The Pool

She was royally pissed. Asking Craig to do anything these days was a lesson in aggravation. “Can you take out the trash on your way out?”

“uh huh.”

She left for work first, came home first–to the unpleasant stench of hot, rancid trash. There in the corner of the kitchen was the trash bag, right where she’d put it when she’d emptied the bin. She hefted out the bag, grumbling under her breath. It was steaming outside, a fucking inferno as she lifted the lid of the garbage can, throwing the fetid bag into it and slamming it shut. Heat shimmers silvered the driveway; sweat immediately beaded her brow.

Inside wasn’t much cooler, as he turned the a/c off when he left for work.

“No point wasting electricity when no one is here,” he’d say. Of course he never forgot to turn that off.

“Fucktard,” she muttered, swiping sweat off her brow.

“And fuck cooking, too. Order pizza or grab some Chinese on your way home, asshole. I’m going in the pool.”

Stabbing out a quick text to him–GET TAKEOUT TOO HOT TO COOK–she stripped right there in the kitchen. Leaving her clothing where it fell, she opened the slider and stepped out into the heat. Moving across the deck to the walkway, her nipples crinkled into tight pearls as sweat beaded across her chest, ran a slow trickle down her spine. She stopped, staring in disbelief.

“The fucking shithead,” she muttered.

Green and murky, the pool was not the crystal oasis she’d envisioned on her drive through horrifying traffic. This, this was akin to a swamp.

She knew she should throw on a wrap, shock-treat the water, but she couldn’t~no…she wouldn’t  wait another minute. Fuck it, she was going in. She sliced into the water like a hot knife through butter. Tepid water wrapped around her, caressed her. She rose up to the surface, and twisted to her back. Floating, she kept her eyes closed against the slanting glare of the sun. The warm air caressed her breasts, the water lapped at the vee of her thighs. For the first time all day, tension drained from her, carried away by the green water of the pool. If she had the energy she’d grab her floaty and take a nap.

Something flicked along her ass.

“The fuck!”

She gasped, flipping and splashing. Probably a frog in the water. But still. Ugh. Treading water, she stared down into the depths of the pool, but couldn’t see beyond her own floating tits.

Something slipped between her legs, wrapping around her calf, and tugged her backwards. She tried to kick, struggling without making a sound, as something…slimy and grey and thick…had risen from the water and jammed into her mouth before she could scream.

And scream she would have, as something equally as thick jabbed into her pussy, while something small and sinuous probed around her bum, seeking entry there. Her hands splashed at the water yet she wasn’t sinking. Small ripples became waves as her body was shaken from the force of the silent fucking going on under the water. Her eyes rolled up in her head as the probing digit found her asshole, and surged inside. Hot quivers began in her belly; things touched her nipples, rubbed at her clitoris.

“ohmygawd I’m cummmmmming” her mind screamed. The fiercest orgasm she had ever experienced left her breathless and gasping for air. The fucking didn’t stop, and her sensitive cunt quivered and clenched around the invader. It felt like it was getting…bigger. Her pussy was stretched–how could she handle it if it got any larger? Her ass throbbed, her tits began to tingle and once more she spilled into an eruptive orgasm. She felt the hot wetness squirt from her, felt the hot fluid sluice against her legs before it dissipated in the murky water.

Time stopped. She didn’t see the sky, didn’t feel the sun, only the constant pummeling of her holes. Her body quivered and shook as orgasms rocked her. For a moment, everything froze. The things in her mouth, her pussy, her ass, all stopped. She felt a giant quiver in the water behind her, one that carried to her, into her.

It moved. Deeper, harder, faster, taking her roughly. She thought she’d die from the pleasure. Gods knew that Craig hadn’t fucked her this hard since their honeymoon. A constant quiver erupted in her body from the harsh treatment, until she felt the pulse deep in her belly. There was a feeling of  hot, heavy wetness, and she knew that it was jetting its come deep inside of her. She couldn’t taste it, nor smell it, but she felt it.

Her own orgasm shook her to the core, and she saw stars as she succumbed to the intense quaking release. When she came back to her senses, she was holding onto the ladder, arms entwined around the bars, cool water lapping at her chest. Her tits floated, nipples erect. If not for the steady pulsing of her pussy, she would have thought what had just happened to her  had been a heat-dream.

Rising from the pool, water sluicing down her body, she noticed the red rings spiraling around her waist and legs. With a small smile she rubbed her belly, then went into the house to slip on a robe.

******************************

He came into the house bearing her favorite Chinese food. He had a feeling she’d be pissed–he’d remembered the trash was by the back door on his way home. Fuck! She was going to kill him. He’d had a fuck of a day, it was hot, he was tired, and he didn’t feel like being nagged by a she-devil who fell asleep before he even got into bed. It’d been months since they’d fucked.

