IF I’M GOING TO BE HONEST… – Courtney

Tags

been tied up, busty blonde, dirty little slut, emotionally abusive, express sexuality, hot men fucking, porn, romantic relationship, sexual relationship, sexual viewpoint, single mother, women fucking men, women fucking women

I’m in my thirties and I’m studying for my masters in psychology. I am also a homeschooling single mother.

I’m going to go ahead and say it; I like to watch gay male porn. I meanreally like it. Nothing gets me as turned on as seeing a ripped, sweaty man taking it from another hot man.

I wasn’t always this way, although I have always been a little…outside of the normal bounds of sexuality. I have had a history of experimenting with some lite BDSM, always in role as the submissive. Long ago I discovered, while wrestling with a male friend, that it really turned me on to be pinned down and helpless. I got so wet from that experience, it was embarrassing. I have always played the subservient, docile woman. Even when watching porn, it was always of some submissive, busty blonde being subjugated by a strict, dominant man.

I have been tied up, had sensory deprivation, been spanked and whipped, and been called a ‘dirty little slut’ more times than I can count.

However, after recently ending a particularly difficult long-term romantic relationship that was borderline emotionally abusive, it suddenly repulsed me to see women being taken advantage of in porn, regardless of whether or not it is fictional. I could not imagine playing the submissive role ever again, even knowing that it is just a role I am playing. My whole sexual viewpoint has been flipped upside down. But, instead of feeling lost and being upset at this upheaval, I am embracing the prospect and using it to explore the multitudes of other options thaveat are out there for me in the sexual rainbow.

I might expand my porn viewing to women fucking men with strap-ons or women fucking women with strap-ons. I love that there are so many options to express sexuality and vow never to limit myself to the submissive box again. The idea that men can be the submissive or even just the bottom excites the hell out of me. I might even give domination a go in my next sexual relationship.

For now, I will enjoy watching hot men fucking, and I will do so without shame!

AFTER SCHOOL SPECIAL – Alicia Wolfe

Tags

finger me, keep my man, kissing, opposite sex, sex, underneath clothing

A wine connoisseur with an amazing rack and a dog of an ex-husband. She leads a pretty normal life as a number cruncher, wife and mom/slave to three cats.

Apparently I was rather young the first time I had sex. That’s what people tell me when they hear ‘my number’ anyway. It didn’t feel that young to me at the time. I was fourteen. It was 1988.

What did I know about sex at the time? Plenty. A friend had given me The Joy of Sex as a gag gift. And I had studied it. Prior to that, aside from the basic mechanics, the only instruction I had had on sex I’d gotten “on the street” because all my mother had to say was “Sex is a very wonderful and beautiful thing between two married people.”

I put that in quotes because I remember it verbatim. Because she said it in those exact words over and over again. It was actually more like, “Sex Is A Very- Wonderful And Beautiful Thing Between Two Married-People.”

Spoken in monotone.

That was it.

Unlike other first time stories I’ve heard, I wasn’t pressured by the guy to do it, at least not in the traditional sense of “C’mon, baby, let’s do it. You’re giving me blue balls.” It was my idea.

In retrospect, it was not one of my better ideas.

But I don’t regret it. I have always been one to go my own way and this experience was no exception.

My boyfriend at the time, let’s call him Mike to protect the stupid, was clearly more…um…‘experienced’ than me. I suppose I was “the good girl” to his “bad boy,” he did have a mohawk after all. But he actually didn’t try much with me when we would make out. I do remember him once trying to finger me while we were kissing and I gently moved his hand away … because I had my period.

Ew, gross!

But I didn’t tell him that. How embarrassing.

He never tried anything else ‘underneath clothing’. He behaved like a gentleman in that regard. I remember thinking that was odd. I wanted to try more, experience more. Or find out that I didn’t by saying ‘no’ if he tried something I wasn’t ready for. But that one act of pushing his hand away had apparently sealed my fate.

Then came a time, perhaps a month or two later, when I didn’t see him for a week or two. I think I was grounded. I was pretty much always grounded because my crazy motherthought I was out partying, boozing and having sex. It probably had something to do with the fact that she had found that book hidden in my dresser. But I wasn’t doing any of that. My mother drove me everywhere I went. She called parents before I went wherever she drove me. She was completely delusional in her accusations.

I can’t remember which came first, the rumor about Mike and another girl or a close friend telling me she had lost her cherry. I don’t think it really matters which. The point was, I now had a really good friend who had ‘done it.’ And I had a boyfriend who apparently wanted to do ‘it’ and was perhaps doing ‘it’ with someone else because he thought I wouldn’t do ‘it’.

