Rainier had stripped naked, and he was gorgeous. Strong, thick thighs and arms, broad shoulders. His long hair fell down around his face. He knew he was good looking; I could tell from the way he stood, posed like a classical statue. We looked at each other for a moment, appreciatively. From the couch, Sam watched, glass in one hand, the other resting on his thigh. Rainier moved towards me. I could feel the heat of his body and couldn't help smiling when his firm, warm cock brushed against my thigh as he embraced me and ran his hand up my back.
"Kiss her," said Sam. Onscreen, the redhead had her head tipped back as the brunette ate her cunt. Her nipples were as hard and red as ripe raspberries. Immediately, I wanted my breasts played with, and conveniently, Rainier was undoing the hooks on my bra as he put his mouth on my neck and began nibbling it, hot breath making me tingle all over.
"Leave the stockings on," said Sam. The bra slid down and Rainier tossed it onto the chair that held my dress. My perky tits aimed upwards, and he mauled one and gobbled at the other, greedily, rolling the sensitive bud between his sharp teeth, pulling at it, engulfing my breast with his great big hand.
The thrill of being watched was almost too much, and when Rainier's cock prodded the lips of my pussy before sliding between my legs, my cunt juddered in a small orgasm. Rainier pulled back and smiled. He grabbed my panties and ripped them in one powerful movement, and tossed them on the floor. I slapped him across the face.
"Those were my favorite pair," I said.
"He'll write you a check," he growled, grinning wickedly, his cock rigid from the slap, and pushed me back on the couch.
"I'll buy you ten pairs," said Sam, as Rainier casually put my leg over the back of the couch, exposing my wet pussy. I glanced over at the movie. The brunette had donned a strap on, an average and lifelike one that matched her skin tone perfectly. The redhead was down on her knees, hands behind her back. The fake cock rubbed against her cheek, and then the brunette grabbed a fistful of copper hair and forced her partners head back, jabbing the cock into her mouth and down her throat. The brunette was fucking the redhead's face hard and fast. The redhead moved one hand forward and began diddling herself.
"Eat her pussy," said Sam. "Darling, Bunny, would you like to fuck him?"
Rainier ran his tongue along my moist pussy lips, lapping away at the juice like a cat with a dish of milk. Sam got up off the couch he was on and walked slowly over to ours.
"Yes," I said. "Oooh." Rainier swirled his tongue around my clitoris and I arched my back, pushing into his mouth. He put his hand underneath me kneaded my ass as he ate me. I smiled. Sam's cock was stiff in his pants, aroused from watching us.
Slowly, Rainier slid a condom over his cock, and began rubbing the head against my slit. I wanted it inside me, filling me up. He entered me at the same time that the brunette entered the redhead, sliding the rubber dildo into her puffy lipped pussy. Rainier went slowly, moaning deeply as he indulgently rubbed his balls against my cunt. Back out he came, steadily and easily from my well oiled crack. In and out, in and out.
"Slow it down," said Sam, sitting down on the couch and putting his hand on my breast. He leaned over and kissed me again like he had the other night, and I exploded. Rainier stopped, eyes closed. He opened them a moment later, sheepishly, and slowly removed his cock. It drooped, the reservoir tip of the condom full of cum.
"Oh, come on," said Sam, a little irritated.
"You try fucking that pussy and not blowing in five seconds," said Rainier. "Christ, man, it's like a Chinese finger trap."
He bent over and licked my pussy again. "I got her warmed up. Enjoy."
Tuesday, May 2, 2017
Saturday, April 29, 2017
Sam, At Last, Pt 2
When I lost my virginity, at nineteen, I was prepared. My pussy was waxed and my legs were velvety smooth, my skin was soft with almond oil and I was wearing the silkiest lingerie I could afford. I was all that and more for my date with Sam the next night.
The cab, paid for by Sam, showed up at six. The night was just getting dusky, and I trotted down the front path of the cottage in the same heels I'd worn the day before. They had been my lucky charms, I thought. I sat back and watched the lights go by, all the people walking in their raincoats. It wasn't my first time to Sam's place. He'd had me there for dinner once, and once again for drinks. Perched on a hill over the city, it was done up in a mid-century modern ranch style masculinity that was the opposite of my home, and totally sexy.
Rainier answered the door. He had a towel over his arm, and gave me a mischievous, knowing look. He escorted me into the sunken living room. Sam was looking at the city in the darkness below. He wore a button up shirt and slacks, and he kissed me once on the lips, but no more. Rainier was there. He made me a cocktail, and went back into the kitchen, and Sam took my hand and walked me to the window.
"I never get tired of this view," he said, and turned to me. "Except when you're around."
"Thanks for the flattery," I said. He put his hand on my waist and pressed, as if testing my suppleness. My cunt ached. I was so horny, I felt weak, and Rainier be damned, I wanted him here, now.
But there was dinner, and Rainier, who served us. He'd cooked, too, perfectly done flank steak and a fresh salad, and wine, and panna cotta. Not overly heavy. He joined us for wine afterwards. I was getting tired, and frustrated. My smile felt glued on. I sat in an easy chair next to Sam's, which was identical.
"Rainier's a good friend," said Sam. Rainier walked over, and sat down on the arm of Sam's chair. "He has something to show you. Something for you. Rainier, show Bunny."
Half sitting, one leg steadying himself on the ground, Rainier slowly unzipped the fly of his slacks, and unfolded a very long uncircumcised cock. As soon as it hit the air, it grew hard, gradually pointing straight out. Only a foot from me, I watched it bob there. A minute stretched by, and I took a sip of wine. Sam sat very still, but he was gripping the arms of his chair. He was still uncertain as to how I was going to take it. I smiled.
"That's very nice, Rainier," I said. "Thank you for showing me."
The cock trembled, and a single pearly drop appeared on the red head. Sam cleared his throat. He had certain predilections, he continued. Ones that he was too old to give up.
"And why should you?" I said, licking my lips. "Shall we go somewhere to christen this new adventure?"
"I told you she'd be game," said Rainier. I liked him. I liked the curl of his lip and his dark hair, almost as much as I liked Sam's strong, weather beaten body. Sam got up and gathered a newly opened bottle of wine and his glass, and led the way out of the dining room, Rainier following me.
"And I bet she's wearing expensive lingerie," said Sam. Later, talking to him, I learned more about their relationship. Rainier stayed with him when he wasn't travelling. We wound our way to the end of the house, to a sunken living room with a big blank wall, and a projector, a set of wide, low couches, all done in tasteful oranges and yellows. I sat down on a couch, and Sam sat next to me. In a moment, his mouth was on mine, his hand was on my breast, gently squeezing. It was all so fast, but the aggressiveness was just what I wanted, his certainty. The room went dim, and the projector went on. Two women were on a bed, naked and kissing. The black outline of Rainier bobbed across the screen as he made his way to us, jutting boner leading him across the shadowy women. One was brunette, but the other was a gorgeous redhead, with alabaster skin and a patch of spun gold over her swollen pink pussy lips, eagerly spread by the brunette. The film looked homemade, and I was sure the men knew her. I was intrigued, but then Rainier was next to me, naked now, his pale and strong and hairless chest smooth against my arm.
Sam withdrew. "If it's the same to you, I'll watch this time."
Murmuring my assent, I stood and let Rainier carefully lower my zipper and pull the dress over my head. He put it reverently on a chair away from us. These were men who appreciated expensive, nice things, and I knew I was in good hands. How good, I didn't realize right away.
The cab, paid for by Sam, showed up at six. The night was just getting dusky, and I trotted down the front path of the cottage in the same heels I'd worn the day before. They had been my lucky charms, I thought. I sat back and watched the lights go by, all the people walking in their raincoats. It wasn't my first time to Sam's place. He'd had me there for dinner once, and once again for drinks. Perched on a hill over the city, it was done up in a mid-century modern ranch style masculinity that was the opposite of my home, and totally sexy.
Rainier answered the door. He had a towel over his arm, and gave me a mischievous, knowing look. He escorted me into the sunken living room. Sam was looking at the city in the darkness below. He wore a button up shirt and slacks, and he kissed me once on the lips, but no more. Rainier was there. He made me a cocktail, and went back into the kitchen, and Sam took my hand and walked me to the window.
"I never get tired of this view," he said, and turned to me. "Except when you're around."
"Thanks for the flattery," I said. He put his hand on my waist and pressed, as if testing my suppleness. My cunt ached. I was so horny, I felt weak, and Rainier be damned, I wanted him here, now.
But there was dinner, and Rainier, who served us. He'd cooked, too, perfectly done flank steak and a fresh salad, and wine, and panna cotta. Not overly heavy. He joined us for wine afterwards. I was getting tired, and frustrated. My smile felt glued on. I sat in an easy chair next to Sam's, which was identical.
"Rainier's a good friend," said Sam. Rainier walked over, and sat down on the arm of Sam's chair. "He has something to show you. Something for you. Rainier, show Bunny."
Half sitting, one leg steadying himself on the ground, Rainier slowly unzipped the fly of his slacks, and unfolded a very long uncircumcised cock. As soon as it hit the air, it grew hard, gradually pointing straight out. Only a foot from me, I watched it bob there. A minute stretched by, and I took a sip of wine. Sam sat very still, but he was gripping the arms of his chair. He was still uncertain as to how I was going to take it. I smiled.
"That's very nice, Rainier," I said. "Thank you for showing me."
The cock trembled, and a single pearly drop appeared on the red head. Sam cleared his throat. He had certain predilections, he continued. Ones that he was too old to give up.
"And why should you?" I said, licking my lips. "Shall we go somewhere to christen this new adventure?"
"I told you she'd be game," said Rainier. I liked him. I liked the curl of his lip and his dark hair, almost as much as I liked Sam's strong, weather beaten body. Sam got up and gathered a newly opened bottle of wine and his glass, and led the way out of the dining room, Rainier following me.
"And I bet she's wearing expensive lingerie," said Sam. Later, talking to him, I learned more about their relationship. Rainier stayed with him when he wasn't travelling. We wound our way to the end of the house, to a sunken living room with a big blank wall, and a projector, a set of wide, low couches, all done in tasteful oranges and yellows. I sat down on a couch, and Sam sat next to me. In a moment, his mouth was on mine, his hand was on my breast, gently squeezing. It was all so fast, but the aggressiveness was just what I wanted, his certainty. The room went dim, and the projector went on. Two women were on a bed, naked and kissing. The black outline of Rainier bobbed across the screen as he made his way to us, jutting boner leading him across the shadowy women. One was brunette, but the other was a gorgeous redhead, with alabaster skin and a patch of spun gold over her swollen pink pussy lips, eagerly spread by the brunette. The film looked homemade, and I was sure the men knew her. I was intrigued, but then Rainier was next to me, naked now, his pale and strong and hairless chest smooth against my arm.
Sam withdrew. "If it's the same to you, I'll watch this time."
Murmuring my assent, I stood and let Rainier carefully lower my zipper and pull the dress over my head. He put it reverently on a chair away from us. These were men who appreciated expensive, nice things, and I knew I was in good hands. How good, I didn't realize right away.
Wednesday, April 26, 2017
Sam, At Last, pt 1
It finally happened. Sam and I fucked. For the longest time, I was unsure about him. He was always the perfect gentleman, buying me dinner, picking me up, taking me out to the opera and classic films. On the doorstep of my little cottage, he'd kiss my cheek goodnight and make sure that I got in safe. That was all. Eventually, I just assumed he was only interested in my friendship. Perhaps I was too young. On our second date he'd told me about his first wife, but they'd been divorced for years. Maybe he had something going on with Rainier, and wasn't excited by women.
Things started changing around the end of March. The weather grew warmer, and a Puccini opera came to town. Sam bought tickets at the concert hall for a Sunday afternoon showing, his preferred time, as we could go to a late dinner at the lovely little French place down the street. I wore a clingy black dress with my thigh highs and a lacy garter belt underneath, and high heels. Even if Sam wasn't interested, someone else might be.
"You look stunning," said Sam. He's in his early forties, with the craggy face of an old film star in a Western. He was wearing a suit, but no tie.
