“I hate the opera,” grumbled Erica, as she furled and unfurled the two-page program. She had noticed two typos when she skimmed through it. How good could the production be?
As the orchestra tuned up, random notes of mediocre music drifted through the audience, though the term audience was pushing it a bit. Forty-two people in an auditorium that held two-fifty hardly qualified as an audience.
But there it was.
And so was Erica. Sitting in the back row of a near-empty auditorium, waiting for a fat broad with humongous boobs to come out on stage and sing at an octave only dogs would hear. It wasn’t over until she did. That, my friends, is a known fact.
“You agreed to come with me tonight.” Jason’s face was deadpan as he reached over, pressed his hand on her bouncing knee. He pressed just hard enough to make his point. Stop making a scene. Or else.
Erica stilled her leg, slumped back in her seat. She had worn her favorite evening dress—a black mid-thigh flare—and a lacy garter. She had spent thirty minutes on her hair, twenty on her makeup.
For this. This small-town, amateur freak show.
“That’s better.” Jason rewarded her with a light kiss on her cheek as the lights dimmed and the orchestra played the opening notes.
Pouting in the dark, Erica watched performers with worn costumes and tired voices drag through their scenes.
She deserved to be rewarded for this, for sitting through singers that sounded like cats in heat. She deserved to be rewarded for giving in to Jason’s ridiculous whims, his drive to support local arts. She deserved…
Her head swiveled over to him when his hand creeped up her leg, under her dress, fingered the hook of her garter that rested well up her thigh.
Erica smiled into the darkness of the near-empty theater. She swiveled her head back and faced the actors, let her head tilt back and spread her thighs in carefree invitation. Oh, yeah, she deserved this.
Jason’s hand slid up her thigh, his finger grazing the folds of her pussy.
“You’re already wet,” he breathed into her ear as he palmed her.
Two fingers dipped down, came back up—lubed—to stroke her clit. She could only nod as wave after wave of need ripped through her.
“You like when I finger you, don’t you?”
She nodded again. “Don’t stop.” She meant to sound demanding, but it came out more like a whimper.
That didn’t matter. Jason knew what she wanted. He thrust two fingers into her pussy and fucked into her with lightning speed.
The sucking noises of her wet cunt matched the tempo of the music as he pounded his fingers into her. Her moans melted with the aria, seemed to harmonize with the players. And when Jason made her cum, her cries of release were drowned out by the ear-splitting falsetto of the fat lady.
Thursday 31 August 2017
Wednesday 30 August 2017
Tied to her
The charity ball went late; the band was pumping music and everyone danced well past two. It was almost three when they got home.
She walked in ahead of him, stopped in the foyer as he let the door close behind him. He glanced at her over his shoulder as he flicked the lock.
Dusky light from the library washed the hall like candlelight.
She reached back, unzipped her dress. She shifted her left shoulder, then the right, let the dress fall down in a puddle around her feet. She took two steps toward him wearing nothing but three-inch stilettos.
He was instantly hard, rubbed a hand against his cock.
A breath apart, she pressed her hand against his. “Let me do that.”
He dropped his hand, but she didn’t replace it. Instead, she dropped to her knees, helped him with his shoes. She unzipped his pants, nudged them down.
“Mmmmm.” She rubbed her cheek against his cock. “You went commando, too.”
She cupped his balls as he stepped out of his pants, swirled her tongue over the head of his cock, relished the fat bead of pre-cum that clung to him. She took him in her mouth, just the head, sucking him as she massaged his sack.
He wanted to take his time, enjoy fucking her mouth, but she felt so god dammed good.
He undid his cuffs, loosened his tie, unbuttoned the collar.
She pulled back with a loud pop. “You can take the shirt off, but leave the tie on.”
He grinned down at her. “If you keep the shoes on.”
She nodded. “Deal.”
She took him in as far as she could, gagged a little. He let his shirt fall to the floor as his head dropped back against the wall and he groaned.
She reached up with one hand to stroke his tie, matching each thrust into her mouth, as if the silk were an extension of his cock.
When he shot down her throat, she yanked hard on the tie, as if she were cumming herself.
She walked in ahead of him, stopped in the foyer as he let the door close behind him. He glanced at her over his shoulder as he flicked the lock.
Dusky light from the library washed the hall like candlelight.
She reached back, unzipped her dress. She shifted her left shoulder, then the right, let the dress fall down in a puddle around her feet. She took two steps toward him wearing nothing but three-inch stilettos.
