Long, Deep Screw (NSFWish) (1323 hits)
Category: RomanceLabels: fiction
Rating: 1.47 on 33 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Flash Harry (View user info) at 2008-11-07 09:21:23 EST
This is a serious story for serious readers, but there is a nice picture at the bottom too.
* * * * *
The night was cold and bitter, the wind howled, the two bottles of wine clinked together in the carrier bag - gifts for Frank, on his birthday. The curtains were drawn over the windows and the house loomed large into the dark sky. Bernard knocked sharply on the door, shivering against the weather, praying that his friend would have the log fire roaring already.
Frank's wife, Doreen, opened the door and cried out in surprise when she saw Bernard.
He had fixed an easy smile on his face, anticipating that it would be Frank who opened the door and welcomed him inside. The bottles of wine had been placed on the ground for the moment, and Bernard spread his arms wide for an embrace. For a brief moment he paused, with an idiotic grin stuck on his face and his arms outstretched, before averting his eyes and dropping his hands sheepishly by his sides. But he had already been afforded a fine view of his friend's wife.
For Doreen had not been expecting Bernard. Frank was notoriously forgetful and had completely neglected to tell his wife to expect a guest for dinner, and to make matters worse the birthday boy was stuck in the office and was not sure how late he would get home. She had been determined to give him an evening to remember after a long day at work, and had dressed up in her very laciest pair of panties, a rather transparent slip which clung to her breasts, and her most uncomfortable pair of towering stilettos. A silk shrug hung from her smooth, creamy shoulders, her hair had been lovingly curled, her neck was bare and fragranced, and her striking face was embellished with make-up which gave her dark, smouldering eyes and pursed, rouge lips.
It was in such attire that she answered the door, curling a thigh around the frame, sticking her chest out in defiance, and pouting suggestively. For a flash they faced each other, Bernard dumbstruck with his arms extended, Doreen radiating brazen lust...and then he dropped his eyes to look at his feet, stuttered over a sentence, and she pulled the shrug around herself with some embarrassment.
"Bernard!" she cried. "Oh, I am sorry - I thought you were Frank! What are you doing here? Good grief, but it's cold out there. Come in, come in, please."
Bernard hesitated for a second, but the wind was cutting through his clothes and chilling him to the bone. He picked up the wine and stepped gratefully into the house, closing the door behind him and basking in the warmth of the hallway. "Thank you, Doreen, thank you," he said, rubbing his hands together. "I'm terribly sorry, I didn't realise you were - I mean I didn't mean to - Frank invited me for - "
"That man," she sighed, shaking her head and checking her bejewelled watch. "He didn't tell me you were coming for dinner, and he's not even home yet. Some 'big emergency' at work," she mocked. "But there's more than enough food, and you can keep me company until he gets back, okay?"
Bernard nodded and smiled. He had come a long way and could hear the fire crackling and spitting through in the lounge, as well as smell the meat roasting in the kitchen. He had only met Doreen on one or two previous occasions, but always found her to be pleasant, charming and captivating company. Frank, he mused, was a lucky fellow indeed. Particularly in light of the enviable birthday treat she had evidently planned for him.
Frank and Doreen's house was vast, a grand manse that they'd picked up cheaply when the old vicar passed away. The hallway was spacious and well-kept, with a mahogany coat-rack standing proudly in the corner. Doreen's high heeled shoes clicked loudly on the marble floor, sending echoes around the room which bounced from the high ceiling and back again, causing an unexpected shiver to crawl up Bernard's spine.
Having hung his coat up, Bernard was guided into the warm, comfortable lounge. He sighed with pleasure at the fierce heat from the fire, and secretly admired the shape of Doreen's silhouette against the dancing flames as she fetched two wide-bulbed glasses from the cabinet. He placed his two bottles of wine, still wrapped in brown paper, onto the table in front of the settee, and sank happily into it.
Bernard had expected Doreen to change into something a little less distracting, but she wiggled over with the glasses and flopped down next to him, crossing her legs and displaying a perfect thigh, which he struggled to ignore. "Wine! My favourite - how did you know?" she teased. Frank and Doreen were renowned wine buffs. She checked her watch again, a little anxiously, and turned her large eyes back to Bernard. "So, what did you bring me?"