Our seats were up in the back, the quiet part of the theater. There weren't many people around at all. We each had a glass of wine, and sat just in time for the curtain to go up. The opera began, and it was marvelous. Intermission, and we were out in the lobby, getting another glass.
"Look at those two," Sam whispered to me. He was talking about a very old, fat man and his date, a very young woman with silky blonde hair. She kept shifting her weight from leg to leg, and looking at him, slyly. When we got back to our seats, we noticed they were sitting in the row on the edge of the balcony, apart from everyone else. We were the closest people to them. Again, the lights dimmed, the curtain went up, and we were absorbed in the music.
Only a few moments later, I noticed the old man begin to kiss the young woman. I nudged Sam, and we had a giggle. Now, half our attention was on the opera, and half was on the couple. She looked back and up at us once, but I saw it out of my peripherals, as my attention was on the stage. Lucky, because she must have been convinced we either couldn't see us or weren't paying attention.
He twined his fingers in her long hair, and began pushing her head towards his lap, while his left hand was unzipping the fly of his dress pants. A second later, his purple pecker was poking through his fly, and he tugged at it, getting it positioned as he wanted it.
"Are you watching this?" I asked, honestly shocked. And excited. The guy didn't have a huge cock, but it was still hot. The woman parted her lips and began working the head of his cock with her tongue, swirling it around, running it under the edge. He gently ran his fingers through her hair. Sam laughed softly, and squeezed my hand. His palm was sweaty. I couldn't help but glance over at the front of his pants, but the angle wasn't good and I couldn't tell if he was getting hard. I was soaked.
The old man tightened his grip in his date's hair and began moving her head to the rhythm he liked, pulling her up and down like she was a sex toy. Drool clung to the top of his cock in long strings. Occasionally, she looked up at him, wanting approval, but he just shoved her mouth back down on his straining member. Eventually, he moved her up and down faster and faster, and then shoved his hips up once, twice, and let out a long breath. They sat a moment, her face still glued to his crotch, and then she sat up, leaving his now limp cock clean and damp. She tucked her hair back behind her ears, and looked back up at us, but we were watching the opera.
We were the first out of the theater, giggling.
"Dinner?" said Sam, and I was a disappointed. I was tingling, but. I decided to just enjoy him, and accept that he wasn't interested in me, sexually. So we went and had a nice dinner, and conversation. He kept bringing it back to the couple, though.
"Can you believe people do that?" he said.
"A lot of people have exhibitionist fantasies," I said, sipping my wine. Rain was coming down outside, a typical March day.
"Do they?" Sam said, looking at me.
"I've heard rumor," I said. "As long as it's not hurting anyone, what's the harm?"
"I suppose," he said. He has the bluest eyes, and he directed them at me for a long moment.
The sun was set by the time he drove me home, and he parked on the street and walked me up to the cottage door, and said, "Bunny..."
I let him wrap his arm around me, and pull me in tight. For the first time, we kissed on the mouth, our hot lips parting, our tongues meeting. Maybe it was the wait, or the tenor of the night, but it was the most erotically charged kiss I've ever had. A minute later, or maybe it was an hour, we took a breath and looked at each other.
"Do you want to come in?" I said.
"Very badly," he said. "But I'm not going to. I want you to come over tomorrow night. Will you do that?"
"Of course," I said. "Of course."
Things started changing around the end of March. The weather grew warmer, and a Puccini opera came to town. Sam bought tickets at the concert hall for a Sunday afternoon showing, his preferred time, as we could go to a late dinner at the lovely little French place down the street. I wore a clingy black dress with my thigh highs and a lacy garter belt underneath, and high heels. Even if Sam wasn't interested, someone else might be.
"You look stunning," said Sam. He's in his early forties, with the craggy face of an old film star in a Western. He was wearing a suit, but no tie.
Our seats were up in the back, the quiet part of the theater. There weren't many people around at all. We each had a glass of wine, and sat just in time for the curtain to go up. The opera began, and it was marvelous. Intermission, and we were out in the lobby, getting another glass.
"Look at those two," Sam whispered to me. He was talking about a very old, fat man and his date, a very young woman with silky blonde hair. She kept shifting her weight from leg to leg, and looking at him, slyly. When we got back to our seats, we noticed they were sitting in the row on the edge of the balcony, apart from everyone else. We were the closest people to them. Again, the lights dimmed, the curtain went up, and we were absorbed in the music.
Only a few moments later, I noticed the old man begin to kiss the young woman. I nudged Sam, and we had a giggle. Now, half our attention was on the opera, and half was on the couple. She looked back and up at us once, but I saw it out of my peripherals, as my attention was on the stage. Lucky, because she must have been convinced we either couldn't see us or weren't paying attention.
He twined his fingers in her long hair, and began pushing her head towards his lap, while his left hand was unzipping the fly of his dress pants. A second later, his purple pecker was poking through his fly, and he tugged at it, getting it positioned as he wanted it.
"Are you watching this?" I asked, honestly shocked. And excited. The guy didn't have a huge cock, but it was still hot. The woman parted her lips and began working the head of his cock with her tongue, swirling it around, running it under the edge. He gently ran his fingers through her hair. Sam laughed softly, and squeezed my hand. His palm was sweaty. I couldn't help but glance over at the front of his pants, but the angle wasn't good and I couldn't tell if he was getting hard. I was soaked.
The old man tightened his grip in his date's hair and began moving her head to the rhythm he liked, pulling her up and down like she was a sex toy. Drool clung to the top of his cock in long strings. Occasionally, she looked up at him, wanting approval, but he just shoved her mouth back down on his straining member. Eventually, he moved her up and down faster and faster, and then shoved his hips up once, twice, and let out a long breath. They sat a moment, her face still glued to his crotch, and then she sat up, leaving his now limp cock clean and damp. She tucked her hair back behind her ears, and looked back up at us, but we were watching the opera.
We were the first out of the theater, giggling.
"Dinner?" said Sam, and I was a disappointed. I was tingling, but. I decided to just enjoy him, and accept that he wasn't interested in me, sexually. So we went and had a nice dinner, and conversation. He kept bringing it back to the couple, though.
"Can you believe people do that?" he said.
"A lot of people have exhibitionist fantasies," I said, sipping my wine. Rain was coming down outside, a typical March day.
"Do they?" Sam said, looking at me.
"I've heard rumor," I said. "As long as it's not hurting anyone, what's the harm?"
"I suppose," he said. He has the bluest eyes, and he directed them at me for a long moment.
The sun was set by the time he drove me home, and he parked on the street and walked me up to the cottage door, and said, "Bunny..."
I let him wrap his arm around me, and pull me in tight. For the first time, we kissed on the mouth, our hot lips parting, our tongues meeting. Maybe it was the wait, or the tenor of the night, but it was the most erotically charged kiss I've ever had. A minute later, or maybe it was an hour, we took a breath and looked at each other.
"Do you want to come in?" I said.
"Very badly," he said. "But I'm not going to. I want you to come over tomorrow night. Will you do that?"
"Of course," I said. "Of course."
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
*This story is an excerpt from the updated adaptation I'm working on of the classic volume of erotica titled "A Compendium of Love Tales". It's a volume that was collected and recorded by an English monk, commonly referred to as Brother John of Stonebridge. It was most likely found and 'destroyed' by a superior; meaning, of course, that it was confiscated and kept hidden for said superior's personal use.
There once was a knight known as Sir Tomas Le Noir. His father was a knight who had fought in the first crusade, and subsequently traveled south on the African continent. His mother was a royalty, and he was brought up well. However, he had an older brother to take the throne, so Sir Tomas sailed to England to seek his fortune in the land of his father.
They called him Le Noir because of his skin. He was a head higher than most of the other men, with broad shoulders and a powerful, commanding nobility about him. On his long voyage over the continent, he fell in with a group of errant French knights, who taught him everything he needed to know about jousting, and European manners.
No one knows how Sir Tomas le Noir came to England, but they know he did. One Midsummer day, the great man spurred his steed up the steep hill to Castle Dewbough. The watchmen on the wall passed him through with wonder: Lady Dewbough was sitting before him on the saddle, the noble charger bearing both her and his master with ease.
Attendants helped Lady Dewbough down and ushered her inside. Sir Tomas left his horse to be cared for, and was escorted to the great hall so that he might have an audience with Lord Dewbough. The castle was large and well fortified, and the table in the great hall heaped with dishes. Lord Dewbough was attending to some business before dinner. He was an old man, quite three score years, and known to be a kind and fair.
"I thank you for returning my wife," said Lord Dewbough. "She left for a walk this morning, quite alone, and when she didn't return, we grew concerned. There are search parties looking for her as we speak, but come, claim your reward. Stay the night with us, sup with us, and tell us the tale."
Sir Tomas le Noir replied that he would be grateful and honored. Lord Dewbough commanded his wife's lady-in-waiting, Ayleth, to attend to the knight, and she led up to a large room and shut the door.
Ayleth was a pleasant woman, young, with long chestnut hair and she gestured to a bath that had been prepared for Sir Tomas' use.
"Sir, I thank you for rescuing my friend," she said in sweet tones, and began helping Sir Tomas off with his armor, and then his clothes, her small fingers undoing the damp buckles with ease. Sir Tomas was tired, and sore from the joust, but she held his eye for a moment and there was a gleam to her eye that caught his attention. Now he was down to his undergarments. Ayleth gestured for him to take them off, turning her head with a slight gasp when he stepped naked into the bath. With a cloth, she washed his shoulders and arms, and moved down his body, avoiding his genitals.
Inflamed by her touches, Sir Tomas requested her in honeyed tones to relieve him. His cock was such length and breadth that it rose from the water. Ayleth laughed merrily and declined, although her blood was quickened by the beautiful mahogany shaft trembling before her, growing harder before her eyes. She licked her lips. The head slowly crept out from his foreskin. Again, Sir Tomas begged for her touch. Heart pounding, Ayleth reached out and touched his cock. Sir Tomas closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure.
Under the water, Ayleth touched the base of the cock, gently massaging his enormous balls, reveling in the meaty cods within. It was like iron, the head nearly the size of her small fist. Veins popped out on his prick, and she began to stroke him. Sir Tomas opened his eyes and feasted them on the round tits bursting from her gown, her lips parted, she breathed rapidly, manipulating the great thing before him, rubbing her thighs together underneath her clothes.
"Take it in you mouth," Sir Tomas said. Ayleth blushed, and leaned over the edge of the bathtub. The head of the cock teazed her, like bobbing for an apple, but she caught it between her velvety lips and suckled on the tip, her bubbies pressing against the edge of the bath, one rosy nipple quite pushing out. Her tongue darted out, fluttering around the sensitive head. Under the water, Sir Tomas grabbed his cock, and with a few swift tugs loosened his seed. It burst out in a great torrent, bathing her mouth, and then her face, coating her cheeks with spunk and dripping down on her heaving bubbies like fresh cream. She squealed and ran from the room and Sir Tomas sank back, quite incapacitated with bliss.
That evening, he walked refreshed down to the main hall. Lady Dewbough sat next to her husband, Ayleth next to her. When Sir Tomas walked in, Ayleth whispered something in Lady Dewbough's ear, and they giggled. Lord Dewbough gave thanks and prayer for the food, and an additional thanks to Sir Tomas for rescuing his wife from the marauders who had captured her on her walk. Then they feasted, and enjoyed music and dancing. Sir Tomas danced with Ayleth, and Lady Dewbough looked quite envious. A few times he felt Ayleth's thigh brush against his cock, and it jerked at her touch, straining in his hose.
"There will be some festivities later, of a more private sort," said Ayleth as they parted. "Wait for my knock at your chamber door."
Sir Tomas stumbled up to his bedroom around midnight. He had noticed that Lord Dewbough had been at his wine goblet quite heavily, his wife pouring strong draughts into his cup. Sir Tomas laid down on his bed and shut his eyes, touching his prick through his hose, stroking it slightly, keeping it at the ready. There came a noise at his door, and Ayleth walked in. He pulled her on top of him, kissing her, touching her bubbies, making her grind against his hard member. After a moment, she pulled away with a gasp and slid off,
"Come with me," she said, and led him down the corridor, and down a back staircase. People looked up when he came into the bedchamber, and nodded. There was Lord Dewbough, and a number of other noblemen and ladies, gathered around a large bed. The lights flickered, and Sir Tomas felt excitement and apprehension.
