Author: ompurilegends

It was a shipwreck. The sands there where he landed were ivory white, the water crystal clear under his hands and his face where he lifted up like from a concussion. The white foam was salty in his lips. His head hurt like a thousand earthquakes. Where was he? Green palm trees that were wild shook back and forth before him as his legs wobbled forward through the lapping waves. When he came to something resembling intelligence he looked back out at the sea and had a sinking feeling in his heart. Everything was gone.
Here he was alone, desperate. He ventured into the interior of the jungle island. In his feet and hands he felt the danger that something could come out and kill him – it could be anything. But it wasn’t danger that awaited him in the island. He came at night across a circle of dark women seated in sand around a fire. They were beautiful. That was all they had in common, in addition to one other thing. They were sexual.
First they embraced him, gave him water, bread, meat. They told him before hand, the water had been infused with psychedelic mushrooms. Then they sat around the fire and talked, the man wrapped in an animal-skin blanket. His wet clothes were by the fire roasting dry. There was a woman named Zana who made the first move. She had straddled him first in silence and they held each other for minutes before bringing her ruby red lips to his. Each woman put their lips and tongues over his body, three of them licking the shaft of his penis, one woman with her large lips sucking intently like slow beating drums the tip. The intensity of the pleasure was almost too much. It began to hurt. He felt tongue flick across his asshole, then lick it, make love to it. He broke through and disappeared inside. Read more »

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It was midnight when the windows in her bedroom, black, darkness, silent, suddenly crashed with a large window of light against the wall ahead of her. Sonia first opened her eyes and saw the light across all the familiar things in the room that she carried with her over time, from home to home, apartment to apartment. A small brick home in the suburbs of Indianapolis. Corn stalks in rows were like the ocean here, and wheat too. Long solitary roads cut through them over the hills like the reverse of the yellow brick road. Sonia began to panic. It was a profound fear, something that gripped her so tightly she could feel her heart beating like it was her whole being. She was already naked under the silk dark purple sheets, no bra, no panties. And she was wet. One thing about her was that she was always wet. That was how her pussy was, wet and juicy, stick your lips in it smacking good pussy. Even now her pussy perspired like an Arnold Palmer under an umbrella on the beach. Read more »

By Om Puri

In the annals of a narrow corridor in the office, on the ninth floor, a dropped ceiling, white ceiling tiles made of spongy mineral fiber, rough and abrasive, ready to powder away; they alternate in chessboard diamonds with the tiles of fluorescent lights, flickering; the grey carpet; a cream-grey cubicle, a woman in a white blouse and navy skirt, black tights, black heels. The computer was on her Facebook screen. Her chair rolls on a plastic mat when she turns to answer the phone. Her light brown hair is in a bun with Japanese hair pins in them. She answers, speaks on behalf of Capital One Credit. It was not a customer but her supervisor in the division, a conversation about new employee policy. Insider her her mind drifts; she focuses and sees a diamond — cut and polished to a point, no blemishes, outside her voice on autopilot. Just don’t say who you are Mary thought from a place deep inside her. Read more »