She’s naked, facing the back of the big leather chair in his room at the mansion, her hair falling down her back in a cascade of warm brown waves accented with cool platinum streaks that bounce with every thrust of his hips as he pounds his throbbing cock into her hot core.
It’s his favorite chair and his favorite girl is letting him fuck her in it using his favorite position. Christ, he’ll never be able to read a book or smoke a cigar in this chair again without a hard on, but who cares? Life doesn’t get any better than this.
He’s on fire for her, his need driving him to withdraw and return furiously, his pelvis slamming into her ass cheeks on every push.
As he pulls back this time he leans back just enough to appreciate the vision before him, a tableau that has him straining to hold back his climax because he can’t bear for this to end.
Her knees are braced wide apart up against the arms of the chair, her ass angled perfectly to allow him to penetrate her pussy all the way to her womb. She’s supporting herself with her arms, her hands gripping the back of the chair. Her taut breasts sway with the rhythm of their mating. She is the most incredible woman he has ever known.
He pulls almost all the way out, leaving only the thick velvety head inside her. He leans forward as he plays briefly with her breasts and then reaches between her legs to find her clit. Swirling his thumb in slow circles, he knows she’s just this side of oblivion and he means to push her over the edge.
God, how he loves taking her this way! And what he loves, she loves just as much. He knows because she tells him so.
“Logan, fuck me! Please, I need you to fuck me hard, Logan. Fast and hard. Now! Pleeeeeease!”
His thumb continues to ply her, pressing harder with each turn. It’s killing him to ignore her breathless pleas, but he won’t be rushed. She tries to move her hips back, to force her wet sex down his shaft, but he braces his other hand on her hip, denying her what she craves. The sweat is running through his hair, down his face, so great is the effort of holding back.
Wait.
Wait.
There. A flutter of movement in the flesh under his thumb.
She’s coming.
His hips rocket forward, driving his cock in and up while his hand moves with unholy speed, sending her orgasm into overdrive. He stays seated deep inside her while she convulses around him. Her juices run, covering his balls, dripping down his thighs. She smells heavenly. She screams like she’s heaven bound.
“Oh, God, Logan, Oh Gaawwwwd!”
Only it isn’t Marie’s voice.
He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but in the throes of passion he must have, because now he opens them and sees that the hair tickling his chest isn’t chestnut brown—it’s red.
And in the blink of an eye, a dream becomes a nightmare.
He’s too far gone to stop now; he has to finish. His mind recoils in horror, but his body is in control now, slamming into her so hard her knees lift off the chair with each punishing thrust. He doesn’t want HER, but her pussy is so deliciously tight on his aching cock that he couldn’t pull away now if his life depended on it.
His mind goes blank, all conscious thought erased by the singular ferocious need for release.
There is no Marie, no Jean, only his cock and this pussy, this hot, wet, sweet pussy that is consuming him in its fiery folds.
His balls tighten, his cock pounds relentlessly, violently, into the silken recesses of the body in front of him.
And then his orgasm hits like a hurricane, tearing through him, pulling a screaming growl from the depths of his soul as he pumps his seed into her quivering body and collapses onto her back, desperately hoping she can hold his weight long enough for his legs to stop shaking.
As his shudders subside, he lifts himself off of her and steps back, sliding out of her completely. Instantly, his cock misses her moist heat as the cooler air of the room takes its inevitable toll on his package.
He trails his hand across her back, his fingers combing through her hair momentarily and he looks down, dreading the sight of the auburn waves he expects to find there.
“Jean, I…” he starts, but can’t continue. What could he possibly say now?
“Uh, sugar, I might just have to switch my skin on and kill you—if that hadn’t been the best fuck of my entire life.”
Again, eyes he doesn’t remember closing snap open to reveal snow white strands woven through the deep brown locks curled around his fingers. Relief crashes over him in waves, buckling his knees as he wraps himself around her again. Burrowing his face into her neck, he drinks in her scent, confirming once and for all that she is his Marie.
“Marie, darlin’, I…I can’t…I mean I don’t know what…Oh, dammit.”
“Maybe next time we need to do it face-to-face just so there’s no confusion, huh sugar?”
“I swear Marie, I have no idea…your hair looked…red. Your voice when you screamed…it sounded like her,” he stammers, trying to explain the unexplainable.
“You know what she sounds like when she’s coming?” Marie shoots back, with only the slightest hint of rancor tainting the honest curiosity in her tone.
“No! Oh, Christ, Marie, I don’t understand it, but I swear for a second there I was terrified that somehow…oh, hell, I didn’t want to be with her, but I couldn’t stop. When I said her name, it wasn’t out of passion; it was to apologize for losing control with the wrong woman.”
“Oh, Logan, don’t be silly,” she tosses over her shoulder with a mischievous grin. “You have no idea how many times I’ve had to catch myself before I hollered out Bobby’s name while you were fucking my brains out.”
The joyous relief he felt only seconds before morphs instantly into jealous rage. Backing away from her only long enough to flip her over onto her back, he shoves her hips down and back into the chair. He straddles her legs and slams his arms against the padded back of the chair on either side of her head, trapping her beneath him.
He opens his mouth to tell her in no uncertain terms that if that was supposed to be funny it fucking well wasn’t, but before he can say the first syllable she arches her back, twines her arms around his neck and rubs her taut, straining nipples across his hair-roughened chest.
“Don’t be angry. I’m not. I was just kidding about Bobby. Whatever happened, it honest to God drove me wild, Logan. I’m still hot just thinking about it. Call me any name you want, just fuck me like that again.”