He was instantly hard, rubbed a hand against his cock.
A breath apart, she pressed her hand against his. “Let me do that.”
He dropped his hand, but she didn’t replace it. Instead, she dropped to her knees, helped him with his shoes. She unzipped his pants, nudged them down.
“Mmmmm.” She rubbed her cheek against his cock. “You went commando, too.”
She cupped his balls as he stepped out of his pants, swirled her tongue over the head of his cock, relished the fat bead of pre-cum that clung to him. She took him in her mouth, just the head, sucking him as she massaged his sack.
He wanted to take his time, enjoy fucking her mouth, but she felt so god dammed good.
He undid his cuffs, loosened his tie, unbuttoned the collar.
She pulled back with a loud pop. “You can take the shirt off, but leave the tie on.”
He grinned down at her. “If you keep the shoes on.”
She nodded. “Deal.”
She took him in as far as she could, gagged a little. He let his shirt fall to the floor as his head dropped back against the wall and he groaned.
She reached up with one hand to stroke his tie, matching each thrust into her mouth, as if the silk were an extension of his cock.
When he shot down her throat, she yanked hard on the tie, as if she were cumming herself.
Tuesday 29 August 2017
Living Room Sex
A trail of clothes blazed a trail from the front door to the living room.
Naked, Simon dropped onto the sofa, pulled Sharon down with him. He shifted her until she was straddling him, pressed his erection against her clit, sending shock waves through her.
Oh yes, this is what she wanted, what she needed.
Sharon cupped his face with both hands, pressed her mouth against his. Her tongue pushed through his lips, searched out his. His hands clamped around her waist and she rocked, ground her clit against his hard cock, let that familiar heat coil between her legs, spread throughout her body. He matched her tempo, thrusting up to meet her. As she rocked, her hands skimmed over his shoulders, savored how his muscles flexed beneath her touch.
Heat within her grew to an inferno and she dragged her lips along his throat, nibbled just below his ear. She moaned as the pressure built.
“I need you inside me, Simon. Now!”
She rocked up onto her knees, gripped his cock and sank down. She groaned, reveling in the fullness of him inside her. She rose up then slid back down; slow at first, then faster and faster as greed whipped through her. Teetering on the edge, she rode him, fucking him like a piston, chasing the release that was just out of reach. “Please,” she moaned into his ear. “You know what I need.” “Yeah. I know what you fucking need.” Simone brought his fingers to his mouth, soaking them, then reached behind her, pressing a finger into her ass.
"Fuck, yes!" Sharon bowed back as the orgasm ripped through her. “Again. Do it again.”
Oh yes, this is what she wanted, what she needed.
Sharon cupped his face with both hands, pressed her mouth against his. Her tongue pushed through his lips, searched out his. His hands clamped around her waist and she rocked, ground her clit against his hard cock, let that familiar heat coil between her legs, spread throughout her body. He matched her tempo, thrusting up to meet her. As she rocked, her hands skimmed over his shoulders, savored how his muscles flexed beneath her touch.
Heat within her grew to an inferno and she dragged her lips along his throat, nibbled just below his ear. She moaned as the pressure built.
“I need you inside me, Simon. Now!”
She rocked up onto her knees, gripped his cock and sank down. She groaned, reveling in the fullness of him inside her. She rose up then slid back down; slow at first, then faster and faster as greed whipped through her. Teetering on the edge, she rode him, fucking him like a piston, chasing the release that was just out of reach. “Please,” she moaned into his ear. “You know what I need.” “Yeah. I know what you fucking need.” Simone brought his fingers to his mouth, soaking them, then reached behind her, pressing a finger into her ass.
"Fuck, yes!" Sharon bowed back as the orgasm ripped through her. “Again. Do it again.”
Monday 28 August 2017
That Extra Push
She’s on all fours, face pressed into the pillow. He kneels behind her, balls deep in her cunt.
He pulls back, almost all the way out, until he sees the crown of his cock. She lets out a quiet whimper.
“Put it back,” she says.
He thrusts into her and she pushes back, matches his pace, her pussy dripping with need and greed.
“Fuck me,” she begs.
“I’m fucking you, baby.”
“Not just my pussy.”
He grins. He loves his greedy girl. “My pleasure, baby.”
He lets saliva drip from his mouth, aims it to coat her anus, then presses a thumb into her ass.
