All in All For a Probability [Story] by Peter Baltensperger


There were times when even the thickest fog wasn’t translucent enough to blank out her internal argumentations, the never-ending floods of questions, the dead butterflies among the shivering thoughts. Shakira Clover curled herself into a tight ball under her sheets, pulled the comforter over her head, and closed her eyes. She knew there wouldn’t be any resolutions that night, any answers or resurrections. Yet the magnetism of the fog was irresistible, promising what it could never keep but still insisting on a voice.

Shakira finally gave in to the cosmic temptation and birthed herself out of her protective cocoon. She slid her white shift over her naked body and went barefoot out into the park. She could barely see where she was going, the few dim lights barely enough to cast pale-yellow circles. Yet her feet knew where they were going in the damp grass, leaving her mind free to give itself over to the fog even though her own thoughts were too muffled for her to hear. Even breathing seemed to be difficult, the questions muddled at her feet, the echoes of the circles of light the only thing in her eyes.

She was walking slowly and carefully through the nocturnal confusion when the shadow of a man materialized in the thick fog as if he were an exclamation mark at the end of an interminable sentence. She stopped in her tracks, taken aback by the sudden apparition. The man stopped as well, having come to the end of his own argumentation a few feet away from her. They looked at each other as best as they could, eyes peering into eyes, their minds seeking each others’ thoughts. The fog never moved. She had expected that much, but decided to stand still and wait.

It seemed like a long time of standing in the fog without moving, but then the man took a few hesitant steps towards her, encouraged, perhaps, by her stillness. She could feel him gathering up his courage as he came right up to her, bent over to take the hem of her skirt into his hands, pulled her garment off over her head. She didn’t move, knowing suddenly deep down in herself what the call of the fog was all about, only stared into the eyes staring at her. They were wide with wonder and admiration. She shuddered, from the night air and from the eyes, wrapped her arms around her breasts. The eyes still didn’t move. The man started to fumble with his clothes, his hands visibly shaking, his breath coming more quickly, more visible in the fog. She unfolded her arms, took her breasts into her hands to show them to him. It didn’t help. The man was barely able to get out of his shirt.

She grew impatient in her nakedness, even though the fog enshrouded her and her head was spinning with the visual attention from the wide eyes. She let go of her breasts, reached out to the man to unbuckle his belt, unbutton his trousers, pull down his zipper. She could already feel his pulsing erection and brought her eyes down to the new attraction. With one pull, she rid him of his pants, with another of his underwear, and she was on her knees in front of him, a praying figure in the revelation of the damp grass.

Her hands trembled with excitement and anticipation when she took his throbbing erection into her hands and pulled his foreskin back. She felt it slide easily over his shaft and she heard him groan into the fog, letting her know. She touched the exposed glans with her fingers, then took it into her mouth and started to suck it greedily. Her mind reeled with the ecstasy of her manipulation as she let his penis glide in and out of her mouth, tasted the musky masculinity of the droplets forming at the tip, rubbed and squeezed the engorged organ. All around her, the fog echoed with her sighs, with his groans, bringing the night alive between them.

She let go of him and let herself sink into the grass. She had barely made herself comfortable when the man was already between her legs, pushing her thighs apart, opening her entrance wide with his fingers. His tongue went straight to her labia, shooting electric currents all through her body and into her mind. She felt as if she had been struck by lightning, as if her entire body were concentrated in her labia, in his tongue. Not even the fog dampened the ecstasy of her arousal as his tongue slid over and around her swollen protrusions and lapped at the aromatic juices of her rich well. The fog couldn’t have been more tightly packed with the excitement of her body, nor the questions thicker in the cool night air.

He seemed to have had his fill of her juices, for he detached himself from her and climbed on top of her. She gasped when the tip of his penis touched her aching opening, then quickly slid into her and started to rub the insides of her receptacle. She cried out with pleasure as he thrust into her again and again and her mind became as foggy with lustful excitation as the night with the thrill of his penetration. She felt as if her arms and legs were dissolving in the fog, her body melting into the grass, with only the weight on top of her keeping her in place.

Her mind was floating somewhere in between, full of flashing lights and thunder, a shower of answers to unasked questions. She flung her arms around the man’s neck, dug her fingernails into his shoulders, and wrapped her legs tightly around his hips to anchor herself to his reality. Then she arched her back in ecstasy, screamed herself towards the final glorious fulfillment. He knew exactly what to do, fog and questions and all. He thrust into her more and more quickly the more she writhed and screamed under him, grabbed her breasts and squeezed her nipples, much to her infinite delight.

After a few more deep thrusts, she could feel her orgasm well up inside of her, take over her body and her mind, and then break free with a final ear-piercing scream. She rocked wildly through her orgasmic release, gave herself over to the rushing breakers, and squirted her ejaculate all over her legs and his thighs. To her surprise, the man withdrew immediately, slid down to her legs, and started to lick her juices from her soft skin. She couldn’t help reaching for her clit and rub herself to a quick follow-up release to squirt her rich liquid into his face. He groaned with deep satisfaction.

When she had emptied herself, the man climbed back on top of her and had her lick her own ejaculate from his face. She was overjoyed, tasting herself in the night, tasting his flushed face. The man straddled her hips, took his penis into one hand and balanced himself over her with the other. He quickly rubbed himself to his own orgasm and ejaculated all over her breasts, groaning deep down in his throat. Shakira cried out with pleasure, put her hands on her breasts, and rubbed the rich offering all over herself. The fog couldn’t have been more generous, her body and her mind more satisfied and fulfilled from her impromptu night. She took a deep breath to fill her lungs with the thick air, then exhaled and let her body go the grass.

Afterwards, she curled up under her sheets, pulled her comforter over her head, and lay quietly in her cocoon with her mind crammed full of images of fog. She had all the answers she needed for one night. Outside, the fog thickened towards morning, waiting for the sun. In the park, a lone figure found his way back to his own life, his shadow growing and shrinking in and out of the yellow circles of light. Shakira was vaguely aware of his steps through the fog as she counted off the seconds of her lost arguments, her latent dreams. The night couldn’t have been as full as that.

One thought on “All in All For a Probability [Story] by Peter Baltensperger

  1. Dreamlike … the reader is rewarded by reading to the end … I say this because some readers may be “put off” by expressions like ‘argumentations’ at the beginning … and maybe there’s a missing word in the first paragraph (promising something it could never keep … maybe) … but I return to the first word of this comment: dreamlike … cheers! DaP

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