The Perseid Showers by Walt_Whitman

The Perseid Showers by Walt_Whitman

Discover the captivating tale of 'The Perseid Showers' by Walt Whitman, an adult story that weaves passion and poetry under the starry sky. Explore themes of desire and intimacy in a narrative that ignites the senses. Read more to experience this enchanting blend of romance and eroticism.<br/>

A 17-year-old Asian beauty with an aching need for defilement, an unwashed homeless man, and a magisterial celestial event, converge in a burst of glorious debauchery.

The Perseid meteors appear each August when the earth passes into the debris trail left by the comet Swift-Tuttle as it travels on its 133-year orbit. When the comet nears the sun, the frozen gases and dust that make up the comet are ejected into space. The gas and dust are then pushed behind the comet by the solar wind, forming the 2 tails that make it famous. The tails consist of millions of tiny particles of dense ionized material that are the debris left from the formation of the universe. Every August, when earth intersects the debris tails, the cosmic dust particles collide with the earth’s atmosphere at high speed. The friction from the collisions ignites the dust particles, leaving glowing trails of ionized gas behind them that are seen from below as brief flashes of intense light.

It was nearly 2 AM and Lilly was awake and aching. She hadn’t been out of her grandparents’ house in eight days – eight days of monotonous, repetitive, sterile confinement. She had been grounded and the punishment not only fit the crime, it had put an abrupt end to her glorious crime spree. Her grandparents had become increasingly appalled at her blatant sexuality, the seemingly endless procession of different boys and girls who came (often in groups) to take her away in their cars. At first it was only on weekends, but for most of the last year it could be any night of the week. There was no telling how late she would return, but her condition upon arrival was disturbingly predictable: often there was alcohol on her breath, her cloths were disheveled, buttons unbuttoned (or misbuttoned), zippers half open; sometimes her panties, wet and stained, hung from the back pocket of her jeans and always the aura and odor of sex clung to her like the dew of a muggy August morning.

This last time had been too much for them. They had fallen asleep before she returned and didn’t hear her come in. They didn’t see her swaying from the effects of the wine and weed, nor did they see her collapse on to the couch and pull her cum-soaked panties down to her knees and begin to masturbate with feverish urgency. It had been a night of especially spirited debauchery and before she could make it to the security of her room, she had been overcome by the delicious visions of her just-completed defilement. The two boys who had picked her up were joined by an older woman of inspired nastiness who had a thing about Femdom and genital torture and the festivities had quickly degenerated into the kind of depraved athletics that had a special appeal to Lilly. And so she lay sprawled obscenely on her grandparents’ couch, frigging herself madly with first two, then three, then four fingers. Finally as she strained to squeeze her entire hand into her sopping cunt, she let out a piercing shriek of sheer animal lust. Seconds later, she was busted.

Eight days! She had been busy scrubbing the kitchen, cleaning rugs, walls, and floors throughout the old house; gardening and doing yard work – good honest, wholesome labors, directed by her watchful grandmother. And when she wasn’t at work on the chores, she had been reading English literature and practicing on her clarinet. She had been a model citizen; she had been chaste. It was the longest she had been without sex since she losing her virginity two years ago. Now by the time of the summer before her senior year, her appetites required daily attention, daily nourishment; not bland macaroni and cheese or the like, but exotic fare: wine, escargot, oysters, and truffles. True, there were sexual Everests yet to conquer, but already she had steeped herself in, wallowed in, and exalted in perverse sexual excess that few women 3 times her age had dared experience. The fact that few women of any age had her capacity, her hunger, her aching need for wanton sexual exploitation and gratification, promised a life of carnal pleasure, unrestrained by the bonds of Christian probity. She was a slut, a fact that she did not simply accept; she gloried in it. Her tastes had progressively run to the depraved: gangbangs, humiliation, sex in public places, piss, shit, menstrual blood, and pain – exquisite, erotically focused pain – pain concentrated in the nerve endings of her tortured nipples, her pinched and bitten clitoris and her bruised buttocks. God, how she loved to have the juice turned on just before she came!