She pushes against him, groaning, adds a small rotation.
“Harder,” she demands.
Not one to deny his woman, he slams into her, her tight cunt squeezing his cock like a vice. His thumb drills into her ass until she spasms around him. Her ass clenches his thumb and her cunt convulses around his throbbing cock.
He gives one final thrust. “That’s it baby,” and cums deep into her.
He strokes her hair, her back, her ass. It calms both of them as their breathing returns to normal. His cock is soft now and leans back to withdraw.
She groans and shoves back against him, reaches back and presses her middle finger into her ass. “I’m not done.”
His cock twitches to life inside her cunt and he grins. Fuck, he loves his greedy girl.
He pulls back, almost all the way out, until he sees the crown of his cock. She lets out a quiet whimper.
“Put it back,” she says.
He thrusts into her and she pushes back, matches his pace, her pussy dripping with need and greed.
“Fuck me,” she begs.
“I’m fucking you, baby.”
“Not just my pussy.”
He grins. He loves his greedy girl. “My pleasure, baby.”
He lets saliva drip from his mouth, aims it to coat her anus, then presses a thumb into her ass.
She pushes against him, groaning, adds a small rotation.
“Harder,” she demands.
Not one to deny his woman, he slams into her, her tight cunt squeezing his cock like a vice. His thumb drills into her ass until she spasms around him. Her ass clenches his thumb and her cunt convulses around his throbbing cock.
He gives one final thrust. “That’s it baby,” and cums deep into her.
He strokes her hair, her back, her ass. It calms both of them as their breathing returns to normal. His cock is soft now and leans back to withdraw.
She groans and shoves back against him, reaches back and presses her middle finger into her ass. “I’m not done.”
His cock twitches to life inside her cunt and he grins. Fuck, he loves his greedy girl.
Sunday 27 August 2017
Prude
It’s the end of the day, and I’m heading home.
“Hey. How’s it going?” Dean calls out from his office.
I stop, lean against the door jam. It’s all I can do to keep from squirming, pressing my thighs together.
Dean has a deep, gravelly voice. Not Barry-White-deep, but a baritone timber that makes my pussy tremble. I shouldn’t be thinking about him this way. He’s a co-worker and fucking your co-workers is frowned upon.
Too bad.
I’ve had some pretty serious fantasies about fucking Dean; spent many nights fingering myself, imagining his thumbs spreading my pussy, his warm mouth sucking my clit.
He is slumped in his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms, one foot on his desk. Careless. Sexy.
“What did you think of the post?” I ask him.
He heard I was a writer, asked me for the address to my blog. I sent him a link to my mainstream site where I write relatively tame prose.
Last week, I posted a piece that was a little risqué and, knowing that I have several Christian followers, I posted a warning at the beginning of the post saying that it was a little naughty and to continue reading at your own risk. After all, I don’t need a god-fearing woman fainting when she reads the word ‘cock’.
I didn’t use the other C-word, though I do love that word. Saying it. Touching it. Licking it.
*head shake* Focus!
“I didn’t read the post,” Dean says.
“Right. You’ve been busy.”
He shakes his head. “No. I can’t read it.”
“Oh. Sure.” My pussy weeps a little as I imagine him reading it at work, stroking his cock through his pants as he scrolls down the page, unable to leave his office until he softens. “Well, you can read it at home.”
Where you can stroke yourself until you cum, I continue in my head, though I really want to watch you do that that. And suck you until you shoot down my throat.
Jesus! Focus!
“No,” he says, blushing. “I can’t read that.”
“Why not?” I’m confused and a little amused. He’s my age and can’t possibly be that green. “It’s not that bad. It’s pretty tame, actually.” I do, after all, write erotica.
He’s embarrassed now. “No. I can’t.” He holds his hands up in submission. Possibly defense.
“Wait a minute.” I understand now and grin. “You’re a prude!”
He laughs. “I am.”
I think about my fantasies, how many times he has made me cum in my dreams, and I shake my head. “You just burst my bubble.”
He shrugs. “I’m a prude.”
I glance up and down the hallway, note the vacant cubicles, the dark offices. I look back at him. “I bet you’re not,” I whisper and step into his office.
“I am. Wait. What are you doing?” He pulls his foot off his desk, sits up in his chair.
I close the door behind me, flip the lock. I don’t want the cleaning lady to walk in on us.
“You’re not a prude.” In a few steps I’m in front of him. His eyes dart around as if looking for an escape but he’s trapped.