I decided to find out what ‘it’ was all about. Being a fourteen-year-old girl, of course, I also did ‘it’ thinking ‘it’ would help me keep my man. That reason makes me want to kick my former self now. That is the stupidest reason possible and if my mother had only had a real conversation with me about sex…

I told him I wanted to do ‘it’ and I conspired to be somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be (divorced parents can be useful that way: “didn’t she stay at your house last night?”). And we did it.

It was…painful, I guess. I’ve heard many describe it as traumatic. Not for me. It just…was. It hurt. He tried to back out of it because it was hard to um…ya know…insert tab A into slot B. Especially with a condom on (I may have been young and naïve but I sure wasn’t stupid). There was pretty much zero foreplay. I’m sure there must have been blood but I don’t specifically remember that. He was nice enough about it. And he clearly wasnot as experienced as I had thought he was. He might have done it before but it was clear he hadn’t had much practice.

There was quite a lot of fumbling around. We were in someone’s empty spare room. I think we just had blankets and a sleeping bag, maybe. I don’t think there was even a mattress on the floor. Romantic it was not. A tender moment? Nope. It was more like research.

For my part, I just wanted to do it. Get it over with. Find out what was the big deal. And what I found out was…it wasn’t that big a deal. I didn’t love it. I didn’t hate it.

He didn’t speak to me after that.

I got away with that rendezvous as far as my mother was concerned but then I think I was punished for some other made up transgression. And so I finally came to the (inevitable) conclusion that if I was gonna do the time, I might as well do the crime. Especially since I had already committed one.

So it was just the next logical step that I went to a kegger. There, I met that other girl he had been with. He hadn’t spoken to her since either. We became fast friends and gave him so much shit for being an asshole toboth of us that he left in a hurry.

And that was that.

The whole thing really was all very matter of fact.

I wish I had known better than to try and use sex to keep a man. I wish that that experience had actually taught me that lesson. What I learned, unfortunately, from that lesson was that men (boys) want sex. And if you want a man, you have to give him sex. But you can do it on your own terms. But you have to do it.

I also wish that my friend, the one who had told me she lost her virginity, had included the part about how it was rape. She didn’t tell me that until about six years later. I still want to punch that guy.

Has my attitude toward sex changed since then? Of course.

Has my attitude toward my mother? No.

Talk to your kids about sex! Openly! Honestly! Encourage them to wait but don’t make it taboo! Teach them how to respect the opposite sex! Instill in them a healthy attitude towards sex!

I didn’t have a horrible first time. But I could have. And I did have a long road of reprogramming my brain, relearning what I needed to know and think about sex.

P IS FOR PLEASURE – Polly Priss

Tags

Acceptable outside, adult stories, diaper fetish, diapers, dirty little slut, freaky inside, P FOR PLEASURe, P IS FOR PLEASURE, pleasure pocket, sexual feelings

Acceptable outside, freaky inside. Hoping to one day merge the two and take over the world.

When I was five, I broke the star that sat upon the Christmas tree. I felt bad. I was angry with myself and wanted to be punished to help alleviate that guilt. My parents weren’t around much, and even when home, they were not disciplinarians. So I sat myself in a corner. And I liked it. Age play has been in my pleasure pocket ever since.

For my seventh birthday I got a Cabbage Patch Kid and a package of real baby diapers for her. Everyone at the party laughed. They teased me, saying the diapers were for me. Well, there’s an idea! I took them home and loved them. They smelled like powder. They crinkled softly. I was intrigued. I tucked them into my panties and used them. Afterwards they were warm and squishy. I masturbated. Then I snuck the used diapers to the trashcan and buried them, terrified of being caught. I seem to have attached shame to sexual feelings from the very beginning.

My teenage years were full of kink, but not age play. Some kinks are hard to share, because they are rare, or less accepted. And high school is a fairly uncertain time as it is. I didn’t share these parts of myself because they were too intimate. I hid these things away. Shame grew.

I graduated, moved out, married young, and had kids. I mentioned slight age play, like spanking, to my husband, but he wasn’t into that at all, which furthered my shame. I avoided age play entirely during my early adult years. Perhaps I had engn=ough diapers to worry about with my babies, but I also knew I wasn’t with a supportive partner. I was certain my diaper fetish would go with me to the grave!

When I divorced and began dating an older man, I felt something awaken within me. I wanted to be little again. I was developing a new power, a desire to go after life. I wanted the things I’d always dreamed about to come true. My boyfriend and I had an organic D/s dynamic. Age play came quite naturally to us. I called him ‘Daddy’ from early on. He spanked me and teased me and I purred. But it took some time before I revealed my diaper fetish to him.