She was in the kitchen, damp hair sliced back. And she was smiling. That made him nervous.

“Sorry about the trash…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I got it when I got home.”

“Uh…okay. I got your Chinese food…”

“Great! I’m starving. Hey, why don’t you do what I did when I got home and go take a dip in the pool. It needs shocking at some point but ignore the green water. It’s so… refreshing…that you don’t even notice the color!”

She did look refreshed. Not wilted, like how he felt.

“Okay…I’ll go get my suit on…”

“Prude. I went skinny dipping…”

“Challenge accepted.”

He doffed his clothing, wagged his penis at her, then trotted across the deck and dove into the pool.

“Have fun sweetheart,” she said in a whisper, smiling. Taking a fork from the drawer, she grabbed the chicken fried rice and headed for the living room. Time for the evening news.

About vanillamom

For 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.
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9 Responses to The Pool

  1. thartac says:

    As ever Nice¡
    Here’s a poem that You¡ll like, I hope:

    I PRESSED MY HUSBAND’ PRICK

    I am a Woman, “Mi cariño” (my Darling)
    As my husband says
    Knowing that I lost the battle of Life
    After quitting school and married.
    I’m living a Nazarene life
    By the Sacrament which contract us
    Declaring me a Peter from Castille’ s vassal.
    I still live in the same town
    I’m unhappy. I not need a man.
    I’m in an agonizing situation
    Moving with my foot, the right
    My baby’s cradle three months y.o.
    And scaring my little and chump boy
    Five y.o.
    That ties the apron strings of mine’s
    Raising the skirt
    Pulling up the ironing board
    Doing funny faces and sights.
    In alternating relationship
    To each other
    I’m saying to him
    Kicking up a great fuss:
    -Fucking Boy, don’t you see
    That I’m ironing?
    Go away¡, and play with carton caliphs
    From Cordoba or Orient
    And with the false Christian king
    That your father made to you
    Assembling the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa.
    My work is in the cousin’s house
    Pressed and pressed
    And shiting in my mother in law
    With each press saying:
    I am as a parish priest
    With three churches
    My iron is made with cast iron
    Going hot with pokes.
    My husband, (I loathe Love¡)
    Surreal, besieger and rapist

    Pressed of hunger and tenterhooks
    Coming back to home find me ironing
    Assured of my loyalty
    Encircling me with his erect prick
    As an assassin bear
    With its hairy big hands
    Forcing me, surrendering shouts
    With shoves saying me:
    -Whore of the Wood
    I’ll penetrate You as Peter “the Big”
    Moscow
    As a “Matthew by his house”.

    Getting sick of him
    And saying to myself that “I am till the Bust”
    At the top of one’s voice
    I said:
    Hands off¡ Prick out¡
    Man, how a place grows on you…
    My Ass¡
    Promising not to be
    A spittoon of Love
    And to punish severely this pig bastard
    Because he’s Peter, not from Castille
    But from the Pig.
    I don’t bear him when he is in the hall
    With his trousers from bad to worse
    And his prick standing up to me
    With the purpose to embrace
    All my geography
    Putting a purple yellow flower
    In his hands
    And more driving the dummy or python
    To the triangle of crotch
    Calling me “the Mexican”
    Intending to go to the fucking cupola
    And saying
    -I’m piercing you
    With twenty seven ass powder
    My darling
    Good¡ two
    Carrying his prick to the crest
    Of my funny thing
    As bid of an auction of beast.
    Me, neither shy nor lazy
    Put my hot iron on my husband’ spot and eggs
    Squashing them with its red hot base
    Kicking up a great fuss
    A natural shout at the top
    Of one’s voice
    Me leaving the fucking organ
    As a slice of toasted bread
    Soaked with honey of bees
    Toasted also
    Giving on the ambient
    The impression of a burn of meat
    And its hairs smelling fishy
    From a pig killing
    Similar, no doubt¡ to that odor
    From the men eating of Euro
    Preferable and ejections
    That nothing have to envy these pigs
    From New Guinea, New Ireland
    New Caledonia and Salomon, beloved.
    However
    And in the spite of the injured male
    Baby don’t waked up from the cradle
    Boy getting along with himself
    With a wooly minded sort
    And me, the mother, saying:
    -Don’t touch my bust no more, motherfucker
    I am Lesbian¡

    • vanillamom says:

      Thartac…the poem…I think we have a language issue here. I’m guessing in your native tongue it is more sensible? Translated –it has some…gaps to it. I’ll keep it up here, but that’s the only one I’ll keep posted.

      nilla

  2. Twiglet of Hundred Acres says:

    oh I have so much to thank you for, turning me on and onto tentacle porn… you write it so well, and I love how even when pissed off your protagonist is generous to her man… of a sort 🙂 twigs.

  3. Wordwytch says:

    That was great! 🙂

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