I kneel in front of him, glide my hands up his thighs until they cup his hips.
“What are you doing?” He is panicked, but he doesn’t move.
I shift my hands down to the vee of his crotch and push his thighs apart.
“I can’t. We can’t.” He’s practically begging.
I look up at him, press my hand against his hard cock. “Who says we can’t?”
I flip the button of his pants, ease down the zipper, free his cock from his boxers. I lick my lips at the glorious sight of the bead of pre-cum that glistens on the fat head.
My eyes flick up to his in question. Do you want me to stop? I hope he doesn’t because I want to taste him. I need to taste him.
He stares at me, his eyes locked on mine, and I can see he wars with his demons. Then he grips the arms of his chair, as if he submits.
“Mmmmm.” I swirl my tongue around the head and he lets out a whimper. I wrap my lips around him and suck. He moans, thrusts his hips. “That’s it,” I say, encouraging him. “Fuck my mouth.” I drag my lips up and down the shaft, paying attention to the sensitive spot just below the head.
I grip his cock with one hand, take him in as far as I can. I glance up at him to find him watching me, mesmerized, it seems, as his cock glides in and out of my mouth.
I keep my eyes on his and tighten my grip, pace my hand strokes with my mouth. His hips thrust, shy and hesitant.
“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes. Yes.”
Fingers curl into my hair as his thrusting into my mouth becomes more urgent. He groans, deep and feral.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” He no longer whispers.
He pumps into me, holding my head in place, fucking my mouth with a feverish frenzy. His cock is rigid and I know he’s about to cum.
“Stop. Stop. Stop.” He sounds apologetic and desperate.
I cup his balls and continue to suck, humming to add a vibration.
“Oh God!” He grips my hair as he shoots down my throat.
Tangy and salty, I savor him as he relaxes into his chair. I ease off, sit back on my heels.
“See? You’re not a prude.”
He sighs, taps my cheek with his cock. “You may have created a monster.”
I grin. “I hope so.”
“Hey. How’s it going?” Dean calls out from his office.
I stop, lean against the door jam. It’s all I can do to keep from squirming, pressing my thighs together.
Dean has a deep, gravelly voice. Not Barry-White-deep, but a baritone timber that makes my pussy tremble. I shouldn’t be thinking about him this way. He’s a co-worker and fucking your co-workers is frowned upon.
Too bad.
I’ve had some pretty serious fantasies about fucking Dean; spent many nights fingering myself, imagining his thumbs spreading my pussy, his warm mouth sucking my clit.
He is slumped in his chair, shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms, one foot on his desk. Careless. Sexy.
“What did you think of the post?” I ask him.
He heard I was a writer, asked me for the address to my blog. I sent him a link to my mainstream site where I write relatively tame prose.
Last week, I posted a piece that was a little risqué and, knowing that I have several Christian followers, I posted a warning at the beginning of the post saying that it was a little naughty and to continue reading at your own risk. After all, I don’t need a god-fearing woman fainting when she reads the word ‘cock’.
I didn’t use the other C-word, though I do love that word. Saying it. Touching it. Licking it.
*head shake* Focus!
“I didn’t read the post,” Dean says.
“Right. You’ve been busy.”
He shakes his head. “No. I can’t read it.”
“Oh. Sure.” My pussy weeps a little as I imagine him reading it at work, stroking his cock through his pants as he scrolls down the page, unable to leave his office until he softens. “Well, you can read it at home.”
Where you can stroke yourself until you cum, I continue in my head, though I really want to watch you do that that. And suck you until you shoot down my throat.
Jesus! Focus!
“No,” he says, blushing. “I can’t read that.”
“Why not?” I’m confused and a little amused. He’s my age and can’t possibly be that green. “It’s not that bad. It’s pretty tame, actually.” I do, after all, write erotica.
He’s embarrassed now. “No. I can’t.” He holds his hands up in submission. Possibly defense.
“Wait a minute.” I understand now and grin. “You’re a prude!”
He laughs. “I am.”
I think about my fantasies, how many times he has made me cum in my dreams, and I shake my head. “You just burst my bubble.”
He shrugs. “I’m a prude.”
I glance up and down the hallway, note the vacant cubicles, the dark offices. I look back at him. “I bet you’re not,” I whisper and step into his office.
“I am. Wait. What are you doing?” He pulls his foot off his desk, sits up in his chair.