A side door opened and the Lady Dewbrough entered. Ayleth walked up to her, and they began to kiss. At first, they were just light, as if in greeting, but then their mouths opened, and they entwined their pink tongues. They embraced, as well, kneading each others breasts. Soon, Lady Dewbrough had Ayleth's breast out and was devouring it, suckling the nipple as Ayleth closed her eyes in ecstasy.
Ayleth began to disrobe her mistress, hungrily, pulling at the clothes as they kissed, fumbling with the stays.
The men in the room were spellbound, watching the two fair women, one with tresses of chestnut, one with tresses of gold, make love. As they were exposed, revealing soft bellies, luscious thighs, firm tits, and downy sexes, they moved to the bed. Lady Dewbough threw Ayleth onto the coverlet, and kissed her way down to the mons, that furry treasure trove between her thighs. Ayleth blushed as her mistress revealed her swollen pink lips to the crowd. Lady Dewbrough was dog style on the bed, and between Ayleth's increasingly wild moans, all could hear the soft smacking of wet mouths.
A lord could take it no more, and he stood. Lord Dewbough nodded, and grasped a maid by the hair, pulling her willing mouth down to his cock.
The lord hurried to the base of the bed and pulled down his hose, revealing the cherry-tipped weapon. He dabbled his finger for a moment in Lady Dewbough's pie, and with no further ceremony, thrust his cock into her cunt. She gasped, and then went back to feasting on Ayleth's pussy. Sir Tomas watched with amusement as the lord fucked, moaning and clench-buttocksed, his tight balls slapping against Lady Dewbough's arse. It made a sound like boots in mud. Their combat didn't last long. The lord was overheadheated and he pulled out at the last moment, sending his spend arcing across the coverlet, rubbing the head of his cock against Lady Dewbough's right buttock until the shaking stopped, and he quietly took his place back at the seat, a long, clear strand of cunt juice bridging for a moment the gap between cock and her eager hole.
The women continued to fuck. Ayleth moved back behind her mistress and once again gobbled her cunt, relishing the taste of the lord's cock left in the wet folds. She began moving her tight fingers in and out of her mistress's pussy. "Oh, oh, Aylethhhh, oh oh yes, oh give it me, give it me hard!" she cried, Ayleth braced herself on her mistress's buttock, hand sliding on the puddle of cum left from the lord. Her fingers rammed in and out as her mistress squealed and moaned in delight and pleasure. Then her back flattened and she squirted her cum, splashing the sweet liquid over the tits of Ayleth. They paused a moment, and then switched positions, Ayleth on her back and Lady Dewbough between her soft thighs.
"Sir Tomas," said Lord Dewbough. The maid had his balls in her mouth, and he frigged the top of his own cock. "Take your reward. You shall not pull out at the end, you shall fill the cunny of my wife with your seed."
Sir Tomas took his clothes off, and walked to the bed amid gasps. His long cock jutted proudly from the curly nest of hair at the base of his belly. His balls, refilled, dangled against his thighs. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Ayleth, and stroked his cock, pulling the foreskin back and exposing the purple head. She reached out and grasped it, her white hand looking small against his mighty tool. He played with her breast for a moment, letting her uncap and cap his cock.
The feeling was delicious, and she moaned as her mistress redoubled her efforts on her lower half. Another lord took his place behind Lady Dewbough, pumping and thrusting at her pussy, and this time she nearly came as well, but as her cries rose with his, he lost control, and again a jet of come streaking across her back.
Sir Tomas wiped her back clean with his big finger and fed the seed to her. She licked it off his fingers, suckling them with intent, looking up at him with large blue eyes. He stood, and walked around behind her, his cock so erect that it slapped against his belly. He bent it down, slowly, and teazed Lady Dewbough's cunt with it, rubbing the head against the lips. He looked over at her husband. The maid was sitting on his prick, riding a St George, bouncing up and down as he impaled her. He gave Sir Tomas a nod of approval.
Sir Tomas put the head of his cock in Lady Dewbough's pussy. He slowly stuck it in, stretching out her tight cunt, watching as the pink lips parted and eagerly sucked his purple crown in, the small asshole above shivering with pleasure. Slowly, slowly, did Sir Tomas slide his giant black cock into her tight little white cunt, feeling the head of his prick scraping against her narrow tunnel, filling her as she'd never been filled before. She cried out in pain and he rested, but a moment later urged him on. Her cunt suckled and massaged his tool, and he started to fuck slowly, sending her face deeper into Ayleth's creamy pussy.
In and out his cock went, Her channel was loosening as her muscles relaxed. He dug his long, strong fingers into her fat white buttocks, watching them undulate underneath them. "Give it me!" she ordered, pulling her tongue from Ayleth's wet pussy. Ayleth grimaced, caught in the throes of a come. Lady Dewbough's face was slick with her lady-in-waiting's juices. Sir Tomas felt his balls churning, getting ready to empty themselves into Lady Dewbough's womb.
"Give it me," she cried. "Oh ohhh ohhhhh, give me that cock, that cock!"
In the corner, Lord Dewbough lost control and jammed his prick into the tight cunt of his maid, releasing his seed, pumping it into her belly. Lady Dewbough finished her come, and spun around. Sir Tomas's prick popped out with a wet noise, but it hung in the air only a moment. Lady Dewbough greedily took it in her mouth, and he fucked her throat, pulling back just as he came. She tightened her lips around his shaft, hoping to take it all, but it was too much, and with her cheeks puffed out, come dribbled from the edges as she ate her reward, swallowing, only to have her mouth filled again with his semen.
Sir Dewbough clapped, showing his delight in this show as his cock slowly drooped, dripping seed from the softening head. "Fine work, Sir Tomas! I shall send you with an introduction to my brother's court. You will find it quite to your liking."
There once was a knight known as Sir Tomas Le Noir. His father was a knight who had fought in the first crusade, and subsequently traveled south on the African continent. His mother was a royalty, and he was brought up well. However, he had an older brother to take the throne, so Sir Tomas sailed to England to seek his fortune in the land of his father.
They called him Le Noir because of his skin. He was a head higher than most of the other men, with broad shoulders and a powerful, commanding nobility about him. On his long voyage over the continent, he fell in with a group of errant French knights, who taught him everything he needed to know about jousting, and European manners.
No one knows how Sir Tomas le Noir came to England, but they know he did. One Midsummer day, the great man spurred his steed up the steep hill to Castle Dewbough. The watchmen on the wall passed him through with wonder: Lady Dewbough was sitting before him on the saddle, the noble charger bearing both her and his master with ease.
Attendants helped Lady Dewbough down and ushered her inside. Sir Tomas left his horse to be cared for, and was escorted to the great hall so that he might have an audience with Lord Dewbough. The castle was large and well fortified, and the table in the great hall heaped with dishes. Lord Dewbough was attending to some business before dinner. He was an old man, quite three score years, and known to be a kind and fair.
"I thank you for returning my wife," said Lord Dewbough. "She left for a walk this morning, quite alone, and when she didn't return, we grew concerned. There are search parties looking for her as we speak, but come, claim your reward. Stay the night with us, sup with us, and tell us the tale."
Sir Tomas le Noir replied that he would be grateful and honored. Lord Dewbough commanded his wife's lady-in-waiting, Ayleth, to attend to the knight, and she led up to a large room and shut the door.
Ayleth was a pleasant woman, young, with long chestnut hair and she gestured to a bath that had been prepared for Sir Tomas' use.
"Sir, I thank you for rescuing my friend," she said in sweet tones, and began helping Sir Tomas off with his armor, and then his clothes, her small fingers undoing the damp buckles with ease. Sir Tomas was tired, and sore from the joust, but she held his eye for a moment and there was a gleam to her eye that caught his attention. Now he was down to his undergarments. Ayleth gestured for him to take them off, turning her head with a slight gasp when he stepped naked into the bath. With a cloth, she washed his shoulders and arms, and moved down his body, avoiding his genitals.
Inflamed by her touches, Sir Tomas requested her in honeyed tones to relieve him. His cock was such length and breadth that it rose from the water. Ayleth laughed merrily and declined, although her blood was quickened by the beautiful mahogany shaft trembling before her, growing harder before her eyes. She licked her lips. The head slowly crept out from his foreskin. Again, Sir Tomas begged for her touch. Heart pounding, Ayleth reached out and touched his cock. Sir Tomas closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure.
Under the water, Ayleth touched the base of the cock, gently massaging his enormous balls, reveling in the meaty cods within. It was like iron, the head nearly the size of her small fist. Veins popped out on his prick, and she began to stroke him. Sir Tomas opened his eyes and feasted them on the round tits bursting from her gown, her lips parted, she breathed rapidly, manipulating the great thing before him, rubbing her thighs together underneath her clothes.
"Take it in you mouth," Sir Tomas said. Ayleth blushed, and leaned over the edge of the bathtub. The head of the cock teazed her, like bobbing for an apple, but she caught it between her velvety lips and suckled on the tip, her bubbies pressing against the edge of the bath, one rosy nipple quite pushing out. Her tongue darted out, fluttering around the sensitive head. Under the water, Sir Tomas grabbed his cock, and with a few swift tugs loosened his seed. It burst out in a great torrent, bathing her mouth, and then her face, coating her cheeks with spunk and dripping down on her heaving bubbies like fresh cream. She squealed and ran from the room and Sir Tomas sank back, quite incapacitated with bliss.
That evening, he walked refreshed down to the main hall. Lady Dewbough sat next to her husband, Ayleth next to her. When Sir Tomas walked in, Ayleth whispered something in Lady Dewbough's ear, and they giggled. Lord Dewbough gave thanks and prayer for the food, and an additional thanks to Sir Tomas for rescuing his wife from the marauders who had captured her on her walk. Then they feasted, and enjoyed music and dancing. Sir Tomas danced with Ayleth, and Lady Dewbough looked quite envious. A few times he felt Ayleth's thigh brush against his cock, and it jerked at her touch, straining in his hose.
"There will be some festivities later, of a more private sort," said Ayleth as they parted. "Wait for my knock at your chamber door."
Sir Tomas stumbled up to his bedroom around midnight. He had noticed that Lord Dewbough had been at his wine goblet quite heavily, his wife pouring strong draughts into his cup. Sir Tomas laid down on his bed and shut his eyes, touching his prick through his hose, stroking it slightly, keeping it at the ready. There came a noise at his door, and Ayleth walked in. He pulled her on top of him, kissing her, touching her bubbies, making her grind against his hard member. After a moment, she pulled away with a gasp and slid off,
"Come with me," she said, and led him down the corridor, and down a back staircase. People looked up when he came into the bedchamber, and nodded. There was Lord Dewbough, and a number of other noblemen and ladies, gathered around a large bed. The lights flickered, and Sir Tomas felt excitement and apprehension.
A side door opened and the Lady Dewbrough entered. Ayleth walked up to her, and they began to kiss. At first, they were just light, as if in greeting, but then their mouths opened, and they entwined their pink tongues. They embraced, as well, kneading each others breasts. Soon, Lady Dewbrough had Ayleth's breast out and was devouring it, suckling the nipple as Ayleth closed her eyes in ecstasy.
Ayleth began to disrobe her mistress, hungrily, pulling at the clothes as they kissed, fumbling with the stays.
The men in the room were spellbound, watching the two fair women, one with tresses of chestnut, one with tresses of gold, make love. As they were exposed, revealing soft bellies, luscious thighs, firm tits, and downy sexes, they moved to the bed. Lady Dewbough threw Ayleth onto the coverlet, and kissed her way down to the mons, that furry treasure trove between her thighs. Ayleth blushed as her mistress revealed her swollen pink lips to the crowd. Lady Dewbrough was dog style on the bed, and between Ayleth's increasingly wild moans, all could hear the soft smacking of wet mouths.
A lord could take it no more, and he stood. Lord Dewbough nodded, and grasped a maid by the hair, pulling her willing mouth down to his cock.