I prepared by writing about it on an anonymous LiveJournal, diving deep into my past, my needs, my reasons, my fears, my shame. I looked at it from all angles. Was I unloved as an infant? Potty trained too early? Why did I love the smell and the feel of diapers as an adult woman? Why did that get me off? What was wrong with me? I joined LiveJournal groups, and met other people who got off in diapers! I let them support me as I came to terms with my desires. I drew inspiration from these other journeys and I gained the confidence to go after what I wanted.

After months of journaling, I decided to let my boyfriend read it all. I was scared sick. But he was so amazing! He ordered diapers for me! Powdery-smelling crinkly ones! And thick white cotton ones! And pins! The first time we played with them I was an emotional wreck. I felt so bad about myself. Shame made my face hot, and tears rolled. For something that turned me on so much, my first time being diapered wasn’t sexy at all! It was more of an intense therapy session that ended with pee running down my legs, forming a puddle at my feet as I sobbed! But we got through it!

The more we played, the less control shame had over me. It helped seeing how much my boyfriend enjoyed diapering me. I had built up these walls over my life, certain that something was wrong with me, embarrassed by sexual desires that were also deep emotional needs. I am still fighting with those feelings. In fact, just writing this piece has caused me some turmoil. It seems I’m still battling the shame that comes when seeking pleasure from outside the widely acceptable menu.

I may never be fully comfortable with my diaper fetish. Most of my diaper play is still in private, and not always due to shame. I know I can share it with my partner, but that doesn’t mean I always want to. From the beginning, my diaper play was part of my masturbation ritual, and that is how I like it the most. I find pleasure holding it in until my bladder is dangerously full, then letting it go, just before I orgasm.

I am lucky to have an accepting and supportive partner, something I really worked for and went after. But it is also okay to embrace kinks on a private, personal level. It doesn’t matter why I want this, why I like this, or when it began. What matters is that I’m living an authentic life and learning to embrace myself. I’m continually beating back the shame, replacing it with pleasure.

FIRE TRUCK! – Belle – Confession

Tags

access to pornography, adult stories, after sex, anal sex, blow job, doggie style, Ex-boyfriend, ex-lovers, got married, I fucked him, infertile, kryptonite, socially acceptable, threesome

I’m your average: customer service worker, married, mid-thirties, two kids and infertile.

I was never a whore in the classic sense of the word. Ex-boyfriends and ex-lovers were always my kryptonite. I met my first “boyfriend,” ‘C’, online way before it was socially acceptable to do so. My mom let us go to the movies while she sat in the back. I was thirteen. Nothing happened then. My first school boyfriend was the popular guy. The class clown. I was fourteen, twenty-eight days away from being fifteen when I lost my virginity to him. A serious boyfriend followed and there was nothing too exciting sexually up until this point.

I always loved having a story. Being able to say “yeah, I fucked him,” or “yeah, I totally had sex while driving.” I loved older guys, guys at least five years older than me. My girlfriends and I always talked openly about our conquests, there was even one summer we all had sex in the same room almost every night. I am proud to say that I took three men’s virginities, that I’m aware of.

There wasn’t an insane amount of men before I got married but I feel I had my share.

The one with the penis so small & the ego so big. This one got mad when we broke up so I called him at two a.m., woke him up and told him his dick was the smallest thing I had ever seen.

And it was.

The one who literally lasted ten seconds one time and should not count against my total. Amusingly, he knows my husband and I still run into him from time to time.

He really shouldn’t count.

The guy my best friend was fucking with a fourteen-inch dick.

It was so big she made him take it out and show me.

It wasamazing.

The first boyfriend who became a fuck buddy. Someone to call on a lonely Friday night. He was the first man I was fucking but had no desire to date. He always wanted to cuddle after sex and I used to lie and leave my apartment and drive around the block so he would go home.

The boyfriend with the uncut dick I was afraid of and then realized how wonderful it was.

And how wonderful he wasn’t.

The gay best friend who taught me how to give a really good blow job and how to have not painful anal sex.

The fuck buddy who was my first and only threesome. He fucked me doggie style in my best friend’s closet while I blew his friend. Wonder why he never wanted to date me. 🙂

The year before I met my husband I had sex with four of my exes, going all the way back to the one who took my virginity. It was as if somehow I knew the next boyfriend was it and that this was my last opportunity.

I’m a faithful person. Now that I’m married and have been with my husband for over ten years it’s no longer about the conquests but about how to make it interesting. We pride ourselves in unusual places. I gave him a hand job on an airplane in our seats with my father and brother seated behind us. In a fire truck. On the beach. On the hood of my car.

I often wonder what happens as we age and grow as a couple.

Will unusual places be enough?

Will porn and thongs and dildos be enough?

I can’t imagine ever fucking or doing anything like that behind his back. I could however imagine it being done with his knowledge. With him watching? With me watching? I don’t consider a hand job cheating, and I wouldn’t be mad if he got one. I’m not sure if he ever would.