I close the door behind me, flip the lock. I don’t want the cleaning lady to walk in on us.
“You’re not a prude.” In a few steps I’m in front of him. His eyes dart around as if looking for an escape but he’s trapped.
I kneel in front of him, glide my hands up his thighs until they cup his hips.
“What are you doing?” He is panicked, but he doesn’t move.
I shift my hands down to the vee of his crotch and push his thighs apart.
“I can’t. We can’t.” He’s practically begging.
I look up at him, press my hand against his hard cock. “Who says we can’t?”
I flip the button of his pants, ease down the zipper, free his cock from his boxers. I lick my lips at the glorious sight of the bead of pre-cum that glistens on the fat head.
My eyes flick up to his in question. Do you want me to stop? I hope he doesn’t because I want to taste him. I need to taste him.
He stares at me, his eyes locked on mine, and I can see he wars with his demons. Then he grips the arms of his chair, as if he submits.
“Mmmmm.” I swirl my tongue around the head and he lets out a whimper. I wrap my lips around him and suck. He moans, thrusts his hips. “That’s it,” I say, encouraging him. “Fuck my mouth.” I drag my lips up and down the shaft, paying attention to the sensitive spot just below the head.
I grip his cock with one hand, take him in as far as I can. I glance up at him to find him watching me, mesmerized, it seems, as his cock glides in and out of my mouth.
I keep my eyes on his and tighten my grip, pace my hand strokes with my mouth. His hips thrust, shy and hesitant.
“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes. Yes.”
Fingers curl into my hair as his thrusting into my mouth becomes more urgent. He groans, deep and feral.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” He no longer whispers.
He pumps into me, holding my head in place, fucking my mouth with a feverish frenzy. His cock is rigid and I know he’s about to cum.
“Stop. Stop. Stop.” He sounds apologetic and desperate.
I cup his balls and continue to suck, humming to add a vibration.
“Oh God!” He grips my hair as he shoots down my throat.
Tangy and salty, I savor him as he relaxes into his chair. I ease off, sit back on my heels.
“See? You’re not a prude.”
He sighs, taps my cheek with his cock. “You may have created a monster.”
I grin. “I hope so.”
Saturday 26 August 2017
Bar Scene
Eric sits in the hotel bar, his back to the polished mahogany counter, and watches the crowd of nubile bodies bump against one another in a timeless ritual. He considers trolling the room, finding someone to pass the time, but then he sees her.
It was worth the wait.
She walks across the room with an easy gait that has many men—and more than a few women—turning to appreciate the fine craftsmanship of the gods. Auburn hair cascades down her back in waves. Hips—barely covered in a short black dress—sway in invitation. Long, bare legs that seem to go on for miles, look even longer in three-inch stilettos. He knows too well how it feels to have those strong legs wrapped around him.
She takes the stool next to him, orders a dry martini. He bites back a smile when a man—can’t be more than twenty-five, Eric figures—wearing an expensive suit, positions himself next to her. This should be good, he thinks.
She cups her martini; red lacquered nails contrast against the clear glass. She lifts skewered olives to her lips. Her tongue darts out, circles the rim of the pimento, then plump lips suckle the green mound. She holds it for a moment, allows the olive to peek out once, then sucks it in, rolling it in her mouth as she keeps her eyes locked with the Suit’s.
Eric can’t help but pity the boy, who’s Adam’s apple goes into convulsions.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the Suit asks.
The woman tips her head. “That’s very kind of you.” Her voice all but purrs. She offers her mega-watt smile and Eric is certain the kid will fall over. “But I’m with someone.”
The kid’s face falls, he stammers an apology, then walks away.
“That was cruel.” Eric doesn’t look at her but continues to scan the room.
“How so?” she asks.
“Come on. That poor kid’s dick is hard as rock right now.”
She grins, sucks another olive into her mouth. She reaches over, glides her hand up Eric’s thigh, cups the bulge in his pants. She smiles. “So is yours.”
He reaches over in what appears to be a casual gesture, yanks her thighs apart and pushes his hand under her skirt. She gasps when his fingers press against the thin silk of her panties, already wet with anticipation and greed.
With his thumb, he tears the fabric and rams two fingers into her wet cunt.
“I’m not the only one who’s ready.”
He pistons once, twice, then grins when she convulses around him. He keeps his eyes on hers as he puts his dripping fingers into his mouth, sucks noisily.