The lord hurried to the base of the bed and pulled down his hose, revealing the cherry-tipped weapon. He dabbled his finger for a moment in Lady Dewbough's pie, and with no further ceremony, thrust his cock into her cunt. She gasped, and then went back to feasting on Ayleth's pussy. Sir Tomas watched with amusement as the lord fucked, moaning and clench-buttocksed, his tight balls slapping against Lady Dewbough's arse. It made a sound like boots in mud. Their combat didn't last long. The lord was overheadheated and he pulled out at the last moment, sending his spend arcing across the coverlet, rubbing the head of his cock against Lady Dewbough's right buttock until the shaking stopped, and he quietly took his place back at the seat, a long, clear strand of cunt juice bridging for a moment the gap between cock and her eager hole.
The women continued to fuck. Ayleth moved back behind her mistress and once again gobbled her cunt, relishing the taste of the lord's cock left in the wet folds. She began moving her tight fingers in and out of her mistress's pussy. "Oh, oh, Aylethhhh, oh oh yes, oh give it me, give it me hard!" she cried, Ayleth braced herself on her mistress's buttock, hand sliding on the puddle of cum left from the lord. Her fingers rammed in and out as her mistress squealed and moaned in delight and pleasure. Then her back flattened and she squirted her cum, splashing the sweet liquid over the tits of Ayleth. They paused a moment, and then switched positions, Ayleth on her back and Lady Dewbough between her soft thighs.
"Sir Tomas," said Lord Dewbough. The maid had his balls in her mouth, and he frigged the top of his own cock. "Take your reward. You shall not pull out at the end, you shall fill the cunny of my wife with your seed."
Sir Tomas took his clothes off, and walked to the bed amid gasps. His long cock jutted proudly from the curly nest of hair at the base of his belly. His balls, refilled, dangled against his thighs. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Ayleth, and stroked his cock, pulling the foreskin back and exposing the purple head. She reached out and grasped it, her white hand looking small against his mighty tool. He played with her breast for a moment, letting her uncap and cap his cock.
The feeling was delicious, and she moaned as her mistress redoubled her efforts on her lower half. Another lord took his place behind Lady Dewbough, pumping and thrusting at her pussy, and this time she nearly came as well, but as her cries rose with his, he lost control, and again a jet of come streaking across her back.
Sir Tomas wiped her back clean with his big finger and fed the seed to her. She licked it off his fingers, suckling them with intent, looking up at him with large blue eyes. He stood, and walked around behind her, his cock so erect that it slapped against his belly. He bent it down, slowly, and teazed Lady Dewbough's cunt with it, rubbing the head against the lips. He looked over at her husband. The maid was sitting on his prick, riding a St George, bouncing up and down as he impaled her. He gave Sir Tomas a nod of approval.
Sir Tomas put the head of his cock in Lady Dewbough's pussy. He slowly stuck it in, stretching out her tight cunt, watching as the pink lips parted and eagerly sucked his purple crown in, the small asshole above shivering with pleasure. Slowly, slowly, did Sir Tomas slide his giant black cock into her tight little white cunt, feeling the head of his prick scraping against her narrow tunnel, filling her as she'd never been filled before. She cried out in pain and he rested, but a moment later urged him on. Her cunt suckled and massaged his tool, and he started to fuck slowly, sending her face deeper into Ayleth's creamy pussy.
In and out his cock went, Her channel was loosening as her muscles relaxed. He dug his long, strong fingers into her fat white buttocks, watching them undulate underneath them. "Give it me!" she ordered, pulling her tongue from Ayleth's wet pussy. Ayleth grimaced, caught in the throes of a come. Lady Dewbough's face was slick with her lady-in-waiting's juices. Sir Tomas felt his balls churning, getting ready to empty themselves into Lady Dewbough's womb.
"Give it me," she cried. "Oh ohhh ohhhhh, give me that cock, that cock!"
In the corner, Lord Dewbough lost control and jammed his prick into the tight cunt of his maid, releasing his seed, pumping it into her belly. Lady Dewbough finished her come, and spun around. Sir Tomas's prick popped out with a wet noise, but it hung in the air only a moment. Lady Dewbough greedily took it in her mouth, and he fucked her throat, pulling back just as he came. She tightened her lips around his shaft, hoping to take it all, but it was too much, and with her cheeks puffed out, come dribbled from the edges as she ate her reward, swallowing, only to have her mouth filled again with his semen.
Sir Dewbough clapped, showing his delight in this show as his cock slowly drooped, dripping seed from the softening head. "Fine work, Sir Tomas! I shall send you with an introduction to my brother's court. You will find it quite to your liking."
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
Meeting Sam, part two
Sam told me that Rainier was staying with him for awhile. Two bachelors was how he described it, living in a big house on Alameda Ridge.
"Let me show you," he said, picking up his ipad and sitting beside me. The only other people in the restaurant was a group of women who seemed content with the bottles of wine, the cheese plate, the almonds sprinkled with fresh thyme.
Sam's house was a big ranch style house, totally different from my wild little cottage. It looked out over the city, and was very well landscaped and decorated. He told me he'd had someone do it for him. I showed him photos of my place, which isn't much, but at least I own it.
"That's an interesting drawing," he said, as one of my photos had half of an art print. It was a French erotic illustration that I have framed over my desk. I laughed it off. I could tell he was interested though.
He had designed his house to remind him of his Wyoming childhood, on a sheep ranch outside of Casper. The rain drummed down on the windows, and it was so elegant in the bar. Sam got up and poured us each a fresh glass. I'd only said I would stay for one, but I was having such a good time, and he didn't try to make a move on me or anything. Which made me interested, since the relationship between he and Rainier almost made me wonder...
"Come by again," he said, when I finished my second glass and had to leave. I wrote down my phone number on a piece of paper, and left it on the bar. I'd had a really nice time with him, and I expect he'll call me eventually.
When I got home, giddy from the wine and the flirting, I took a long, hot bath with some rose salts and some almond oil. I felt so clean and warm and tired. I'd planned to masturbate when I went to bed, take my time, really enjoy myself. I'd been touching myself in the clawfoot bathtub I have, rubbing scented oil on my nipples, looking forward to the thick hard girth of my dildo. I love fucking myself with it and then sucking my juices off the realistic glans, and then riding it hard until I come. Sometimes I wake up with it still inside of me, always hard, always ready to fuck immediately.
But then I got into bed and I was so tired that I just fell asleep. And dreamed. I don't remember all of it, but Rainier and Sam were both naked in my bed, their cocks stiff and rubbing over my ass and thighs as we all kissed. I woke up so hot that I couldn't even get my dildo out of my bedside table. I rubbed myself twice and exploded over the sheets, drenching them in my come and then fell asleep to dream again of erotic things.
"Let me show you," he said, picking up his ipad and sitting beside me. The only other people in the restaurant was a group of women who seemed content with the bottles of wine, the cheese plate, the almonds sprinkled with fresh thyme.
Sam's house was a big ranch style house, totally different from my wild little cottage. It looked out over the city, and was very well landscaped and decorated. He told me he'd had someone do it for him. I showed him photos of my place, which isn't much, but at least I own it.
"That's an interesting drawing," he said, as one of my photos had half of an art print. It was a French erotic illustration that I have framed over my desk. I laughed it off. I could tell he was interested though.
He had designed his house to remind him of his Wyoming childhood, on a sheep ranch outside of Casper. The rain drummed down on the windows, and it was so elegant in the bar. Sam got up and poured us each a fresh glass. I'd only said I would stay for one, but I was having such a good time, and he didn't try to make a move on me or anything. Which made me interested, since the relationship between he and Rainier almost made me wonder...
"Come by again," he said, when I finished my second glass and had to leave. I wrote down my phone number on a piece of paper, and left it on the bar. I'd had a really nice time with him, and I expect he'll call me eventually.
When I got home, giddy from the wine and the flirting, I took a long, hot bath with some rose salts and some almond oil. I felt so clean and warm and tired. I'd planned to masturbate when I went to bed, take my time, really enjoy myself. I'd been touching myself in the clawfoot bathtub I have, rubbing scented oil on my nipples, looking forward to the thick hard girth of my dildo. I love fucking myself with it and then sucking my juices off the realistic glans, and then riding it hard until I come. Sometimes I wake up with it still inside of me, always hard, always ready to fuck immediately.
But then I got into bed and I was so tired that I just fell asleep. And dreamed. I don't remember all of it, but Rainier and Sam were both naked in my bed, their cocks stiff and rubbing over my ass and thighs as we all kissed. I woke up so hot that I couldn't even get my dildo out of my bedside table. I rubbed myself twice and exploded over the sheets, drenching them in my come and then fell asleep to dream again of erotic things.
Friday, March 10, 2017
Meeting Sam, part one
Tonight I was at the supermarket near my house, buying some fancy cheese. It was one of those miserable, wet days where the cold seems to creep into every bone in your body. The thing that sounded best was to get home, get dry, and have a nice salad and a bit of brie and a glass of wine. Work on my novel a bit.
So I was dressed with that aim. Rivulets of rain had been running through my hair, and I was thoroughly drenched, my makeup was probably a mess, my feet were uncomfortably chilled. I had a bottle of wine under my arm, and was holding a bagged salad and picking through the plastic wrapped wedges of cheese with my free hand...a true class act.
"Hi," said a man, and I looked up. He was no one I recognized, which sent me into full panic mode. He was probably in his mid to late forties, my height, with slightly graying hair and a sheepish grin. Was he an old teacher of mine? A customer I'd helped earlier that day? Had I snagged the last bottle of ten buck Malbec that he was reaching for, totally heedless?
"I'm sorry," I said, after a desperate moment. "Where do I know you from?"
He turned a bit red. "I don't, you don't, I don't think. I'm sorry. I never do this, but I saw you in the wine aisle, and than I saw you here. I'm grabbing something for the little cafe I own, just across the street."
Holding up several plastic packets of thyme, he asked me if I would like to have a glass of wine at his cafe. On him, he said.
"Look, if you're interested, just swing on by. If not..." he shrugged and smiled. Disarmed, I put out my hand.
"I'm Bunny," I said. His hand was warm and dry, his handshake was strong and firm.
"Sam," he said. I told him I'd think it over and maybe see him later. He walked towards the cashier, and I went back to mindlessly picking through cheese. I liked his posture. It was commanding. I thought of Garrett for a moment, but who knows what was going on with that. And it was a cafe, which was safe enough, not that I really worry much about that sort of thing.
The cafe he owned was only a few blocks away from my house. I'd never been there. Dive bars were more my scene. I suppose it's the cheap introvert in me. Why pay seven bucks for a glass of wine at a place full of snobs when I could pay ten for a bottle that will last me a week? Or better yet, share with a friend.
Unless of course, someone else is buying. I paid, and put the food in my cloth grocery bag (yes, I'm one of those girls). Gritting my teeth, I walked back into the rain, crossing the busy street safely at the traffic signal. A few minutes later, I opened the door and stepped into the cafe. It's named after one of my favorite poets, whom I won't name here for privacy, but I took it as a good sign.
"Hello," I said, stepping up to the cozy wood bar. Sam turned around and smiled. He was opening the packages of thyme and putting the herbs in a bowl.
"Bunny," he said, softly. I smiled. "What kind of wine do you like?"
"Reds," I said. He poured me a glass of Oregon pinot noir and invited me to sit down. I peeled off my jacket, slowly, and though he kept working, I noticed him watching me. I hung my things up on a tall chair, and sat down.
"I've got to go take care of some customers who just came in, but I'll be right back," he said. He knocked on the bar in front of a tall man with an interesting face. "Rainier, keep Bunny amused til I get back."
Rainier is French, apparently, a former Cirque de Soleil acrobat. He'd just returned from his family's home in Normandie, and was back here finding a job.
"I do tarot," he said, "and palm reading. Look, give me your hand."
It was small in his big one, his long, strong fingers running over my lines and mounds and valleys. He laughed softly, and I blushed. He told me that my love life was very strong, that I was an erotic woman. He dropped my hand, and picked up my glass of wine, leaning in towards me as he did so.
