I know I promised a Mostly Fiction story today, but that’s not happening. The piece I’d originally envisioned grew out of those bounds, and is sitting half-done in google documents. Maybe later. Even this piece grew as I wrote it, thus creating a new tag here, “scrimshaw ivory.” About which I’ll say more later, I hope.

As always, our NSFW stuff is behind a link. The story starts safe enough for both you and Cleo…

Cleo Tickles The Ivory

F-Solo

The groove was going well. Cleo nodded to Sam as she pounded the keys of her synthesizer. The gig was going well, even if the spring heat pointed to an even muggier summer. Still things were good, she’d travelled hundreds of miles to go to the Savanna School of Art and Design, and had been able to hook up with a cool band. They’d been hired to do music in the open air market near the school — a pedestrian friendly, arty space that had become home to her and her friends.

Sam started a complicated riff on her 12-string, and Cleo went for a more subdued complement, following in behind her as she scanned the crowd. It was the normal kind of thing, artsy kids and tourists, and the occasional creepy looking guy. She smiled at the crowd as they approached and dropped loose change into the band’s hat.

The merchant’s association was paying them to play, but tips were always appreciated. One of the creepy guys dropped a bill into the hat, and Cleo felt like he was looking right at her. She shivered, but then got back into the music as he walked away.

After the set, she, Sam and Tal, their drummer, loaded the gear up on Tal’s truck. “I’ll just put the camper shell on it,” Tal said. “We’ll need it all tomorrow anyway. Either of you need a ride back?”

Sam nodded yes, which made Cleo smile. She knew what kind of ride Sam wanted. She was always horny after a good performance. Cleo had to admit that she was a bit aroused herself, but wanted to give the two others some space. “I’ll walk on back, I want to do some looking around.”

“OK, hon,” Tal said, kissed her on the cheek, and helped Sam into the truck.

“Have fun!”

“You too!” Sam and Tal called back. Sam scooted over to lean into Tal as they drove off.

Cleo walked through the market, there were a few good restaurants, and she was sitting having an early dinner when she saw the creepy guy again. He gave her a once-over and smiled. Cleo finished up her sandwich, and walked out. She headed away from campus, so that he wouldn’t immediately know she was a student. There were lots of stores around that way, as the artsy stores gave way to large, warehouse-sized antique stores.

Checking over her shoulder, she saw the creepy guy again. “Damn,” she swore to herself, and sped up her trip through the market. Looking back, she saw he was catching up to her. She turned on a side street, into the antique district, and then turned again. She hid in a doorway, until he turned to follow her. Feeling she had no choice, she tested the handle of the door — it was unlocked!

She opened it up, and slid into the back door of one of the antique stores.

The place was a huge warehouse of furniture. There was a mild wood-and-polish smell that permeated the atmosphere. It smelled nice, and Cleo moved further into the warehouse. She went down, and around losing herself in a maze of roll-top desks. She hid behind one and looked back at the door, which opened. “Shit,” she whispered to herself, backing up.

Behind her was a series of wardrobes. She opened one, and stepped inside. It was fairly deep and she was able to close the door — mostly — behind her. She watched through the gap as the creepy guy made his way through the maze, walking right in front of her door. He paused there, and she held her breath, hoping. A voice called out from the front of the building, and he walked off.

Damn, he hadn’t been following her after all — she had walked right to where he worked! And now she was stuck inside this wardrobe until she could sneak out. Because, some part of her thought, he is still a creepy guy; being an antique store worker didn’t cancel that out — not by a long shot.

The wardrobe was wide enough that she could sit down, if she bent her knees up. Spreading them in the depth of the wardrobe gave her a bit of room. It was a bit of a lewd position, she thought, but if things go well, no one would see it. She leaned back, running her hands through her short brown hair, stretching a bit to think about what she was going to do.

She ran her hands over the inside of the wardrobe, just trying to shift quietly to keep her arms and legs from getting stiff, but not enough to make any noise. That’s when it happened. That’s when she found the secret catch. A secret panel in the top of the wardrobe swung down, and a heavy velvet-wrapped thing fell right in her lap.

Underneath the velvet it was a hard cylinder about seven inches long and about four inches in diameter. Puzzled, Cleo unwrapped it. “Oh, my…” she uttered. It was the most beautiful dildo she’d ever seen. It looked like it was made of ivory — just slight shade of off-white — with scrimshaw ridges that made her pussy twitter.

