauty suddenly revealed; like blinding sunlight tearing through a stormy sky.

Once fully exposed to the onslaught of light, I release Rosy’s hand and step back, allowing the full glory of her trembling nudity to rest in the eyes of all who behold her – much admiring chatter swirls about the darkness as the mood of the room steps up a gear; or down.

Not knowing what to do, Rosy stands embarrassed, hardly able remain upright – her mouth-wateringly lithe legs visibly quivering with fearful anticipation of the raucous spreading they will soon endure.

Taking her divine Spanish features in my hand’s I proceed to greedily snog her face off – chasing her protesting tongue all around her noisy mouth as she tries and fails to escape my unrelenting probing – sucking the breath from her as she attempts to back away; her tiny bare arse stopped in its cheeky track’s by the cold edge of the plinth; upon which she soon finds herself bound, spread, and more than ready for the fucking of her tender young life.

As the appreciative watchers raise the level of their murmuring’s to a higher pitch of vicarious desire, I release Rosy’s blindfold and immediately fill her fear-lubed pussy with my rock hard cock – whoosh! The shock of apprehension regarding her helpless situation, combined with the physical jolt of my unrelenting penis suddenly taking over her tiny dissenting body and ramming her hard against the leather covered plinth without restraint, causes poor Rosy to cry out – the stank of her suffering rising up from her dribbling cunt and filling the room like the explosion of some heavenly scented flower. The accelerating murmuring’s of the crowd turn instantaneously to heavy groans of dark appreciation, as I withdraw my filthy rod and, using Rosy’s gushing pussy juices as lubrication, slide straight into her unsuspecting arsehole until the hair of my tightened ball’s is violently grazing the base of her contorting spine.

Plumbing Rosy’s bowel’s, fucking her arse and stretching her poor little anus with every ravaging thrust, I watch as she struggles to stifle her screams; her beautiful face fighting insanely with itself before giving up and howling into the unknowable darkness. As she fights against my overwhelming anal demands – her momentarily ignored pussy leaking a delicate stream of milky pissy goo – I push two finger’s indelicately into her vacant fuckhole and ravage her trembling G-spot; her perfect young body exploding in a tsunami of purest girlie filth; the whole universe missing a beat as she passes into fleeting darkness; my pulsating cock pumping her arse full of burning seed; her eyes banished to a realm of sightlessness . . .

The following day, upon awakening, immediately I picked up my phone, and lo and behold, at that exact instant Rosy replied to my email – it had to be that way.

R: “Hey! I hope you are well, so I am in self-isolation in the UK already but not in my house, so I will need some time if you want pictures. Would you get money for my pictures? Lots of love, Rosy xx.”

And so, there I found myself, suddenly engaged in the kind of delicate negotiations necessary to get the most alluring woman I’d ever not met to acquiesce to my sordid photographic whim’s – out of the burning biscuit factory into the fuego!

Assuring sweet Rosy that I would only profit from the photos in terms of book sales (which I expected, in my deluded way, would be of bestselling proportions), I sent her one of the images she had supplied from our previous transaction, to show her what I was intending – her lovely peachy little bottom branded with my brash blue logo; plus the legend ‘photos by Rosy Glow’ – which she had asked me to add; after all Rosy was gonna be the one actually taking the photos, and they were of her, so why not? It seemed only fair.

R: “Okay, I like it. But I would rather you write my email instead of the name. I think it’s a good idea, hopefully your book has something to do with sex?”

M: “Fabulous! You’re an absolute star Rosy. Soon I’ll send you some more information about the photos I think will make an impact, and give you a list of underwear to get (it won’t be a long list, hehe). And yes, the book is sexual in its nature and has a lead character who is physically very similar to you (heart-stoppingly hot). So glad you like the idea – it could (I hope) get us a lot of attention. Stay safe and take it easy. Micky xxx.”

R: “Okay, that’s perfect then x”

In an ecstatic fury, immediately I began drunkenly honing my Rosy Glow stratagem; pawing over my phone screen looking at potential underwear combinations; greedily imagining all the tiny tight fitting items I could get her into, and out of. Leotards, leggings, panties, G-strings, tights and swimming costumes suddenly filling up my Amazon wish list.