"I'll give you my number," he whispered. His voice was so low and commanding, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. "I'm a very generous man, remember that, Bunny. Little rabbit. I'll come kiss your twitching pink nose."
Rainier leaned back and laughed, drank some of my wine. "What is this horse piss, Sam?"
"Oh fuck off, Rainier," Sam said, sliding his keys across the bar. "You're drunk."
He said it with good nature, though, and leaned across the expanse of wood. I smiled, and thanked him for the wine.
Sorry this isn't exactly erotic, but I think the situation has a lot of promise! I'll finish this up next week.
So I was dressed with that aim. Rivulets of rain had been running through my hair, and I was thoroughly drenched, my makeup was probably a mess, my feet were uncomfortably chilled. I had a bottle of wine under my arm, and was holding a bagged salad and picking through the plastic wrapped wedges of cheese with my free hand...a true class act.
"Hi," said a man, and I looked up. He was no one I recognized, which sent me into full panic mode. He was probably in his mid to late forties, my height, with slightly graying hair and a sheepish grin. Was he an old teacher of mine? A customer I'd helped earlier that day? Had I snagged the last bottle of ten buck Malbec that he was reaching for, totally heedless?
"I'm sorry," I said, after a desperate moment. "Where do I know you from?"
He turned a bit red. "I don't, you don't, I don't think. I'm sorry. I never do this, but I saw you in the wine aisle, and than I saw you here. I'm grabbing something for the little cafe I own, just across the street."
Holding up several plastic packets of thyme, he asked me if I would like to have a glass of wine at his cafe. On him, he said.
"Look, if you're interested, just swing on by. If not..." he shrugged and smiled. Disarmed, I put out my hand.
"I'm Bunny," I said. His hand was warm and dry, his handshake was strong and firm.
"Sam," he said. I told him I'd think it over and maybe see him later. He walked towards the cashier, and I went back to mindlessly picking through cheese. I liked his posture. It was commanding. I thought of Garrett for a moment, but who knows what was going on with that. And it was a cafe, which was safe enough, not that I really worry much about that sort of thing.
The cafe he owned was only a few blocks away from my house. I'd never been there. Dive bars were more my scene. I suppose it's the cheap introvert in me. Why pay seven bucks for a glass of wine at a place full of snobs when I could pay ten for a bottle that will last me a week? Or better yet, share with a friend.
Unless of course, someone else is buying. I paid, and put the food in my cloth grocery bag (yes, I'm one of those girls). Gritting my teeth, I walked back into the rain, crossing the busy street safely at the traffic signal. A few minutes later, I opened the door and stepped into the cafe. It's named after one of my favorite poets, whom I won't name here for privacy, but I took it as a good sign.
"Hello," I said, stepping up to the cozy wood bar. Sam turned around and smiled. He was opening the packages of thyme and putting the herbs in a bowl.
"Bunny," he said, softly. I smiled. "What kind of wine do you like?"
"Reds," I said. He poured me a glass of Oregon pinot noir and invited me to sit down. I peeled off my jacket, slowly, and though he kept working, I noticed him watching me. I hung my things up on a tall chair, and sat down.
"I've got to go take care of some customers who just came in, but I'll be right back," he said. He knocked on the bar in front of a tall man with an interesting face. "Rainier, keep Bunny amused til I get back."
Rainier is French, apparently, a former Cirque de Soleil acrobat. He'd just returned from his family's home in Normandie, and was back here finding a job.
"I do tarot," he said, "and palm reading. Look, give me your hand."
It was small in his big one, his long, strong fingers running over my lines and mounds and valleys. He laughed softly, and I blushed. He told me that my love life was very strong, that I was an erotic woman. He dropped my hand, and picked up my glass of wine, leaning in towards me as he did so.
"I'll give you my number," he whispered. His voice was so low and commanding, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. "I'm a very generous man, remember that, Bunny. Little rabbit. I'll come kiss your twitching pink nose."
Rainier leaned back and laughed, drank some of my wine. "What is this horse piss, Sam?"
"Oh fuck off, Rainier," Sam said, sliding his keys across the bar. "You're drunk."
He said it with good nature, though, and leaned across the expanse of wood. I smiled, and thanked him for the wine.
Sorry this isn't exactly erotic, but I think the situation has a lot of promise! I'll finish this up next week.
Tuesday, March 7, 2017
Writing and writhing
It's finally turning a corner in my neighborhood. Nubbly little crocus are blooming, and the droopy-headed snowdrops are out. I've been messing around with Garrett a bit, but he's not reliable. He'll say he wants to meet up but then cancels, so I'm guessing there's someone else. Which is fine. Between edits and working out in my garden, I've been so tired at night that I don't need anything.
That will change, though. Spring is so erotic. The garden will be the perfect for a fuckfest when it gets warmer. I'll put candles in all the glass sconces and lay down on my mossy knoll. And there's always the possibility that someone will be watching, a peeping Tom who'll glaze the fence with a big load when he sees us rolling in the grass, sucking and fucking, cocks and nipples everywhere. I can't wait!
That will change, though. Spring is so erotic. The garden will be the perfect for a fuckfest when it gets warmer. I'll put candles in all the glass sconces and lay down on my mossy knoll. And there's always the possibility that someone will be watching, a peeping Tom who'll glaze the fence with a big load when he sees us rolling in the grass, sucking and fucking, cocks and nipples everywhere. I can't wait!
Sunday, February 19, 2017
The Art Dealer
A client who I write for fairly regularly emailed me with a story request. I'm going to start sharing some of the stories I write (with the client's permission, of course!). If someone has a boner for a scenario, odds are that someone else out there does as well.
If you don't know, I do erotic writing on commission, making people's fantasies two dimensional. Just got over a busy time of year (what, V-day doesn't stand for 'Vagina Day'?!), so I have a whole treasure trove of hot, wet stories to put up here when I'm too busy fucking to post.
The Art Dealer
There was a man who I knew, he had a business delivering fine art to and from galleries, people's homes, and dealers. Jon was in his thirties and an artist himself, so he appreciated the daily contact with the industry. He was tall with curly brown hair and a strong profile. He'd begun his career as a graffiti artist, and still had the lean physique from those days of running from the cops, and though he was much more mature, there was still that boundary pushing manner about him; bold, playful, determined.
Jon had his favorite clients, and he would often stop and chat with them for a bit, have a cup of coffee or a glass of wine if it was the last stop of his day. One of these was Mrs. Von Klausen, a woman in her fifties. On a Tuesday around noon he delivered two eighteenth century oil paintings. Mrs. Von Klausen was a dealer, and she'd recently acquired them from a seller on the east coast.
"Bring them into the gallery room, Jon" Mrs. Von Klausen said when the maid let Jon in. The gallery was in the front of the house, a large climate controlled room with a large desk facing two oil portraits of her bewigged Dutch ancestors, family heirlooms that were meant to emphasize her connection with the art world. Art was in her blood, the paintings said.
Mrs. Von Klausen sat at her desk, wearing reading glasses. Her hair was thick and black and lustrous, cut in an expensive bob. She was petite and always wore black dresses that showed off her long neck and her milky white shoulders. When she stood, her dress clung for a moment to the chair and Jon saw the top of her stockings.
He set the paintings carefully onto the display table, and gently removed the plain brown paper from them. Both were nudes of tender-bellied nymphs in the woods, unrestrained by clothing or morals. Uncharacteristically, Jon blushed, aroused by his close proximity to a woman who seemed the opposite of those free spirits. Mrs. Von Klausen took off her reading glasses and stared at them thoughtfully, touching her chin. Finally, she nodded.
"I quite like them," she said, and looked up at Jon. "I wonder if you might be able to help me, I've been working on my memoirs and I can't get the margins quite right."
"I can have a look," said Jon, relieved to walk away. The maid came in with a fresh vase of white tulips to place on the desk, and Mrs. Von Klausen followed her out to have a word with the florist. Jon fixed the margin problem in a moment, and when his client didn't come immediately back, he scanned the page. It was quite erotic, an account of Mrs. Von Klausen getting fingered under the tablecloth of a fine restaurant while her husband, now deceased, chatted with Francois Marcel. Jon couldn't stop reading until the page ended, and then he stepped quickly back.
Mrs. Von Klausen walked back in and shut the door. She had brought him a cup of tea, and they chatted for a moment about an upcoming gallery show at Soir. Then she said to him, "Would you like to see where my stockings end?"
It was so nonchalant. She was at least twenty years older than him, but he felt powerfully drawn to her. To him, it felt perfectly natural to get down on his knees behind her and flip up her skirt as she stood at her desk, slightly bent.
Her legs were long and strong and she wasn't wearing any underwear, just the garter belt wrapping tautly around her ass, so wide and soft and slightly dimpled. Jon was reminded of a month he'd spent in Southeast Asia, when the woman at the marketplace guided him away from the firm green papayas and towards the yellowed ones, the rinds speckled with mold. The ones past their prime were the sweetest, the juiciest, the most golden.
Jon buried his nose against her fruity little pucker and tongued her labia, already swollen and wet. He reached in front and tangled his fingers in her silky bush, tugging at the hard little bud that protruded from the tip of the cunt. He ate her buttery pussy, and she stood silently, composed, his cock pushing hard against the front of his jeans, his balls already tightening from the fragrant, alluring smell of her crack and the obscene slurping noise of his eager tongue in the soft fuckhole.
He stood, and unzipped. Still, Mrs. Von Klausen didn't move, just braced herself firmly on the desk. Jon wanted to kiss her, but her matter-of-fact manner and her perfectly applied fuchsia lipstick didn't encourage it. Oh well, he thought, as he shoved his rock hard rod into that small hole. He didn't even have to spit on it, it just glided in.
Her pussy seemed to flutter around his cock, and he realized too late how close he was to blowing his wad in her cunt. Every inch of his penis was being stimulated by the clenching of her amazing softness, it was like being stroked by slippery hands. In vain, Jon looked up at the portraits facing the desk, but in his feverish mind he combined them with the women of Mrs. Von Klausen's new acquisitions. Before him arose the image of the stuffy men gasping in ecstasy as naked servant girls and mistresses slobbered over their knobs.
Jon came. He pulled his sodden cock most of the way out and flooded Mrs. Von Klausen's cunt with semen. The pleasure came in waves as his come gushed. Stricken with guilt, he once again knelt behind Mrs. Von Klausen and slurped his jism from her sodden folds. Eagerly, he rooted deep inside of her cunt with his tongue, cleaning up every drop of his tangy come, sipping it from her hair, licking it from where it dripped from her clitoris.
"Yes," Mrs. Von Klausen said firmly. "Yes, here it comes, oh yes. Oh yes. Ohhhhh yessss."
A shudder went through her body and she ground her pussy furiously against Jon's come-smeared face. A small amount of liquid seeped from her fuck tunnel. Jon was hard again, and before she had time to recover her composure, he was once again balls-deep in her gash, gripping her butt cheeks hard as he slid in and out rapidly, evenly, driving her to a second orgasm that he experienced inside of her, her cunt contracting around his piston as he too exploded, come spurting far up her hole.
They stood there for a moment, Jon gently rubbing her ass as they recovered, He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and pulled his drooping cock from her pussy, gently placing it back in his underwear and zipping up his fly. He licked his fingers clean and pulled the skirt of her dress down over her pink rump.
Mrs. Von Klausen straightened up and went over to the door.
"Thank you Jon," she said. "I'll see you next time?"
"Absolutely," he said, and whistled on his way to the next client.
If you don't know, I do erotic writing on commission, making people's fantasies two dimensional. Just got over a busy time of year (what, V-day doesn't stand for 'Vagina Day'?!), so I have a whole treasure trove of hot, wet stories to put up here when I'm too busy fucking to post.
The Art Dealer
There was a man who I knew, he had a business delivering fine art to and from galleries, people's homes, and dealers. Jon was in his thirties and an artist himself, so he appreciated the daily contact with the industry. He was tall with curly brown hair and a strong profile. He'd begun his career as a graffiti artist, and still had the lean physique from those days of running from the cops, and though he was much more mature, there was still that boundary pushing manner about him; bold, playful, determined.