"Well, they're for Frank's birthday," said Bernard. "I was struggling to find something he'd like, but then I was pointed towards a private little vineyard in Bordeaux, not far from - "
"Hang on a second," interrupted Doreen, her eyes sparkling. "Do you want to play a little game? I have a fabulous little game we could play." Her red lips turned up slightly at the corners as she suppressed a smile, and she ran her fingers softly across that smooth thigh.
Bernard was slightly baffled, but keen not to offend his hostess. "Sure," he nodded his head in agreement. "What game?"
"Ha! Wonderful!" cried Doreen, clapping her hands together and leaping to her feet, causing the shrug to flap flimsily around her curved waist. "Okay, okay," she said, thinking aloud. "We shall keep these two bottles that you have brought with you wrapped up, so that the labels remain hidden. But two is perhaps not enough...so, how about you go into the wine cellar and select a third...yes, that would do quite nicely. When you've chosen another bottle, wrap it up in a teacloth and bring it back here, and then we'll have a blind tasting. I'll have to try and guess what the wines are."
Bernard seemed happy enough to go along with this, for even though the wine was meant as a gift for Frank, it was really just a token gesture. Frank had gallons of wine dotted around the country, a collection that included years and vintages and grape varieties that Bernard could never hope to purchase.
"Sounds like a plan," he smiled. "I'll pick out a third bottle then, shall I? Where is it kept?"
Doreen's blue globes lit up with surprise. "You haven't seen Frank's wine cellar?"
"I haven't."
"Oh! Well then you are in for a treat!"
Doreen grabbed Bernard's hand and led him across the lounge to a heavy oak door that dominated the wall to the left of the fireplace. "When the old vicar lived here," she whispered, " this was where he kept his books. The door is so thick that once inside, nothing of the house can be heard. He must have been very happy down there, with his theology texts, writing his sermons, and no doubt praying." She rolled her eyes slightly at the very thought, tilting her head upwards and affording Bernard an intoxicating view of her neck, and parted lips. "When Frank saw this," she continued, "he demanded that we should live here. Simply adamant, he was."
"Sounds wonderful," said he said.
"The very best wines are at the bottom, in the very deepest part of the Screw."
"The Screw?" asked Bernard, clearing his throat.
"Yes," she giggled. "That's what we call it. A nice...deep...Screw. The further in you go, the better the wine. Help yourself to one bottle, and remember to cover it up so that I don't see what you've chosen."
She held his gaze for a moment, and then strolled back to the settee, checking her watch one again and draping herself comfortably across the cushions. Bernard pushed the heavy door open, and stepped inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimness.
The wine cellar was called the Screw for a very good reason: it was literally a corkscrew buried into the ground, with a winding staircase that circled around and around that Bernard followed until he must have been fifteen feet beneath the house. The walls, from the very bottom to the top, were filled with wine, each in a neat little compartment and labelled meticulously. Although the light was dull, Bernard could easily make out the scribbled labels. Some of them - those nearer the bottom, where the best vintages were kept - had little warning notes on them, such as Ne Touchez Pas! and Vous Désirez!
Bernard quickly became disorientated in the dark little tunnel, and stepped away from the bottles at the deepest end of the Screw which were covered in dust and cobwebs. He climbed back out, thankful for the light which shone in from the lounge, and selected more or less at random a bottle from about halfway up. He wrapped it tightly in a teacloth (there was a small pile of these on a shelf, along with silver buckets and dozens of weird and wonderful corkscrews) and emerged once again into the dazzling heat above.
The room was darker than before. Doreen had turned off the main lights and scattered thick, long candles around the room. They adorned the mantelpiece, the sideboard, the cabinet, the coffee table and even the window-sill, flickering and dancing like little copycats of the radiant log fire. The hostess remained on the couch, her body made all the more enticing with the shadows that the flames cast upon it. Now her splendid curves gave way to unlit mystery, while her eyes and lips glistened wetly. The sparkling decorations around her neck and fingers, and her twinkling watch, were like sparklers in the room, leaving Bernard quite unable to avert his gaze.
Once he had sunk back into the couch next to her, Bernard uncorked the first bottle and filled up a large glass without the pair exchanging a word. It was a blushing, clear colour, and Doreen took it gratefully from him, tilting the wine against the edges and holding it to the candle-light, with careful examination. She swirled the liquid around and around, warming it with her hands. Bernard watched, open-mouthed, marvelling at her concentration and feeling slightly shameful that her shrug had slipped to reveal a cleavage he could not stop admiring.
"Hang on a second, mister," declared Doreen, just as she was about to dip her beautiful nose into the glass. "We haven't decided what the stake would be yet."