“Shall we carry on in our room?” he asks.
“Oh, god, yes.”
It was worth the wait.
She walks across the room with an easy gait that has many men—and more than a few women—turning to appreciate the fine craftsmanship of the gods. Auburn hair cascades down her back in waves. Hips—barely covered in a short black dress—sway in invitation. Long, bare legs that seem to go on for miles, look even longer in three-inch stilettos. He knows too well how it feels to have those strong legs wrapped around him.
She takes the stool next to him, orders a dry martini. He bites back a smile when a man—can’t be more than twenty-five, Eric figures—wearing an expensive suit, positions himself next to her. This should be good, he thinks.
She cups her martini; red lacquered nails contrast against the clear glass. She lifts skewered olives to her lips. Her tongue darts out, circles the rim of the pimento, then plump lips suckle the green mound. She holds it for a moment, allows the olive to peek out once, then sucks it in, rolling it in her mouth as she keeps her eyes locked with the Suit’s.
Eric can’t help but pity the boy, who’s Adam’s apple goes into convulsions.
“Can I buy you a drink?” the Suit asks.
The woman tips her head. “That’s very kind of you.” Her voice all but purrs. She offers her mega-watt smile and Eric is certain the kid will fall over. “But I’m with someone.”
The kid’s face falls, he stammers an apology, then walks away.
“That was cruel.” Eric doesn’t look at her but continues to scan the room.
“How so?” she asks.
“Come on. That poor kid’s dick is hard as rock right now.”
She grins, sucks another olive into her mouth. She reaches over, glides her hand up Eric’s thigh, cups the bulge in his pants. She smiles. “So is yours.”
He reaches over in what appears to be a casual gesture, yanks her thighs apart and pushes his hand under her skirt. She gasps when his fingers press against the thin silk of her panties, already wet with anticipation and greed.
With his thumb, he tears the fabric and rams two fingers into her wet cunt.
“I’m not the only one who’s ready.”
He pistons once, twice, then grins when she convulses around him. He keeps his eyes on hers as he puts his dripping fingers into his mouth, sucks noisily.
“Shall we carry on in our room?” he asks.
“Oh, god, yes.”
Friday 25 August 2017
Blackout
Rain pummeled the windows as though it would shatter the double-pane glass. Inside the small cottage, a roaring fire and several lamps kept the darkness at bay. A heavy quilt covered the wood floor in front of the fireplace where Amanda and Frank lay sprawled watching television. Half-empty wine glasses lay within reach, the popcorn bowl was emptied long ago. With the thunder and lightning outside, it seemed appropriate to watch a slasher film.
Amanda shook her head, snorted in disgust. “Why do they stop running and turn back? Have they never watched a horror film? It’s disgusting. An embarrassment to all womankind.”
Frank angled his head. “At least she has big tits.”
“Please! If big tits were your thing, we wouldn’t have made it past the first date.”
“Good thing I like them small and sensitive.” He yanked her over to him, cupped her right breast. He grinned when she moaned.
“Stop it,” she said, though she arched against him. “The blonde’s about to get killed.”
As if on cue, a knife-wielding sociopath ran out from the trees as the music rose to a deafening pitch.
Frank nibbled on Amanda’s neck. “There she goes.”
With a crack of thunder, the room went into complete darkness. The only light came from the fireplace; the only sound was the crackling fire.
“Uh oh.” Amanda went still. She had never outgrown her fear of thunderstorms and, by consequence, the dark. “Now what?”
“I’ll keep you safe.” Frank’s voice was deep and breathy next to her ear. His hand moved under her shirt, flicked open the front clasp of her bra, then kneaded her breast. His thumb and forefinger pinched the hungry nipple.
Amanda turned into him. “Oh. Well. In that case.”
She reached down to cup his cock, but he pushed her back. “Not yet.”
Frank pulled up her shirt, flicked aside the open bra and clamped onto an eager breast. Amanda arched as need rushed through her. “Yes!”
Frank’s hand skimmed down her belly, beneath the elastic of her cotton shorts, under the silk panties. His fingers made small circles on her clit, matching the circles he made with his tongue on her nipple.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he moaned.
The pressure was unbearable. She needed to wrap around him, needed him inside her.
“Now!” she panted.
Frank rammed two fingers into her, pistoned in and out, until she came, her cunt convulsing around his fingers, her sweet juice flowing down his hand.