Jon had his favorite clients, and he would often stop and chat with them for a bit, have a cup of coffee or a glass of wine if it was the last stop of his day. One of these was Mrs. Von Klausen, a woman in her fifties. On a Tuesday around noon he delivered two eighteenth century oil paintings. Mrs. Von Klausen was a dealer, and she'd recently acquired them from a seller on the east coast.
"Bring them into the gallery room, Jon" Mrs. Von Klausen said when the maid let Jon in. The gallery was in the front of the house, a large climate controlled room with a large desk facing two oil portraits of her bewigged Dutch ancestors, family heirlooms that were meant to emphasize her connection with the art world. Art was in her blood, the paintings said.
Mrs. Von Klausen sat at her desk, wearing reading glasses. Her hair was thick and black and lustrous, cut in an expensive bob. She was petite and always wore black dresses that showed off her long neck and her milky white shoulders. When she stood, her dress clung for a moment to the chair and Jon saw the top of her stockings.
He set the paintings carefully onto the display table, and gently removed the plain brown paper from them. Both were nudes of tender-bellied nymphs in the woods, unrestrained by clothing or morals. Uncharacteristically, Jon blushed, aroused by his close proximity to a woman who seemed the opposite of those free spirits. Mrs. Von Klausen took off her reading glasses and stared at them thoughtfully, touching her chin. Finally, she nodded.
"I quite like them," she said, and looked up at Jon. "I wonder if you might be able to help me, I've been working on my memoirs and I can't get the margins quite right."
"I can have a look," said Jon, relieved to walk away. The maid came in with a fresh vase of white tulips to place on the desk, and Mrs. Von Klausen followed her out to have a word with the florist. Jon fixed the margin problem in a moment, and when his client didn't come immediately back, he scanned the page. It was quite erotic, an account of Mrs. Von Klausen getting fingered under the tablecloth of a fine restaurant while her husband, now deceased, chatted with Francois Marcel. Jon couldn't stop reading until the page ended, and then he stepped quickly back.
Mrs. Von Klausen walked back in and shut the door. She had brought him a cup of tea, and they chatted for a moment about an upcoming gallery show at Soir. Then she said to him, "Would you like to see where my stockings end?"
It was so nonchalant. She was at least twenty years older than him, but he felt powerfully drawn to her. To him, it felt perfectly natural to get down on his knees behind her and flip up her skirt as she stood at her desk, slightly bent.
Her legs were long and strong and she wasn't wearing any underwear, just the garter belt wrapping tautly around her ass, so wide and soft and slightly dimpled. Jon was reminded of a month he'd spent in Southeast Asia, when the woman at the marketplace guided him away from the firm green papayas and towards the yellowed ones, the rinds speckled with mold. The ones past their prime were the sweetest, the juiciest, the most golden.
Jon buried his nose against her fruity little pucker and tongued her labia, already swollen and wet. He reached in front and tangled his fingers in her silky bush, tugging at the hard little bud that protruded from the tip of the cunt. He ate her buttery pussy, and she stood silently, composed, his cock pushing hard against the front of his jeans, his balls already tightening from the fragrant, alluring smell of her crack and the obscene slurping noise of his eager tongue in the soft fuckhole.
He stood, and unzipped. Still, Mrs. Von Klausen didn't move, just braced herself firmly on the desk. Jon wanted to kiss her, but her matter-of-fact manner and her perfectly applied fuchsia lipstick didn't encourage it. Oh well, he thought, as he shoved his rock hard rod into that small hole. He didn't even have to spit on it, it just glided in.
Her pussy seemed to flutter around his cock, and he realized too late how close he was to blowing his wad in her cunt. Every inch of his penis was being stimulated by the clenching of her amazing softness, it was like being stroked by slippery hands. In vain, Jon looked up at the portraits facing the desk, but in his feverish mind he combined them with the women of Mrs. Von Klausen's new acquisitions. Before him arose the image of the stuffy men gasping in ecstasy as naked servant girls and mistresses slobbered over their knobs.
Jon came. He pulled his sodden cock most of the way out and flooded Mrs. Von Klausen's cunt with semen. The pleasure came in waves as his come gushed. Stricken with guilt, he once again knelt behind Mrs. Von Klausen and slurped his jism from her sodden folds. Eagerly, he rooted deep inside of her cunt with his tongue, cleaning up every drop of his tangy come, sipping it from her hair, licking it from where it dripped from her clitoris.
"Yes," Mrs. Von Klausen said firmly. "Yes, here it comes, oh yes. Oh yes. Ohhhhh yessss."
A shudder went through her body and she ground her pussy furiously against Jon's come-smeared face. A small amount of liquid seeped from her fuck tunnel. Jon was hard again, and before she had time to recover her composure, he was once again balls-deep in her gash, gripping her butt cheeks hard as he slid in and out rapidly, evenly, driving her to a second orgasm that he experienced inside of her, her cunt contracting around his piston as he too exploded, come spurting far up her hole.
They stood there for a moment, Jon gently rubbing her ass as they recovered, He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and pulled his drooping cock from her pussy, gently placing it back in his underwear and zipping up his fly. He licked his fingers clean and pulled the skirt of her dress down over her pink rump.
Mrs. Von Klausen straightened up and went over to the door.
"Thank you Jon," she said. "I'll see you next time?"
"Absolutely," he said, and whistled on his way to the next client.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Pen-is pals to be
It's been raining lately, which is fine, because it makes me stay inside. I reorganized my office, and have all my favorite books at arm's reach. When I was impressionable, vintage erotica was what I had access to. Sure, porn's good too, but there's something about The Pearl or Fanny Hill or Delta of Venus that gets me going. I think because sexuality was...not more taboo, but less available. What I really want are some of the old 'French prints' they talk about.
My vision is to create a series of erotic novels in the vintage style, like one from every era. I want a Regency romance and a roaring twenties and a pioneer and ancient Roman novels, but dirty. You know, what they were actually up to.
I've only seen Garrett once since the night Cheri left. He's someone I don't want to get involved with because I'm not his type. I know that sounds silly, but if we were actually together, I know he'd be looking at every single 'co-ed' type girl. It's not a confidence thing. Well, actually, it is. I am an attractive woman who has no problem getting a boyfriend, but if I'm not exactly what they find good looking, if I'm not their particular fantasy, there's really not much point. I'm not going to change for any man. I want to be my partner's fantasy, come to life.
Cheri laughed when I told her that. "As long as you still get dick while the dicking's good."
And with Garrett, it's fun. And we're already such good friends, that I a) don't want to get in a relationship with him and b) don't want to ruin our friendship when one of us do get a boyfriend/girlfriend and we stop banging.
"Of course you banged," said Cheri when I told her. She called me as soon as she got to San Francisco. "You guys are both hot, and he has a huge dick and you have big tits."
"Have you banged him?" I said.
"Only once. I don't remember it, really. We were both fucked up."
This didn't bother me. Cheri and I have shared dudes before. I told her about the fucking. It had been exactly what I liked. I had a suspicion that Cheri had told Garrett my fantasies. What could be better than my best friend telling a guy like Garrett exactly what I liked? I knew for sure the next time we banged that she had, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Cheri says she's settling in nicely to her new apartment. It's right downtown, and she can see all the guys walking by.
"We should send letters," she said. "Wouldn't that be sexy?"
I'm totally down. It's so nice getting something in the mail from someone, rather than just an email. Plus then we can send sexy Polaroids to each other. Cheri will be an awesome pen pal.
"More like pen-is pal," she texted me.
So true.
My vision is to create a series of erotic novels in the vintage style, like one from every era. I want a Regency romance and a roaring twenties and a pioneer and ancient Roman novels, but dirty. You know, what they were actually up to.
I've only seen Garrett once since the night Cheri left. He's someone I don't want to get involved with because I'm not his type. I know that sounds silly, but if we were actually together, I know he'd be looking at every single 'co-ed' type girl. It's not a confidence thing. Well, actually, it is. I am an attractive woman who has no problem getting a boyfriend, but if I'm not exactly what they find good looking, if I'm not their particular fantasy, there's really not much point. I'm not going to change for any man. I want to be my partner's fantasy, come to life.
Cheri laughed when I told her that. "As long as you still get dick while the dicking's good."
And with Garrett, it's fun. And we're already such good friends, that I a) don't want to get in a relationship with him and b) don't want to ruin our friendship when one of us do get a boyfriend/girlfriend and we stop banging.
"Of course you banged," said Cheri when I told her. She called me as soon as she got to San Francisco. "You guys are both hot, and he has a huge dick and you have big tits."
"Have you banged him?" I said.
"Only once. I don't remember it, really. We were both fucked up."
This didn't bother me. Cheri and I have shared dudes before. I told her about the fucking. It had been exactly what I liked. I had a suspicion that Cheri had told Garrett my fantasies. What could be better than my best friend telling a guy like Garrett exactly what I liked? I knew for sure the next time we banged that she had, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Cheri says she's settling in nicely to her new apartment. It's right downtown, and she can see all the guys walking by.
"We should send letters," she said. "Wouldn't that be sexy?"
I'm totally down. It's so nice getting something in the mail from someone, rather than just an email. Plus then we can send sexy Polaroids to each other. Cheri will be an awesome pen pal.
"More like pen-is pal," she texted me.
So true.
Monday, January 30, 2017
Goodbye Cheri, part two
We went back over to the bar. The Manhattans that Brian made were almost as stiff as he was, and I was feeling it a little. After he served us- another round for Cheri and I, a beer for Garrett- he gave us a wink and went over with a damp bar towel to take care of the table. And the wall.
"I'm going to miss you, Cheri," I said. I'd said it before, and I hoped I said it enough. It was true. She was my best friend, and she was moving to San Francisco.
She put her head on my shoulder. "You'll come visit. I'll come visit."
"You'll come, alright," said Garrett. When Cheri and I lived together he would come over and they would smoke weed. She'd make dinner, and we'd sit around and watch documentaries on Cheri's laptop. He was handsome, a year or two older than us, and from Cheri's hometown on the East Coast. His type was firmly of the nubile-sporty-young girl, so it never crossed my mind he might be interested in either of us.
Until that night.
"I think I might take him home for one last dance around his huge May Pole," said Cheri, sipping her Manhattan. She looked pointedly at Brian, who was bending over the table. I was a bit disappointed, having looked forward to one last slumber party with Cheri.
Either way, it was my cue to cut out of there, so after I finished my drink, I got up. Garrett did too. The bar was closing in a few minutes anyway. We set our glasses down, and Garrett and I gave Cheri a big hug and a kiss.
"Call me as soon as you get there safely," I said. I put on my coat and walked on out of the bar. I was definitely tipsy, but not drunk. I was mostly sleepy, and not looking forward to a ride back. Garrett offered to let me sleep at his place and drive me home in the morning, on his way to work.
I yawned. "That sounds good."
"Come on then, miss," he said, offering me his arm.
He had a sweet little apartment, part of a complex built in the 1950s with a courtyard. It was a two bedroom, and his roommate was in the other one. His roommate was weird, so I was uncertain about sleeping on the couch, but Garrett had a king and he offered me half.
"I do fart in my sleep," he said, as a warning. "Or so I've heard."
"Maybe they're all liars," I said, sitting down on the edge and taking off my heels. I was excited about the way this was going. I doubted it was innocent. Garrett turned off the light and we undressed in the dark. I hung my dress over the back of his chair, and found a t-shirt. Behind me, I heard the creak of the bed, and Garrett clearing his throat as he got in.
"Fluffy pillow or flat?" he said, as I pulled the covers over me. His hand brushed against my back as he scooted the flat pillow to my side of the bed. "Is that my t-shirt? I hope it's not the my come-rag one."
"Gross," I said, and laughed, punching his shoulder, just so I could touch him again. Then I turned my back to him. I really was tired, too tired to make a move, although I wanted to. He pulled me close. "Is this ok?" he asked. I told him yes, and he began feeling up the front of the shirt. "I'm just trying to figure out what t-shirt it is."