Eight days! And it had been bad from the very first. Knowing that she couldn’t have it, had cruelly fueled the beast in her panties so that by early evening of the first day she had fled into her bedroom and frigged herself ravenously a half dozen times before sleep finally rescued her. Each night since then The Craving had escalated. She had used everything, her fingers, cucumbers still prickly from the garden, empty wine bottles, even a roll-on deodorant dispenser. She had called her uncle 4 times during her stretch and begged him to come for a visit. Her father’s brother had no doubt been blessed with the same perverse gene that fueled her own ravenous libido. He had found her bloody tampon two days after she started her first period and immediately went to her and explained to her the anti-cramping benefits of a hard cock. A precocious and keenly intelligent lass, she had scoffed at his transparent subterfuge, but within days, was joyfully sucking his cock and gorging on his uncommonly thick and copious cum. Their incestuous relationship blossomed and remained a source of corrupt pleasure for both of them. But alas, her uncle was distracted and happily engaged in fucking his new neighbor’s wife and cuckolding her milquetoast husband. Blood apparently was not thicker than the neighbor’s cum, and poor Lilly was left to her own devices. Finally in desperation one afternoon in the garden, she flashed a beaver shot at their young newsboy who immediately sprang to attention. But cruel fate intervened when her grandmother scurried out the door to take the paper from the boy, give him his weekly fee, and send him on his way.

Day 8 had come to an agonizing end and Day 9 soon would be dawning. The unfed beast had daily upped the ante and now the poor girl was literally about to jump out of her skin from the intensity of her sexual cravings. She no longer cared about the dangers of being caught and having her summer incarceration extended, she cared nothing about dangers of any sort. Her only thoughts were of the pulsating meat between her legs, meat that she would feed to the first carnivore she could find. She ached to be devoured, consumed, cannibalized.

She slid from her bed, tore off her pj’s, pulled on her shorts and a thin cotton blouse, slipped into her sandals, lifted the screen, and let herself down the 4-foot drop to the grass in the back yard. As she scooted across the yard, the dew dampened grass felt cool on her toes in the oppressive humidity of the mid-August Pennsylvania night. It was hot and the musky, faintly randy scent of her grandparents’ compost heap hung in the air. The moist stickiness of the hazy night had coated everything: grass, hanging grape arbors, and willows and it seemed almost to Lilly’s tortured mind that she had slipped from her window into the clinging folds of a cosmic vagina. She smiled to herself at the creatively perverse imagery of her bland little neighborhood’s nocturnal transformation into an oozing sexual organ and thought it a good omen, indeed.

Lilly turned quickly from her yard into the darkened street and headed north with no particular destination in mind. Her ache was great and her need so urgent that she was simply trying to find the nearest sexual being and offer it her feast. She had no doubts that even the most devout of the righteous could not resist the succulent cunt that lay smoldering just beneath the thin material of her shorts. Her wanton sexuality was already legendary in the small town. She was as good as she was insatiable and her unrestrained love for the forbidden and taboo had taken many a young man and women to exotic places that few had ever imagined. Yes, she was the bad, bad girl next door, but she was also strikingly beautiful. Her face was classic Asian beauty; high cheekbones, finely shaped full pink lips, eyes that were perfect hazel almonds and a gorgeous mane of shiny jet black hair that cascaded over her shoulders, down to the small of her back. Her 5’5” frame was slender and lithe; she had long, slim, nicely muscled legs that were melded to her body by a pert alabaster ass. Her waist was tiny, her stomach flat, and her breasts perfect little apples that were peaked by a pair of richly tanned Hershey’s kisses. She was a vision of exquisite femininity; she radiated sensuality and sin.

She walked on for perhaps 20 minutes and found herself walking past the old elementary school, boarded up now and abandoned to rats, pigeons and other vermin. Adjacent to the far end of the school was a forsaken park, mostly overgrown now with weeds and unattended shrubbery. Along the street side of the park was a small parking lot, empty at this late hour and likely to be just as empty the next day.

As Lilly cut across the parking spaces, a movement in the grass just beyond the curb caught her eye. In the dim light thrown by a quarter moon that hung just above the tree tops, she could see the hunched shoulders of a man sitting with his back against the post of an old parking meter. She stopped dead and listened. She could hear rasping, heavy breathing and then a belch, a cough, and spitting. Carefully, she stepped towards him. She could hear him murmuring to himself unintelligibly. He was holding something in his lap – a bottle she finally discerned – a wine bottle. As she stood watching, she caught the smell of male body odor, not the milder version that she occasionally whiffed from her middle class lovers but the full-bodied, rank odor of a man unwashed for weeks. His clothes were filthy and she imagined his breath was foul. “Scum” she thought. And as soon as that thought formed in her mind her clitoris twinged, her cunt began to swell and the first beads of wetness began to seep into her shorts. She had found her carnivore; the raw veal in her shorts was ripe and dripping; she did not hesitate.