The emotional roller coaster careens down another stomach-flipping drop and his anger whirls into overwhelming desire as she wraps her long, silky legs around his hips. When she opens her legs, her pussy lips follow suit. The combined scent of her arousal and his cum radiates through the room, swiftly drawing his attention to her fragrant folds. His cock goes rock hard, straining upward, aiming for its familiar destination.
“You said just now was the best fuck of your entire life. Well, I’ve got news for you, darlin’. If we both keep our eyes open this time, I guarantee that will pale in comparison to what happens next. I swear, Marie, neither one of us is going to forget who we’re fucking ever again, I’ll make damn sure of it.”
“Oh? And just how will you do that?” she challenges, just like he knew she would. He loves verbal foreplay, or ‘previews of coming attractions’ as Marie likes to call it.
“I’ll be looking in your eyes as they glaze over with ecstasy when you come all over me, screaming MY name to the high heavens. And you’ll be looking back into mine while I’m driving my huge cock into your perfect pussy—“
“Shut up and kiss me!” she demands, her need for ‘show’ outweighing the desire for ‘tell, as she shoves her hands in his hair and pulls him down to her hot mouth.
And he obliges her with gusto, locking his lips on hers, kissing her with all the hunger in his soul.
He releases her lips and kneels on the floor in front of the chair, all the while kissing his way down her throat, as his hands grasp her breasts. He is not gentle. He means to leave his mark on her, squeezing and pinching her nipples until she cries out.
“Say my name, Marie. Every time you open your mouth, I want to hear my name coming out of it.”
For an instant she ponders defying him, just to see what sweet torture he might administer, but then he clamps his mouth onto first one hard peak and then the other and all she can think to say is, “Logan, oh, Logan!”
“That’s right, Marie,” he praises between nibbles on her sweet tips. ”That’s right.”
His cock has never been so hard, so demanding, but he intends to draw this out for as long as possible, to bring her to the brink time and again before allowing her to finally plunge into the abyss.
He sucks her tits for several minutes, reveling in the ten or twelve times she’s called out his name already, and he’s just getting started…
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000
Story Notes:
This is the first in what I hope will be a series of stories revolving around Logan's favorite piece of furniture, an oversized, overstuffed leather chair. This link will show you a photo of the chair as I envision it.
http://www.restorationhardware.com/rh/catalog/product/product.jsp?productId=114&navCount=2
http://www.restorationhardware.com/rh/catalog/product/product.jsp?productId=114&navCount=2
Chapter End Notes:
OK y'all, here's what happens now. I'm challenging all you pervs out there to come up with more sexcapades for Logan and Marie in Logan's favorite chair.
This series is called "Logan's Chair" and all stories contributed to it must include the chair as an integral part of the story. Other than that, the sky is the limit. You can continue the sex scenes by picking up right where I left off (after all, Logan has promised her he will top 'the best fuck of her life'), or making up one of your own. But sex isn't required, only the chair is. If you prefer, you can let your imagination run wild around the furniture and do something G or PG rated instead.
Another possibility might be to explain how Logan came by his visual and auditory hallucination. Was it his own head playing tricks on him, or did it have a little outside help? Who might do such a thing and why?
Now, I know somebody is going to think of 'the empty chair' and all that that implies and I'm sure it will be a fantastic, tear-jerker of a story. But I hope you'll understand if that story gets posted later, after Logan has had a chance to make it up to his girl for his little faux pas.
I've never done a series before and I'm guessing this would be considered a 'round-robin' like the Ice Cream series. It seems like those who wish to continue on this story line should post first and those who want to follow their own plot bunny should post later, but I guess that doesn't have to be a hard and fast rule. Just note in your summary whether you are continuing the original story or going off on your own.
What I hope we achieve is a sort of crazy quilt of stories-- an anthology, if you will -- all based around Logan's chair. By the by, the chair I envisioned when I wrote this can be seen by checking out RestorationHardware.com and looking up the 'Buster' chair, which I just discovered comes with a matching footstool. Oh, yeah, the footstool is fair game, too.
Well, folks, that's it. I'm really hoping that lots of you will play along...Happy Writing!
--Wendie
This series is called "Logan's Chair" and all stories contributed to it must include the chair as an integral part of the story. Other than that, the sky is the limit. You can continue the sex scenes by picking up right where I left off (after all, Logan has promised her he will top 'the best fuck of her life'), or making up one of your own. But sex isn't required, only the chair is. If you prefer, you can let your imagination run wild around the furniture and do something G or PG rated instead.
Another possibility might be to explain how Logan came by his visual and auditory hallucination. Was it his own head playing tricks on him, or did it have a little outside help? Who might do such a thing and why?
Now, I know somebody is going to think of 'the empty chair' and all that that implies and I'm sure it will be a fantastic, tear-jerker of a story. But I hope you'll understand if that story gets posted later, after Logan has had a chance to make it up to his girl for his little faux pas.
I've never done a series before and I'm guessing this would be considered a 'round-robin' like the Ice Cream series. It seems like those who wish to continue on this story line should post first and those who want to follow their own plot bunny should post later, but I guess that doesn't have to be a hard and fast rule. Just note in your summary whether you are continuing the original story or going off on your own.
What I hope we achieve is a sort of crazy quilt of stories-- an anthology, if you will -- all based around Logan's chair. By the by, the chair I envisioned when I wrote this can be seen by checking out RestorationHardware.com and looking up the 'Buster' chair, which I just discovered comes with a matching footstool. Oh, yeah, the footstool is fair game, too.
Well, folks, that's it. I'm really hoping that lots of you will play along...Happy Writing!
--Wendie