"The stake?"
"Mmm. We have to play for something, otherwise what's the point?"
"How about a bottle of wine?"
"Ha!" she snorted.
"Okay then, a case of wine."
"Bernard, darling," she scolded, "my husband buys more wine in a month than we could possibly hope to drink in a year. Our wine collection grows exponentially and, quite frankly, we are running out of storage for it."
"Okay," he conceded good-humouredly. "What would you suggest, then?"
She seemed to think this over rather carefully before answering. "We can't wager money, that would be too crude...and we don't want to go into possessions at all...no, we need something easy that carries no risk, that can be done and then forgotten about again...yes. Yes. Yes, I think I have the perfect idea."
"Well?"
"Clothes."
"Clothes?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Ha! You can't be serious!"
"I never joke about wine."
"What about Frank?"
"He's at work."
"What if he comes home?"
"He'll be a while."
"No, I don't much care for it."
"Oh, for crying out loud! It's just a game, we'll have a good laugh. Don't worry, I'm not going to pounce on you or anything. Don't spoil my fun, Bernard. Don't disappoint me."
Bernard looked at those big eyes, shining earnestly with indignation and a mite embarrassed. Her lips pouted their disapproval, too, and he let out a sigh. He didn't want to offend. He didn't want to disappoint or be asked to leave the warm house with the roaring fire and the roasting meat and the beautiful hostess. He didn't know much about her tasting prowess, or what the likelihood was that she'd guess all the wines. One more look at that pleading face, and the perfect curves, settled it.
"Okay," he conceded, holding up one finger. "But I'm not happy about it."
Doreen clapped and cried out with happiness, kicking her feet in the air and landing a heeled foot dangerously close to Bernard's lap. He laughed, and moved her leg away, inwardly gushing over this brief connection with the porcelain skin.
"Brilliant!" she smiled. "So for very wine I guess correctly, you have to take something off. For each one that I get wrong, you have to take something off. Deal?" She extended a delicate hand, which Bernard clasped gently.
"Deal."
Where Doreen was frivolous in the arrangements, she took the tasting off the wine to be of the utmost importance. She placed her small, slightly pointed nose across the rim of the glass and inhaled deeply, keeping her eyes firmly closed. She swished the wine around, to better exentuate the bouquet, and sniffed again. Satisfied, she parted her exquisite lips and tipped nearly half of the contents into her mouth, letting out an excited little moan as the wine sloshed into her cheeks. Bernard watched with building anticipation as her throat moved slightly, as she allowed a trickle to slide down her throat, but she kept most of the liquid in her mouth.
She pursed her lips and inhaled a long breath of air, allowed it to course through her mouth, and released it from her nose. She gave a pleasant nod, and began rolling the wine around, beneath her tongue, filling her cheeks and chewing it with her teeth. Finally she threw her head back and swallowed, enjoying the warmth as it spread down her throat, into her chest and causing her fingers to tingle.
It was quite a performance, and Bernard waited with baited breath on the decision. This was one of the bottles which he had bought for Frank - Frank, whose wife he was now engaging with in a strip-drinking game. A fleeting moment of guilt overcame the guest, but then he recovered, reminding himself that he had little choice but to play. He glugged his own glass of wine without half of the ceremony or pleasure that Doreen had displayed.
Doreen was silent for a few minutes. She seemed to be getting her analysis straight in her own head before making her feelings clear. Finally, and with a great sigh that shook her bosom, she spoke.
"This is a very masculine wine," she mused. "Muscular at the first, charming in the middle and with, quite frankly, a rather wilting and disappointing finish. A short finish. If this wine was a man," she suggested, "it would have fallen asleep without satisfying me."
Bernard stared at her in confusion, and she let out a giggle, before dipping her tongue, pink and wet, swiftly into the wine for another taste. "Mmmm. The tannin is not too overpowering, but it is enough to suck in the cheeks and cloud the mind..." She glanced at her watch and then looked deeply into Bernard's eyes.
"It's certainly a Bordeaux. Possibly a Second, or Third growth. It's delicious, Bernard, a wonderful choice, really. As to the grape...well, I'm going to throw one out there - Médoc?"
Bernard considered her answer with some ceremony, before picking the bottle up from the table and slowly unwrapping it, careful to keep the label hidden until the last. He glanced at it himself, and a surge of nerves overcame his stomach.
"No," he replied unsteadily. "I'm afraid not." He presented the label to Doreen with some trepidation.