Amanda shook her head, snorted in disgust. “Why do they stop running and turn back? Have they never watched a horror film? It’s disgusting. An embarrassment to all womankind.”
Frank angled his head. “At least she has big tits.”
“Please! If big tits were your thing, we wouldn’t have made it past the first date.”
“Good thing I like them small and sensitive.” He yanked her over to him, cupped her right breast. He grinned when she moaned.
“Stop it,” she said, though she arched against him. “The blonde’s about to get killed.”
As if on cue, a knife-wielding sociopath ran out from the trees as the music rose to a deafening pitch.
Frank nibbled on Amanda’s neck. “There she goes.”
With a crack of thunder, the room went into complete darkness. The only light came from the fireplace; the only sound was the crackling fire.
“Uh oh.” Amanda went still. She had never outgrown her fear of thunderstorms and, by consequence, the dark. “Now what?”
“I’ll keep you safe.” Frank’s voice was deep and breathy next to her ear. His hand moved under her shirt, flicked open the front clasp of her bra, then kneaded her breast. His thumb and forefinger pinched the hungry nipple.
Amanda turned into him. “Oh. Well. In that case.”
She reached down to cup his cock, but he pushed her back. “Not yet.”
Frank pulled up her shirt, flicked aside the open bra and clamped onto an eager breast. Amanda arched as need rushed through her. “Yes!”
Frank’s hand skimmed down her belly, beneath the elastic of her cotton shorts, under the silk panties. His fingers made small circles on her clit, matching the circles he made with his tongue on her nipple.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he moaned.
The pressure was unbearable. She needed to wrap around him, needed him inside her.
“Now!” she panted.
Frank rammed two fingers into her, pistoned in and out, until she came, her cunt convulsing around his fingers, her sweet juice flowing down his hand.
Thursday 24 August 2017
Bedside Manners
She doesn’t just walk, she struts.
As her hips sway, the silk dressing gown flutters open, revealing golden skin and long, long legs. A casual shrug, and the gown slips off one shoulder, exposing one perky breast, the dark nipple already hard and hungry.
She stops next to the bed, tips her head and smiles. She pushes her index finger into her mouth all the way to the palm. I know her tongue is circling the tip, like she does when she takes my cock, sucks the head while she fists the shaft.
The finger comes out, glistening with saliva, and takes an provocative path down her body, stopping to circle the exposed nipple. She twists and pinches, her eyes glazing over with pleasure, then brings her hand down to her hip.
It dips behind the gown and I groan. She’s such a fucking tease!
“Show me.” She knows it’s a command, not a request, and she quickly drops the gown. Good girl The tiny triangle of dark fur points to treasure.
I nod my approval. “Better. Open up for me.”
She sets one foot on the bed, her thighs spread wide, exposing swollen lips, greasy with need.
“I need you inside me,” she begs.
I reach up, press my middle finger into her wet cunt. She sighs, clamps around me. “More,” she whispers.
I withdraw, return with two and she smiles. “Yes.” She rides my hand, an expression of pure ecstasy on her face, as she tugs her nipples. “Yes. Yes.”
When my thumb rubs against her clit, she cries out, her tight cunt clenching around my fingers as she cums. “Fuck, yes!”
She pulls my hand to her mouth, sucks her juices from my fingers.
Keeping her eyes on mine, she straddles my hips, lowers her wet pussy onto my cock. As she rides me, her mouth imitates her hips, fucking my fingers while she fucks my cock.
As her hips sway, the silk dressing gown flutters open, revealing golden skin and long, long legs. A casual shrug, and the gown slips off one shoulder, exposing one perky breast, the dark nipple already hard and hungry.
She stops next to the bed, tips her head and smiles. She pushes her index finger into her mouth all the way to the palm. I know her tongue is circling the tip, like she does when she takes my cock, sucks the head while she fists the shaft.
The finger comes out, glistening with saliva, and takes an provocative path down her body, stopping to circle the exposed nipple. She twists and pinches, her eyes glazing over with pleasure, then brings her hand down to her hip.
It dips behind the gown and I groan. She’s such a fucking tease!
“Show me.” She knows it’s a command, not a request, and she quickly drops the gown. Good girl The tiny triangle of dark fur points to treasure.
I nod my approval. “Better. Open up for me.”
She sets one foot on the bed, her thighs spread wide, exposing swollen lips, greasy with need.
“I need you inside me,” she begs.
I reach up, press my middle finger into her wet cunt. She sighs, clamps around me. “More,” she whispers.
