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Carnal Carnival

Her slender legs were now accelerating beyond her regular pace. If anyone saw her they would have thought that she was running away from something more so than she was jogging. The weather and her own memories had teamed up to batter her darkened silky hair with its humidity augmented perfume and pheromones releasing skin. If she was running away from her own thoughts, her body on the other hand yearned to be chased and it was saying so loudly, like the echoes generated by loud shrieks sent in the middle of a valley of curves, perfected by eons of female evolution and ripped by a lifetime of deistic sculpting.

Bonnie could remember a time when her life was mostly filled with joy. Before her twins got old enough to be in college, before her life had taken a sharp turn for the worse about a decade ago, when, on a morning not unlike this one, she came back home due to some emergency she no longer remembered only to find her husband, in their own nuptial bed, probing alternatively and methodically each holes of one of her dearest friends with his well-endowed member that she had since grown to hate.

Her jogging pace quickened, along with her now frantic breathing as she thought of what ensued. For the following decade her marriage had become a charade, a make-believe tableau of happily dysfunctional family where mum and dad had agreed to stay together for the good of the kids, at least until they were old enough to go to college. And that time had now come…

What she was truly running away from was the decision she knew she had to make now that the agreed upon ultimatum had been reached: the kids were going to college this fall. She mentally avoided the excruciating exercise to reminisce some more of her not-so-far-away youth. She smiled as she remembered a time when her body was the stuff of legends. She was far from a less beautiful now, but she no longer had the same confidence in her charms. In more ways than one she was more of a woman now than she was then. Back then she was petite and cute. Now she was the image of femininity and she was beautiful. She also delighted herself in remembering what a bad naughty girl she was. She recalled the time, before settling for her husband, when her promiscuity was only challenged by the amount of hard cocks willing to defile, in any way imaginable, this once nymphomaniac goddess now tamed by societal pressures of kids, friends, work and only-to-be-admired-“salope” etiquette.

For so long she had resorted to distractions in order to tunnel through her ring induced ordeal. The trips to her parents, the endless home renovation and decoration projects, the kids’ cloths shopping spree had all long lost their usual distractive functions. Even the frequent jogs had no more effects. If anything they were only adding to her list of problems. She noticed how more and more in-shape she was becoming and how men couldn’t keep their eyes off of her. Worse of all, for the past two years that she’s been running in the vicinity of a marathon a week, her libido had once again gone into overdrive, forcing her to have long bathing sessions where fingers and any object that resembled a phallus became the bringer of deliverance and flooding doom.

She pitied her current self. She decried her condition. But for once, in the last decade, one thing was different: now she could do something about it because the self-imposed moral barrier was now lifted. She stopped abruptly when she finally realized that she had gone too far, too fast overshooting the entrance of her house by half a kilometer. She turned back and remembered that there was something positive to look forward to the following day: the Carnival. She decided to postpone her decision to leave her make-believe husband until then. At least that’s what she told herself.

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I watched Becky bustling around the small diner as I sat at the counter drinking a mug of tea. I was certain every man in the place loved watching her lithe form as she moved with such grace, especially in those very high heels. Her blonde hair was held back by a scrunchie, and her figure was on display in a tight waitress uniform. The dark skirt would ride up as she bent to pour coffee for the customers in the booths. Damn she's beautiful ... and she's got such great legs! The place was...

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She stood before a mirror in a hotel lobby, her heart fluttering, her breath short. Soon, everything would be different. She would be different. She had no idea. But even then, there, she knew she was changing. Sure, she’d always been a slut. She’d even always been a touch submissive. She loved fucking, of course. But that was just it: she loved fucking, and so she got fucked. She didn’t yet love that people loved fucking her. The fact that she was making others happy didn’t quite...

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