Despite having guessed incorrectly, Doreen's beautiful features fairly lit up, but she did her best to fake disappointment. "Damn," she groaned. "Of course - the Château Haut-Brion! I feel like a perfect fool..."
She said nothing more but stood up, with her back to Bernard. He expected her to remove a shoe, or her necklace as the forfeit, but to his great shock and no little delight she simply let the shrug that concealed her body fall to the floor. He gasped silently at the inward curves of her waist, those shapely thighs and her toned rump, which was to all extents and purposes completely bare. Her flimsy pants covered not half of the cheeks, and she waited for a moment before throwing herself back onto the couch with a coy giggle.
"Most people," she explained, "will take off something silly, like a hat or a sock. These things are not clothes. They are mere accessories, and haberdashery. Isn't that right?"
All of Bernard's reservations had been diluted by the fire and the wine and the bewitching nudity of his hostess. She sat next to him now wearing only the silliest of panties, a slip through which her dark nipples peeked at him, and a daring smile. He said not a word, but poured the another glass of wine from the second bottle he had brought with him.
Doreen followed much the same ritual with her tasting, billowing the stuff around her mouth and licking her lips salaciously. This time, once she'd drained the lot, she fixed him with a serious stare. "Bernard," she said. "Do you know what this is? Do you realise what you've brought? This is only my most favourite wine in the entire world. Oh, you poor thing, you weren't to know. But you can just take your shirt off right now, because this, my dear, is most certainly the delectable wine that is made in the foothills of Régnié - that's right dear, take the shirt off and leave it over there - and they call it Cru Beaujolais." She pronounced those last words with a rather menacing sexuality, and scolded Bernard when he protested that perhaps he had better take only his belt off, and not the shirt.
"Haberdashery!" she cried. "You would not have me sitting here, barely covered, and not play fair, would you? No. No. That's better. Now, the third bottle, mon cher."
Bernard had little choice but to remove his shirt, and he did so with a newfound sense of caution. What time would Frank get home? Would he call ahead and warn them when he was due? That was perhaps unlikely, and Bernard resolved to be alert to sounds of the door opening.
He had barely placed the third bottle back down before Doreen had appraised its appearance, aroma and taste. She quickly, and devilishly, announced that the wine had a toasty, farmyard quality, with punch, a long, pleasing finish and a pithy acidic bite.
"...leather...truffle...brambles...summer fruits..."
Bernard stared at her, half-terrified and half-curious. "Well?"
"I'm afraid you made a rather uneducated decision," she snorted. "Shiraz. South African. Trousers off!"
The trousers came off, and Bernard sat back on the couch, rather light-headed and embarrassed. These thoughts flew from his mind however, as Doreen suddenly pounced on him, straddling her thighs either side of his and nuzzling her nipples into his face. Her hair fell about his head, sheltering him from the heat of the fire and the nerves about getting caught, and their lips met with a hungry, passionate, greedy kiss...
...her skin was soft and she writhed and wriggled about on his lap, the underwear that they both kept on frustrating them. He pinched her nipples as she arched her back, they heard the key click in the front door, he lifted the slip up to reveal her bare breasts, they heard the heavy front door creaking open, he lowered his lips to her straining nipples...
"Did you hear that?!" hissed Bernard, although it was slightly muffled.
"Frank's home!" she cried with delight, stroking her thighs and growling wildly, trying to force her nipple back into her guest's mouth.
Bernard wailed, and tried to throw her off, but she gripped tightly with her thighs and hung on grimly. He pinched her hip bones and finally heaved her from him, as Frank's footsteps sounded on the stone tiles in the hallway. Without a moment to get his bearings, Bernard flew from the couch, ripped open the door to the Screw, and flew down the stairs into the darkness, naked but for his underpants and a raging erection.
He steadied his breathing and crouched down in the shadows, cursing the deviant maniac with those long, bewildering legs.
"Hull dear!" he heard Frank's deep, booming voice echo down into the Screw. "Jesus Christ! What a state you're in - did you start without me?" Bernard heard more clothes falling to the floor, and Doreen giggling.
"Happy birthday baby," she moaned between the kissing noises. "Do me a favour will you - nip downstairs for another bottle, then you can screw me senseless."
User Reviews
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:48:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
http://img.skysports.com/07/10/218x298/quinnalex_579381.jpg
LOL eyeshadow
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:45:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
...and baskets. And Fireman Sam. And donuts (jammy).