I withdraw, return with two and she smiles. “Yes.” She rides my hand, an expression of pure ecstasy on her face, as she tugs her nipples. “Yes. Yes.”
When my thumb rubs against her clit, she cries out, her tight cunt clenching around my fingers as she cums. “Fuck, yes!”
She pulls my hand to her mouth, sucks her juices from my fingers.
Keeping her eyes on mine, she straddles my hips, lowers her wet pussy onto my cock. As she rides me, her mouth imitates her hips, fucking my fingers while she fucks my cock.
Wednesday 23 August 2017
Good Morning
I feel the tug of morning, just before sunrise, when he wraps a possessive arm around my waist, reaches up to cup my breast. Though I am not quite awake, my body responds, always ready for him, always wanting.
His hand travels down my hip, dips down between my legs. I spread them for him and he groans against my throat.
“You’re already wet.” His voice is slurred with sleep.
“I was dreaming of you.”
His finger swirls around my clit sending delicious shock waves through me. I press my ass against him and his cock slips easily between my legs, sliding against my slick pussy.
“Is this what you were dreaming of?”
“You were inside of me. Fucking me.”
“Like this?”
He presses into me, just the head, but it feels so fucking good and I want more, need more.
“Deeper.” It was supposed to sound like a command, but it sounds more like begging.
He pushes all the way into me. “Like this?”
He fills me, slides in and out with slow easy strokes, and I shudder. He feels so fucking good.
“Faster.” Now it’s a command.
He pulls out, rolls over, trapping me beneath him, shifts up onto his knees. He grips my hips with both hands, yanks my ass up in the air and plunges into my cunt, slamming his cock into me at a frenetic speed. Each slap brings me closer, teetering on the edge.
My fingers dig into the mattress, teeth bite into the pillow. The pressure is unbearable and I need release, need it from him. I groan when he brings his other hand to my pussy, fingering where his cock enters my cunt. He knows what I want and it makes me even more wet just knowing what he’ll do.
He takes his wet thumb and teases my ass, circling the eager rosebud until I can do nothing but whimper. My hips have a mind of their own and rock. I ride his cock and I press back against his thumb.
“Please,” I whimper. “Please.”
He presses his thumb into my ass and it sends me flying over the edge. Pain slams into pleasure and it is beyond my control. It’s what I was waiting for, what I needed. I convulse around him, panting his name, and I feel him release with me, his warm cum filling me as he ejaculates.
We collapse onto the bed, his cock still inside me, not quite flaccid yet, but twitching with new life, already eager for more.
“Good morning,” he whispers.
His hand travels down my hip, dips down between my legs. I spread them for him and he groans against my throat.
“You’re already wet.” His voice is slurred with sleep.
“I was dreaming of you.”
His finger swirls around my clit sending delicious shock waves through me. I press my ass against him and his cock slips easily between my legs, sliding against my slick pussy.
“Is this what you were dreaming of?”
“You were inside of me. Fucking me.”
“Like this?”
He presses into me, just the head, but it feels so fucking good and I want more, need more.
“Deeper.” It was supposed to sound like a command, but it sounds more like begging.
He pushes all the way into me. “Like this?”
He fills me, slides in and out with slow easy strokes, and I shudder. He feels so fucking good.
“Faster.” Now it’s a command.
He pulls out, rolls over, trapping me beneath him, shifts up onto his knees. He grips my hips with both hands, yanks my ass up in the air and plunges into my cunt, slamming his cock into me at a frenetic speed. Each slap brings me closer, teetering on the edge.
My fingers dig into the mattress, teeth bite into the pillow. The pressure is unbearable and I need release, need it from him. I groan when he brings his other hand to my pussy, fingering where his cock enters my cunt. He knows what I want and it makes me even more wet just knowing what he’ll do.
He takes his wet thumb and teases my ass, circling the eager rosebud until I can do nothing but whimper. My hips have a mind of their own and rock. I ride his cock and I press back against his thumb.
“Please,” I whimper. “Please.”
He presses his thumb into my ass and it sends me flying over the edge. Pain slams into pleasure and it is beyond my control. It’s what I was waiting for, what I needed. I convulse around him, panting his name, and I feel him release with me, his warm cum filling me as he ejaculates.
We collapse onto the bed, his cock still inside me, not quite flaccid yet, but twitching with new life, already eager for more.
“Good morning,” he whispers.
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