His hands found my breasts, feeling first over the t-shirt, rubbing my rapidly swelling nipples. He gave my neck exploratory kisses. A moment later, he slipped his hand under the shirt and grasped my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, pulling them, lavishing all sort of attentions on them. His right hand dug between my waist and the bed, sliding down my hip bone and right to the edge of my panties.
I kept perfectly motionless, getting off on the sensation of being molested in my sleep. At some point, I expected him to flip me over and kiss me on the mouth. His hand slid over my shaved mons, index finger pressing into my slot. My clit was already swelling, Garrett's slow movements only made it stiffer. He played with it slowly and lightly.
It was close to two in the morning by that time, and I was exhausted. I've always been a morning person, and my brain was shutting down from tiredness. Garrett's erotic manipulations gave the feeling that I was in some hot, wet dream. I ground my ass against his now-hard cock. It pressed up against his belly, and he wedged it between my ass cheeks.
Still, he worked my nipples, pulling them now, giving each of my tits equal attention. A few times he dug his thumbnail in, just hard enough to make all my blood flow to my pussy at the sudden sweet, sharp pain. My whole pelvic area felt tight, and then Garrett slid his fingers down into my gash. It was sopping. He worked two digits in and out of my messy hole.
I reached down and hooked thumb into the edge of my panties, twisting out of them. Garrett stopping touching me for long enough to pull his briefs down, and I felt the hard, fleshy heat of a big cock. It stuck on my soft ass. The tip was slobbering enough to leave a damp trail down my right cheek as he slid its blunt head between my legs.
We humped for a few minutes, the friction of his cock thrusting between his legs bringing me closer and closer to coming. He had a hold on my hips, and the shaft jammed in and out, my pussy lips and clit clinging to it for dear life, drooling thick creamy juice. A few times, his bell end nosed upwards to the entrance, and he pushed it past again at the last minute.
Finally, Garrett let go of my hip and actually pushed my clitoris down so it touched his penis, sticking to it in his motions, and it drove me over the edge.
"I'm coming," I whispered, my body jerking, my whole pussy areas tightening, and then releasing. "Ohhhhh. Ahhhhh. Ohhhhh."
Then came that hot sensation, the wet sensation of my pussy exploding. Garrett didn't give me a chance to relax, he grabbed my hair and pushed my face into the pillow. My body followed, and I could tell he wanted me from behind, but when I tried to get on my knees, he pressed my hips back down into the soft mattress.
"Like this," he said. "Oh, please."
He heaved his body onto mine, and finally he thrust his fat thing into my tunnel. He groaned loudly and long as it buried its fat red head, rooting around in my wet inside. He was so strong, lifting and sliding his body on top of mine, his chest mashed against my back as he fucked me. I was being pressed into the bed, violated, and it was driving me towards another explosion.
His cock seemed to touch every inch of my pussy, exploring my slick folds and engorged clit, sliding back and forth, back and forth. At the same time, my body lay helpless. Because of the way I lay, I literally couldn't move, every sensation was concentrated on my lower body.
"Where do you want me to come?" he whispered, and that did it. My hips began to shake uncontrollably, and Garrett sped up.
"I want you to come all over my ass," I said. "Come for me, come all over my big ass."
At the same time that I pumped out another wave of wetness, he pulled out, slapping his dong between my butt cheeks, pressing my throbbing clit hard into the sheets. He grunted and stilled, and felt a warm sensation as he glazed my buns, each spurt filling the air with the sweet smell of come.
"Oh my god," he said, rolling off me. "That felt good."
I knelt, and he helped me to pull the t-shirt off and wipe down my back.
"Now it's the come-rag one," I whispered, and he laughed, wrapping his arms around me, and we fell asleep that way.
Anyway, I hope that doesn't ruin our friendship. I know Cheri always had the hots for Garrett, so she'll be jealous he fucked me, but not for long. I think I may start working on a story for a contest. It would be good to take a break from the novel, but the end is in sight as far as that goes, and I may totally finish it first and then let it sit for a month before I edit.
"I'm going to miss you, Cheri," I said. I'd said it before, and I hoped I said it enough. It was true. She was my best friend, and she was moving to San Francisco.
She put her head on my shoulder. "You'll come visit. I'll come visit."
"You'll come, alright," said Garrett. When Cheri and I lived together he would come over and they would smoke weed. She'd make dinner, and we'd sit around and watch documentaries on Cheri's laptop. He was handsome, a year or two older than us, and from Cheri's hometown on the East Coast. His type was firmly of the nubile-sporty-young girl, so it never crossed my mind he might be interested in either of us.
Until that night.
"I think I might take him home for one last dance around his huge May Pole," said Cheri, sipping her Manhattan. She looked pointedly at Brian, who was bending over the table. I was a bit disappointed, having looked forward to one last slumber party with Cheri.
Either way, it was my cue to cut out of there, so after I finished my drink, I got up. Garrett did too. The bar was closing in a few minutes anyway. We set our glasses down, and Garrett and I gave Cheri a big hug and a kiss.
"Call me as soon as you get there safely," I said. I put on my coat and walked on out of the bar. I was definitely tipsy, but not drunk. I was mostly sleepy, and not looking forward to a ride back. Garrett offered to let me sleep at his place and drive me home in the morning, on his way to work.
I yawned. "That sounds good."
"Come on then, miss," he said, offering me his arm.
He had a sweet little apartment, part of a complex built in the 1950s with a courtyard. It was a two bedroom, and his roommate was in the other one. His roommate was weird, so I was uncertain about sleeping on the couch, but Garrett had a king and he offered me half.
"I do fart in my sleep," he said, as a warning. "Or so I've heard."
"Maybe they're all liars," I said, sitting down on the edge and taking off my heels. I was excited about the way this was going. I doubted it was innocent. Garrett turned off the light and we undressed in the dark. I hung my dress over the back of his chair, and found a t-shirt. Behind me, I heard the creak of the bed, and Garrett clearing his throat as he got in.
"Fluffy pillow or flat?" he said, as I pulled the covers over me. His hand brushed against my back as he scooted the flat pillow to my side of the bed. "Is that my t-shirt? I hope it's not the my come-rag one."
"Gross," I said, and laughed, punching his shoulder, just so I could touch him again. Then I turned my back to him. I really was tired, too tired to make a move, although I wanted to. He pulled me close. "Is this ok?" he asked. I told him yes, and he began feeling up the front of the shirt. "I'm just trying to figure out what t-shirt it is."
His hands found my breasts, feeling first over the t-shirt, rubbing my rapidly swelling nipples. He gave my neck exploratory kisses. A moment later, he slipped his hand under the shirt and grasped my nipples, rolling them between his fingers, pulling them, lavishing all sort of attentions on them. His right hand dug between my waist and the bed, sliding down my hip bone and right to the edge of my panties.
I kept perfectly motionless, getting off on the sensation of being molested in my sleep. At some point, I expected him to flip me over and kiss me on the mouth. His hand slid over my shaved mons, index finger pressing into my slot. My clit was already swelling, Garrett's slow movements only made it stiffer. He played with it slowly and lightly.
It was close to two in the morning by that time, and I was exhausted. I've always been a morning person, and my brain was shutting down from tiredness. Garrett's erotic manipulations gave the feeling that I was in some hot, wet dream. I ground my ass against his now-hard cock. It pressed up against his belly, and he wedged it between my ass cheeks.
Still, he worked my nipples, pulling them now, giving each of my tits equal attention. A few times he dug his thumbnail in, just hard enough to make all my blood flow to my pussy at the sudden sweet, sharp pain. My whole pelvic area felt tight, and then Garrett slid his fingers down into my gash. It was sopping. He worked two digits in and out of my messy hole.
I reached down and hooked thumb into the edge of my panties, twisting out of them. Garrett stopping touching me for long enough to pull his briefs down, and I felt the hard, fleshy heat of a big cock. It stuck on my soft ass. The tip was slobbering enough to leave a damp trail down my right cheek as he slid its blunt head between my legs.
We humped for a few minutes, the friction of his cock thrusting between his legs bringing me closer and closer to coming. He had a hold on my hips, and the shaft jammed in and out, my pussy lips and clit clinging to it for dear life, drooling thick creamy juice. A few times, his bell end nosed upwards to the entrance, and he pushed it past again at the last minute.
Finally, Garrett let go of my hip and actually pushed my clitoris down so it touched his penis, sticking to it in his motions, and it drove me over the edge.
"I'm coming," I whispered, my body jerking, my whole pussy areas tightening, and then releasing. "Ohhhhh. Ahhhhh. Ohhhhh."
Then came that hot sensation, the wet sensation of my pussy exploding. Garrett didn't give me a chance to relax, he grabbed my hair and pushed my face into the pillow. My body followed, and I could tell he wanted me from behind, but when I tried to get on my knees, he pressed my hips back down into the soft mattress.
"Like this," he said. "Oh, please."
He heaved his body onto mine, and finally he thrust his fat thing into my tunnel. He groaned loudly and long as it buried its fat red head, rooting around in my wet inside. He was so strong, lifting and sliding his body on top of mine, his chest mashed against my back as he fucked me. I was being pressed into the bed, violated, and it was driving me towards another explosion.
His cock seemed to touch every inch of my pussy, exploring my slick folds and engorged clit, sliding back and forth, back and forth. At the same time, my body lay helpless. Because of the way I lay, I literally couldn't move, every sensation was concentrated on my lower body.
"Where do you want me to come?" he whispered, and that did it. My hips began to shake uncontrollably, and Garrett sped up.
"I want you to come all over my ass," I said. "Come for me, come all over my big ass."
At the same time that I pumped out another wave of wetness, he pulled out, slapping his dong between my butt cheeks, pressing my throbbing clit hard into the sheets. He grunted and stilled, and felt a warm sensation as he glazed my buns, each spurt filling the air with the sweet smell of come.
"Oh my god," he said, rolling off me. "That felt good."
I knelt, and he helped me to pull the t-shirt off and wipe down my back.
"Now it's the come-rag one," I whispered, and he laughed, wrapping his arms around me, and we fell asleep that way.
Anyway, I hope that doesn't ruin our friendship. I know Cheri always had the hots for Garrett, so she'll be jealous he fucked me, but not for long. I think I may start working on a story for a contest. It would be good to take a break from the novel, but the end is in sight as far as that goes, and I may totally finish it first and then let it sit for a month before I edit.
Saturday, January 21, 2017
Goodbye Cheri, part one
Cheri left town yesterday, and I'll get to that in a bit. I suppose it's a good thing, really. She can be such a distraction. When I was working on my novel and she'd call me up, or just stop by and the rest of the day would be shot. I don't mind slagging her because she knows I love it, and anyway, she's reading it (Hi Cheri!). This blog's partly for her, to keep her up on my adventures.
It was cold, but all the snow was gone, so it was no problem getting an Uber over to Cheri's place. It wasn't going to be a late night for her, since she had to hit the road so early the next day. She suggested we go for a drink, so we walked to her local bar, the one we'd been to a million times before, picking up men. Before I bought my house, I lived with her for a year or so, and it was our regular.
Don't get me wrong, I get plenty of guys looking at me, but not like Cheri. She's tall and willowy, with long blonde hair that she sometimes has dyed a very ethereal and natural shade of red, and has these big blue eyes and insanely long legs, an innocent face, a filthy mind.
Ryan was behind the bar. It was slow, for a Friday. The lights were low, rain was coming down on the windows and there was constant traffic on the street outside. It was cozy and soothing. Cheri and Bran dated for awhile. They broke up because he wanted to get serious and marry her, and she wasn't interested. They're friends now, though. According to Cheri, Bran had one of the biggest dicks she'd ever seen, and she's kind of the expert.
"Are you leaving Saturday?" Brian asked. He came from behind the bar and gave us each a big hug.
"I thought I'd get a head start, I'm leaving tomorrow," said Cheri. "Boxes are in the van."
Brian's not Cheri's usual flavor. He's Goth, and skinny, which is what makes his cock such a shock. I saw it once. One night I went to my bedroom to write, leaving the two of them in the living room.