Having görükle escort spent two solid decades witnessing first-hand the increasingly hard focused evolution of pornography, from quaint glossy soft-core wank-mags plucked from the tangled branches of strange bushes down quiet country lanes, all the way to bespoke renderings of collegial dolls captured and posted in GPS located real-time, it seemed interesting, having accidentally become a pornographer, that rather than picking up a camera myself, I was remotely requesting that someone else take the shots.

It did also occur to me that I had not yet broached the tricky subject of Rosy’s real identity – something that I knew I would have to confront soon, given the need for her to sign a release form. But at that moment it seemed easier to just ignore the fact. Especially since, following an obsessive hunt through every Carla in Manchester, I had just found her Instagram page. But why did she have so few posts? There were a couple images of Malaga, a couple of pictures of a group of people I took to be her friends, and a final image of an empty balcony overlooking a beautiful ocean view – it did not occur to me until many months later that these images were obviously deeply private; photographs of all the people and places that Carla loved; images that she could look at whilst far from home, and connect with when she felt that distance the most; my discovery of which was actually a terrible invasion of her privacy, which I profoundly regret to this very day.

Putting aside my creepy behaviour, I settled back down into the dreamy glow of Rosy’s perfect arse, and imagined further what I would like to do in it – my sweating hands already wearing the rough blue rubber gloves of my filthy imagination.

Rosy’s bum was a lesson in perfection; every single subtle curve just screaming out to be licked and bitten. Having rearranged her on the plinth, bent over in such a way as to fully expose her delectable lubed up arsehole, I jammed my index finger right inside her and immediately started making vulgar little circular motions, stretching her anus until it was properly prepared – but still slightly unwilling – to accept the heavily ridged vibrating probe I had gripped and ready to go in my other rubber gloved hand.

Without concern for the howls of protest coming from Rosy’s beautiful gapping mouth, I fucked her deep and ruthless with that buzzing arse stick – thrilling at the sight of her dirty little hole tightening and relaxing with every plastic thrust. The poor girl. Really, I should have had more respect; but in and out it went – her neglected pussy opening and closing, like she was breathing through it – as I rammed her insides and nonchalantly slapped her firm young cheeks a nice ruddy hue.

Pulling the filthy probe out of Rosy’s butt with a tasty pop, I laid it aside and started lightly slapping her cunt with the flat of my hand; building up the intensity and speed; watching her body tense with every impact – her sexy little toes spreading and reuniting with every wet smack of her juiced up lips; her hairy little vulva growing red and puffy under the unrelenting ministrations of my industrially gloved hand. ‘¡Para!¡Para, papi!’ she cried, as I suddenly rammed two fingers into her oozing cunt and forcefully made her squirt again like a practised whore.

Scooping out her creamy hole I wiped my hand all over her pert hanging tits and hard little nipples, up her neck and over her deeply blushing face, before thrusting my dirty wet rubberized finger’s down her throat; making her gag before pushing my cock between her lips and mercilessly fucking her beautiful face – what a good girl, keeping her teeth out of the way like that.

After what seemed like a lifetime of cock sucking, I withdrew my reddened fuck-prod from Rosy’s mouth and smashed it up her arse – at the same time impolitely filling her cunt with a dildo that just happened to be lying within reach. Alternating trusts, I thrilled at the two-tone squelching sounds coming from between her soaking wet thigh’s, powering on until I could hardly catch my breath – Rosy’s breathing by now a constant guttural scream through cute little gritted teeth. We were building up to something – and we both knew what.

At the precise moment before I lost my mind with lust, I pulled out of poor little Rosy’s ruined anus, and came voluminously into her panicking mouth – holding her teeth apart with my free dirty hand, before wiping my white hot discharge all over her exquisitely exhausted face and into her sweaty hair . . .

Oh! That panty selling princess!! Would I ever stop dreaming of her filthy little cunt? – I fucking hoped not.

The next night I sent an email to Rosy laying out a bit more detail regarding my pornographic plan’s for her limber little soul; maybe too much detail – I asked her if she would be happy to wear a pair of visibly dirty panties over her blindfolded face secured with a bright bursa escort bayan blue ball gag.