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:44:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Haha surely you don't miss my drunken ramblings and subsequent hungover grumbling, Pheeley?
Tee-hee.
----------------------------------------
Tee hee the drunken sweet nothings you whispered in between whilst fondling my magnificent boobies, actually.
:D
I never understood a word you said anyway. I don't do accents. And invariably, the conversation would always turn to Au Naturel.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:40:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No I think her name's Alex Quinn.
Haha surely you don't miss my drunken ramblings and subsequent hungover grumbling, Pheeley?
Tee-hee.
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:37:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
what that one?
http://www.millieclode.com/milliepics/millieEdit.JPG
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:36:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I miss your voice :(
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:29:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Yeah, I know what you mean. You also remind me of that girl from Sky Sports News.
'Cept your voice is much sexier.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:25:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
WAY to add ten years on me, FJ/Jules.
Heehee you know I think your real name is old mannish. :)
With roy, it's the cheeky face/chubby chops and he does go all doe eyed now and then. I don't know, one of those things where you resemble him without looking similar. Make sense?
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:18:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
You reckon? Well, he is a handsome enough chap...
What's wrong with my name?! I like being called Julian :o(
As a retal, I think you look like Julie Etchingham, the blonde bit of totty from News at Ten.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-11-10 06:13:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Everyone looks like someone famous - FJ 'quickie' edition.
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=gFzREgP3RiU
Roy (yes, his name is as shite as your real one) from Scouting For Girls.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-11-10 05:31:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2008-11-09 21:54:25 GMT (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/119694#2811216
--------------------------
Agreed. this was funny. +2's forever, unless you are having a streak, in ahich case...
Submitted by scourge (user info) at 2008-11-09 16:54:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/119694#2811216
hahahahaa
i figure i owe you a few +2s down the road for the laugh i got out of that.
Submitted by zoobie2000 (user info) at 2008-11-08 22:27:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
'ish' lol
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2008-11-08 19:49:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Doodles (user info) at 2008-11-08 14:58:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
I'm trying to figure out how painful it would be to insert the base of the wine glass.
Unless this was an 'actual' art picture, in which case I would think that there would be no base.
Still, inserting a flat and wide object into one's orifices doesn't seem to be pain free.
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2008-11-08 14:11:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
art:
http://www.ubersite.com/m/119694#2811216
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2008-11-08 05:16:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2008-11-08 05:15:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2008-11-07 13:21:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Comfortably_Numb (user info) at 2008-11-07 12:49:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2008-11-07 11:52:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by ThrowingInTheSponge (user info) at 2008-11-07 11:19:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Wherfore art thou Flash and why do you not keep in touch anymore you big flunky!
NSFWish? What is that?
Screw you, or don't... It wouldn't be nice.
Apart from that, good show. I practically ejaculate everytime I read your shit.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-11-07 11:02:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2008-11-07 15:25:32 GMT (#)
Ranking: 0
the day reading is 'serious' to me will be a sad day indeed
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well then, the pretty picture is for you.
Submitted by sexualchocolate1984 (user info) at 2008-11-07 10:25:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was a fucking winner. Could have carried on into a bit of a menage e trois though, turned into a bit of a hardcore erotic story.
Still a winner though.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2008-11-07 10:25:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
the day reading is 'serious' to me will be a sad day indeed
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-11-07 10:16:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2008-11-07 15:11:03 GMT (#)
Ranking: 2
Sorry to be a pedant, but it was a bit of a one-sided wager...
"So for very wine I guess correctly, you have to take something off. For each one that I get wrong, you have to take something off. Deal?"
Good read, though.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was too long to proofread, it's riddled with errors. That's quite a corker though.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2008-11-07 10:12:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Since when did Ubersite become a serious writers forum?
I missed that memo.
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2008-11-07 10:11:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Sorry to be a pedant, but it was a bit of a one-sided wager...
"So for very wine I guess correctly, you have to take something off. For each one that I get wrong, you have to take something off. Deal?"
Good read, though.
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2008-11-07 10:08:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-11-07 10:04:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
It has a bit. How long is this?
Scary.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-11-07 09:57:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Wine tasting has gone to your head!!
:)
Submitted by SgtHartman (user info) at 2008-11-07 09:32:07 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
wow you are a horny bugger arencha!
that picture is fantastic.
Submitted by elkay94 (user info) at 2008-11-07 09:31:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
This SRSLY Sucked Pussy Juice.