I was distracted for a half an hour or so, working on a story. Without thinking, I opened my door to get a glass of water. They didn't hear me. Cheri was lying down on the couch, facing away from me, and Brian was standing over her, naked. His cock was only half hard, but it dangled down like a third, stunted leg. He rubbed the head against her tits, her rosy nipples sticking straight up from arousal.
As I took a quiet step back, he looked up and saw me, standing there, watching. There was a moment of intense eye contact, and his thing began to quickly inflate to its full size. The head was well bigger than the shaft, a total red plum that swelled to purple. I was so turned on, watching him stab my best friend's tits with his huge cock. Cheri caught it in her hand, and I saw her working the pre-cum over the head. They spoke for a moment, but I couldn't hear.
He slid that big cock into her mouth, working it all over her wet lips. Cheri still had her trademark white cotton panties on, and I watched her free hand digging around down there, masturbating as she tried to suck Brian's enormous cock. His eyes met mine for a second, and his motions increased. Then Cherie grabbed his cock from her mouth, and sat up. I could tell they were going to fuck. That was when we first lived together, before we knew each other all that well, and I retreated back into my room before she could see me.
When Brian hugged her in the bar last night, we looked at each other again, and I could see the outline of his cock grow. Cheri reached down and grabbed it, gave it a quick squeeze, and then he went back behind the bar. There was an old man playing video poker in the corner, and some young couple in the corner.
Brian made us the usual Manhattans dividing the shaker between two glasses. "I'll have to make 'em one at a time now for you, Bunny. You'll still come in, right?"
"Of course," I said, even though I live on the other side of town now. A group of people came in, so we moved to a booth. The old man playing video poker left, and so did the couple. Cheri and I talked about her plans. She's moving to San Francisco for a change of scene. She'd better come visit. A lot. She's a fantastic visual artist, making abstract figures out of clay.
By the time everyone left the bar, it was about eleven.
"Is Garrett coming?" I asked. Cheri wasn't sure. They had lunch earlier in the day, and that was probably their goodbye. Brian came up to the booth, polishing a pint glass. He had turned off the neon 'OPEN' sign. When the bar gets slow, they'll close early on weeknights.
"I can think of something else I'd like to see you polish," said Cheri, grabbing the front of his black pants again. Brian was almost instantly hard. "Take it out. You want to make me happy, don't you?"
Brian's eyes were glassy.
"Don't make me mad," said Cheri. "Take your cock out now, show Bunny your trick."
"Yes ma'am," said Brian. He glanced towards the door, and unzipped his fly. He had on cotton boxers underneath, and the front of his pants just sort of burst open. I squeezed my thighs together, as he laid his cock on the table. He glances towards the door again, but the situation was too tempting. His thing lay there, pale, covered with blue veins. It was thicker than his forearm. I'd never seen it close up. He lifted his balls from the front of his pants.
"That's a good boy," said Cheri, as he placed his cock on top of his balls, which he put on the table. His nuts were big and full looking, covered with wispy, light hairs. Cheri leaned forward, chin resting on her hand. I was working my pussy muscles, totally excited by the giant cock lying in front of me like Thanksgiving dinner.
Slowly at first, he began to rub against the table. It was just a slight motion, and the table was more in contact with his balls. His breathing was slow and even. He let out a slight moan. I contracted my pussy muscles every time he gave a thrust.
"Does that feel good, Brian?" said Cheri, looking up at his face. "Does it feel good to do a performance for me again? Do you like doing this in front of my friend?"
Brian moaned.
"I bet. Look at you, working that big cock. Is that how you do it, you pervert? I bet you do this alone all the time, when you're closing the bar. It's different when you have two hot chicks watching, though. Your cock is so hard right now while we watch you jerk off. No hands, even, just that thrusting against the edge of the table. I bet the cool surface feels so good on your hot, full balls. I can't wait until you unload on the table. Are you going to do that for us, Brian?"
"Oh yeah," he said, softly, thrusting a little harder. The edge of the table banged against the wall now. The enormous cockhead was rubbing on the laminate, the already sticky bar table. I could feel the gusset of my panties were soaking now. I could feel my pussy throbbing. I was so close to having an orgasm.
"Well, I want to see him come," said Cheri. Brian's cock continued to move steadily, the thick blue veins swelling up, twisting around his shaft. "Do you want to see Brian come, Bunny?"
His cockhead was now purple, and was so swollen it looked painful. His breathing was rapid and shallow.
"Brian," I said. "You filthy masturbater. This is so gross. I bet you're going to come any second, aren't you? I bet you're going to spray your load all over this bar table, right between us. Your balls are just full of come, churning in your sac. I want you to blow it all over, right in-"
I didn't finish. Brian stopped, suddenly.
"Ohhhhhhhh," he moaned. The first jet of come made it all the way across the table, a white streak of thick jism shooting out from his rock hard cock. The next went totally to the left, falling on the vinyl booth seat.
"Get that thing under control," Cheri said, and laughed. There were two more little spurts, and then it was over, his cock giving a few final throbs. Brian let out a big sigh. Cheri and I both applauded. He tried to look nonchalant, and then grinned. He tucked his cock back in his pants, and zipped up. My pussy ached, unfulfilled. Cheri looked feverish.
The bell on the bar door jingled.
"Don't let me ruin your good time," said Garrett. He pulled off his canvas jacket. Cheri got up. She suggested that we all go sit at the bar.
"This table's kind of sticky," she said. Garrett rolled his eyes.
I've got to go get some 'real' writing done, but that wasn't the end of the night. I'll finish that next week.
It was cold, but all the snow was gone, so it was no problem getting an Uber over to Cheri's place. It wasn't going to be a late night for her, since she had to hit the road so early the next day. She suggested we go for a drink, so we walked to her local bar, the one we'd been to a million times before, picking up men. Before I bought my house, I lived with her for a year or so, and it was our regular.
Don't get me wrong, I get plenty of guys looking at me, but not like Cheri. She's tall and willowy, with long blonde hair that she sometimes has dyed a very ethereal and natural shade of red, and has these big blue eyes and insanely long legs, an innocent face, a filthy mind.
Ryan was behind the bar. It was slow, for a Friday. The lights were low, rain was coming down on the windows and there was constant traffic on the street outside. It was cozy and soothing. Cheri and Bran dated for awhile. They broke up because he wanted to get serious and marry her, and she wasn't interested. They're friends now, though. According to Cheri, Bran had one of the biggest dicks she'd ever seen, and she's kind of the expert.
"Are you leaving Saturday?" Brian asked. He came from behind the bar and gave us each a big hug.
"I thought I'd get a head start, I'm leaving tomorrow," said Cheri. "Boxes are in the van."
Brian's not Cheri's usual flavor. He's Goth, and skinny, which is what makes his cock such a shock. I saw it once. One night I went to my bedroom to write, leaving the two of them in the living room.
I was distracted for a half an hour or so, working on a story. Without thinking, I opened my door to get a glass of water. They didn't hear me. Cheri was lying down on the couch, facing away from me, and Brian was standing over her, naked. His cock was only half hard, but it dangled down like a third, stunted leg. He rubbed the head against her tits, her rosy nipples sticking straight up from arousal.
As I took a quiet step back, he looked up and saw me, standing there, watching. There was a moment of intense eye contact, and his thing began to quickly inflate to its full size. The head was well bigger than the shaft, a total red plum that swelled to purple. I was so turned on, watching him stab my best friend's tits with his huge cock. Cheri caught it in her hand, and I saw her working the pre-cum over the head. They spoke for a moment, but I couldn't hear.
He slid that big cock into her mouth, working it all over her wet lips. Cheri still had her trademark white cotton panties on, and I watched her free hand digging around down there, masturbating as she tried to suck Brian's enormous cock. His eyes met mine for a second, and his motions increased. Then Cherie grabbed his cock from her mouth, and sat up. I could tell they were going to fuck. That was when we first lived together, before we knew each other all that well, and I retreated back into my room before she could see me.
When Brian hugged her in the bar last night, we looked at each other again, and I could see the outline of his cock grow. Cheri reached down and grabbed it, gave it a quick squeeze, and then he went back behind the bar. There was an old man playing video poker in the corner, and some young couple in the corner.
Brian made us the usual Manhattans dividing the shaker between two glasses. "I'll have to make 'em one at a time now for you, Bunny. You'll still come in, right?"
"Of course," I said, even though I live on the other side of town now. A group of people came in, so we moved to a booth. The old man playing video poker left, and so did the couple. Cheri and I talked about her plans. She's moving to San Francisco for a change of scene. She'd better come visit. A lot. She's a fantastic visual artist, making abstract figures out of clay.
By the time everyone left the bar, it was about eleven.
"Is Garrett coming?" I asked. Cheri wasn't sure. They had lunch earlier in the day, and that was probably their goodbye. Brian came up to the booth, polishing a pint glass. He had turned off the neon 'OPEN' sign. When the bar gets slow, they'll close early on weeknights.
"I can think of something else I'd like to see you polish," said Cheri, grabbing the front of his black pants again. Brian was almost instantly hard. "Take it out. You want to make me happy, don't you?"
Brian's eyes were glassy.
"Don't make me mad," said Cheri. "Take your cock out now, show Bunny your trick."
"Yes ma'am," said Brian. He glanced towards the door, and unzipped his fly. He had on cotton boxers underneath, and the front of his pants just sort of burst open. I squeezed my thighs together, as he laid his cock on the table. He glances towards the door again, but the situation was too tempting. His thing lay there, pale, covered with blue veins. It was thicker than his forearm. I'd never seen it close up. He lifted his balls from the front of his pants.
"That's a good boy," said Cheri, as he placed his cock on top of his balls, which he put on the table. His nuts were big and full looking, covered with wispy, light hairs. Cheri leaned forward, chin resting on her hand. I was working my pussy muscles, totally excited by the giant cock lying in front of me like Thanksgiving dinner.
Slowly at first, he began to rub against the table. It was just a slight motion, and the table was more in contact with his balls. His breathing was slow and even. He let out a slight moan. I contracted my pussy muscles every time he gave a thrust.
"Does that feel good, Brian?" said Cheri, looking up at his face. "Does it feel good to do a performance for me again? Do you like doing this in front of my friend?"
Brian moaned.
"I bet. Look at you, working that big cock. Is that how you do it, you pervert? I bet you do this alone all the time, when you're closing the bar. It's different when you have two hot chicks watching, though. Your cock is so hard right now while we watch you jerk off. No hands, even, just that thrusting against the edge of the table. I bet the cool surface feels so good on your hot, full balls. I can't wait until you unload on the table. Are you going to do that for us, Brian?"
"Oh yeah," he said, softly, thrusting a little harder. The edge of the table banged against the wall now. The enormous cockhead was rubbing on the laminate, the already sticky bar table. I could feel the gusset of my panties were soaking now. I could feel my pussy throbbing. I was so close to having an orgasm.
"Well, I want to see him come," said Cheri. Brian's cock continued to move steadily, the thick blue veins swelling up, twisting around his shaft. "Do you want to see Brian come, Bunny?"
His cockhead was now purple, and was so swollen it looked painful. His breathing was rapid and shallow.
"Brian," I said. "You filthy masturbater. This is so gross. I bet you're going to come any second, aren't you? I bet you're going to spray your load all over this bar table, right between us. Your balls are just full of come, churning in your sac. I want you to blow it all over, right in-"
I didn't finish. Brian stopped, suddenly.
"Ohhhhhhhh," he moaned. The first jet of come made it all the way across the table, a white streak of thick jism shooting out from his rock hard cock. The next went totally to the left, falling on the vinyl booth seat.
"Get that thing under control," Cheri said, and laughed. There were two more little spurts, and then it was over, his cock giving a few final throbs. Brian let out a big sigh. Cheri and I both applauded. He tried to look nonchalant, and then grinned. He tucked his cock back in his pants, and zipped up. My pussy ached, unfulfilled. Cheri looked feverish.
The bell on the bar door jingled.
"Don't let me ruin your good time," said Garrett. He pulled off his canvas jacket. Cheri got up. She suggested that we all go sit at the bar.
"This table's kind of sticky," she said. Garrett rolled his eyes.
I've got to go get some 'real' writing done, but that wasn't the end of the night. I'll finish that next week.
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