After two days without a reply I began to wonder if I’d perhaps missed the mark a bit – after reviewing the email a thousand times, I decided that may well be the case; especially in light of a joke I’d made as a sort of witty sign off; something crass about getting her knickers off.

But, on the other hand, there was a degree of information to absorb – aside from my folly – so maybe she was justifiably taking her time to consider the project. And besides, there was no immediate hurry – at that point I wasn’t sure my final paycheque would even cover the endeavour; lots of bad paper having by now begun to arrive from a number of aggrieved sources regarding the tragic collapse of a much loved staple of the UK’s snack economy.

Things had all of a sudden taken a slightly stressful turn.

But eventually I stopped fretting and fixed my mind by muttering over and over to myself, ‘. . . if it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen . . . if it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen . . .’ – which helped for about ten minutes; then, I started fretting again.

To allay my fears I wrote another email:

M: “Hi Rosy. Really hoping I haven’t freaked you out with my graphic ideas. To reassure you, I’d like to state that I am totally serious about this project, and do not expect you to compromise yourself in any way. Your happiness is number one. I do not want you to do anything you consider to be too much, and you can change your mind at any point – I will absolutely understand. I Hope to hear from you soon – if not, then no hard feelings (but I think it would be a real shame). Micky x.”

A few minutes later Rosy replied:

R: “Hey Micky. Sorry, I’m still interested. I need to take a look at the clothes I’ve got at home, maybe save you some money, so I need to make you wait a bit. If you could send me pictures of the things you like that would be great. Thanks Micky. Rosy x.”

M: “Hi. That’s fabulous Rosy. I’ll wait as long as you need – no hurry. You are so perfect for this – absolute respect. I’ll send you some more information tonight – and any ideas you have in response would be gratefully received. Take it easy, and here’s to an interesting lockdown. Micky x”

R: “Let me know more about your book Micky . . .”

M: “Ok Rosy. Basically it centres around the insane misfortunes of a man called Frank who is obsessed with a woman called Nasty, who he once photographed naked in the British Museum. Frank’s obsession reaches a climax when he sees Nasty years later on the London Underground and subsequently becomes a suspect in her possibly murderous disappearance. The deeper theme of the book regards the evolution of photography – and man’s unquenchable desire to photograph naked women. Having you photograph yourself (albeit for me) seems very interesting in this context. What are you studying? – or trying to study in this weird infected year. X.”

R: “I’m doing digital culture, that’s why I’m interested hehehe.”

M: “Blimey! That’s amazing! This universe sure can be a strange and wonderful place! X.”

Immediately my obsessive mind began working overtime – could this actually become more than just some smutty business arrangement? What was I thinking?!

That night I compiled a final list of the clothes I wanted Rosy to wear – about £150’s worth of slutty joy from up the Amazon – and, grinning from ear to ear, emailed it drunkenly into the night; marvelling at how untroubled this incredible woman seemed by my strange and mucky requests. Adding:

M: “Let me know when you need payment, and in the meantime I’ll work on the instructions for the photos (which should be completed next week – it might take me a while as I’ll have to keep stopping every five minutes to let the blood return to my head! – Rosy, this is gonna be HOT!). Take care beautiful. Micky x.”

R: “Brilliant, thank you! I’ll take a look and let you know. Have a nice night. Rosy xxx.”

A fifty year old man and a nineteen year old girl. How many stories that start like that, end well? . . . Some of them?

Rosy’s arsehole needed a bit of a break – no pun intended – so, inserting a soothing silver butt-plug, I repositioned her in such a way as to make her cunt the new star of the show – on her side with one leg hoisted high and the other strapped securely to the plinth; her arms tied tightly behind her; and her head held up by a rope intertwined with her soft perfumed hair. I then proceeded to mercilessly buzz her clit and plumb her pussy until all that was left of her was a cloud of cunt stinking vapours. I make no apology for making her cum so much during those many hours of constant abuse – at times it seemed she had reached her limit, but on I went; stimulating her glorious insides with a stainless steel dildo, bent on destroying her G-spot; vibrating her tasty little button with such force it made her nipples seem to crackle with electricity. Within moments her whole body was convulsing with an orgasmic energy that had no way of grounding itself – every muscle tensed and pulsating; every breath a brand new struggle; her entire existence just a brightly burning bundle of cumming teenaged bliss.

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