Unconsciously she ran her hand up and down it. The tip was rounded and shaped realistically, but the scrimshaw belied the realism. It spiralled down the shaft, forming odd runes and markings that were, nevertheless captivatingly beautiful. It was the most beautiful penis that Cleo had ever seen. Her hand felt the grooves and ridges as it slid up and down the ivory shaft, all the while imagining what it would feel like to her, there.

Cleo forgot where she was — no longer was she hiding from a creepy antique dealer while trespassing in his very own store. Instead, she was in a tiny dark room, alone. One hand slid down her shorts, letting them gather around her ankles. Her knees were far enough apart to give her the space she needed. One hand slid to her pussy, teasing her lips open, and playing with her clit. The other held the ivory dildo. “Lubrication,” she thought, and slid it between her lips.

She shuddered as the tiny ridges slid over her tongue. She was lost in the fantasy of how it would feel inside of her. A first tiny orgasm rocked through her as she played with herself. It gave her a moment to focus. She licked and sucked the shaft, getting it moist. She teased and played with her pussy, getting it wet. She arched her back as much as she was able, and placed the ivory at her entrance, and pressed it inside.

She bit her hand as she moaned to the feeling. It was hard and cool, and the ridges ran against her opening, and teased and pressed against her g-spot as she slid it deeper inside of her. She twisted it, feeling the spirals tease her insides. Back and forth she twirled it, feeling her arousal heighten. Cleo clamped down on her knuckle as her second orgasm came, causing her to rock back and forth, and squeeze down on the dildo, which just made it all the more overwhelming.

And she still hadn’t truly fucked herself with it.

She pulled it out, but not quite all the way. Gasping for breath, she pushed it back in. Not sure she could take more pleasure, she pulled it out again, and back inside again. “Yes…” she said. And out and in and out again. Faster this time, with a little twist. And faster again.

Both hands held the base now, as she fucked herself with the scrimshaw dildo. She rocked against the wardrobe, lost in her own orgasmic world. Cleo had never felt anything like this. Ever.

The dildo fit her, perfectly. It filled her up and pressed against the walls of her pussy; her lower lips grasped at the dildo greedy for it, unwilling to let it go out — incredible as it slid back in. The runes, the spiral cuts of the scrimshaw pattern teased her entire insides the way no cock every could. And with just a twist she felt something no man could ever give her.

She fucked herself faster. Her hands grasped the base of the dildo and pulled it in and out as fast she could. Her feet,still wrapped in her shorts and panties, pressed against the wall of the wardrobe. Her head and shoulders were pressed against the other side. She arched her back as her hands forced the ivory in and out of her wet, greedy pussy.

She gripped the ends, interlocking her fingers, which let her twist the dildo even more, back and forth corkscrewing herself with the dildo. Her breathing was rapid and not so quiet. She’d completely forgotten where she was. She thrust the dildo in and twist and out and twist. Her body flushed, her nipples hard against the fabric, her short black hair plastered to her forehead. Still, she fucked herself.

She lost it when the orgasm hit her. She’d felt it coming, rising up from her pussy, up her spine and into her head. Her whole body went rigid and a scream — not a grown or a loud grunt, but a piercing scream — erupted from her mouth. She lay there for several seconds, her hands on her pussy, the scrimshaw cock fully inside her, her legs and shoulders pressed against the sides of the wooden closet.

Then she collapsed, still rigid, but forced into a fetal ball as her orgasm continued to wash over her, wave after wave, her pussy convulsed in pleasure as the rest of her was lost to it all.

She lay there, huddled into herself, the ivory dildo still inside her, filling her up. Her pussy twitching every now and then. Her breathing rapid at first, and slowly settling, and she came back to herself. The door swung open and the creepy guy was there.

“I see you found my treasure. Good thing I got rid of all my customers, eh?”

Cloe flushed red. “I-I-I-,” she stammered not sure what to say. How could she ever explain this? What had she been thinking?

“Couldn’t help yourself?” He said. She nodded, her face warm with embarrassment. “Dolores had the same problem.”He reached a hand down to her. “Come, my dear, we have much to talk about.”

Cloe started to pull it out, but he just shook his head. She pulled up her pants, seating the dildo in her pussy. It felt so good there, despite the embarrassment. She took his hand, and let him pull her up. She felt a bit woozy, and lightheaded, not surprising, considering the power of her orgasm.

The last thing she saw was a beautiful, middle-aged redhead behind the man, smiling a warm welcome. The last thing she heard, before passing out was “The Tusk has chosen a new Mistress.”

TO BE CONTINUED (sometime)