I look forward to our sexual future and I hope it’s as exciting as I imagine it could be.

JUST CURIOUS – Krissy

Tags

after-parties, amazing sex, been married, fulfill this need, kiss, oral sex, pressed together, progress to penetration, ready for sex, sensational, sexual orientation, still a virgin

I’m a curious southern girl stuck in Small Town rural Texas. I was born in 1989. That puts me at age twenty three. Fairly young but old enough that I’m just starting to get really comfortable with being open about my sexuality, even if things are a bit…confusing.

The lines of my sexual orientation are blurry at best. I’ve been married to a wonderful man for a couple of years now. I love him to death and the sex is absolutely amazing. But sometimes I really feel like I’m missing out on something that could be equally amazing, something that could fulfill this need that’s lurking around within me. Let’s backtrack to my childhood.

I’ve always felt a lot of confusion when it comes to girls. It sounds so cliché, I know, but it’s entirely true. At age five, I can remember thinking that my best friend was the prettiest girl I knew. At age seven, I remember having a crush on my female teacher. Things started to get murkier around age eight or nine. I was spending the night with a new, slightly older friend. She was about eleven, I think. Things were just like any other sleepover, until we crawled into bed for the night.

It’s hard to remember exactly how things like that start, especially since it happened so long ago. Mainly I remember being in bed with the lights off and her saying something about kissing and how she really liked to do it. Before I knew it our lips were pressed together. I had never felt anything like it. It was sensational! Being in the dark, doing something I’d never done before, with someone I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to be doing it with.

After a few seconds she pulled away and stared at me. It was about a minute before she spoke.

“Do you want to do it again?” she asked.

I nodded.

This time I was ready.

I only thought I was ready. She blew my mind even further on the second kiss. Our lips met, but this time she opened her mouth! I could feel her tongue trying to reach mine. I went with it. It was even more exhilarating than the one before. This felt so much more intimate, although I’m not sure I would’ve been able to describe that feeling back then. This time, I could feel exactly how soft her lips were. I could taste the lingering minty freshness of her toothpaste. Could feel her breathing heavily. I put my hand in her thick chestnut hair like I saw in the movies. It was so soft. I recall wishing it never had to end.

That was my first and only experience with kissing for a long time to come.

A few years went by and things were normal, mostly. I had crushes on boys and celebrities just like any other preteen girl. Boys invited me to dances, where we’d spin slowly on the floor and maybe hold hands. Afterwards I’d go spend the night with one of my girl friends. Nothing unusual ever really happened with many of them.

At age fifteen I got my first boyfriend and first real kiss from a boy. In that regard, I guess you could call me kind of a late bloomer. At least in comparison to all the rest of my friends. It wasn’t that I didn’t have anyone interested in me, I just wasn’t very interested in any of them.

He was a nice boy. A bit punk rock, which is a type I still go for today, but very smart, respectful, and above all, hilarious. I liked him a lot, and we spent the first few weeks kissing like there was no tomorrow. Things were rolling right along, progressing both emotionally and physically. After hearing so many horror stories, I didn’t want to get too physical without proof that we were pretty serious, relationship wise. Everything really got moving once he said he loved me.

I also learned a lot about giving attention. His penis was the first I’d seen in real life. It seemed big in my hands, and was very smooth. I was a little disappointed though, because it didn’t seem as erotic as I thought it would. It didn’t excite me to play with it like it excited me to be played with. But I loved him, so I learned what to do and how he liked it anyways. Even though it didn’t turn me on like I had hoped, I still felt a kind of satisfaction in giving him pleasure.

We moved on to oral sex soon, and I was unimpressed with both ends of it. I felt self-conscious when he was down there. What if it smelled weird? What if I tasted bad? It’s really difficult to enjoy yourself when you’re so worried about not being good enough. Giving wasn’t much better. I wasn’t sure what to do with my mouth. I gagged often.

We dated for two years. Things never did progress to penetration. We tried it once, but I wasn’t ready. I was nervous. I wasn’t in the mood. I wasn’t even wet. He tried pushing into me. Slowly, but it hurt anyway. Thankfully he stopped when I asked him to. Looking back, I have mixed feelings about waiting. On the one hand, I wasn’t truly ready for sex. On the other, we really did love each other, which is something I’m not sure I can say about the guy I did lose my virginity to.

I was eighteen, in my first semester of my freshman year of college, and still a virgin. I was making friends, going to parties and drinking lots of beer. One night my roommate and I were at a frat party. It was pretty laid back, just a bunch of guys and a couple of us girls sitting around a fire outside the house. A nice change from the big house parties and after-parties we were used to going to. After an hour or two and a few beers, the cute girl from my math class showed up. It turns out she was friends with a few of the same guys, we just didn’t know it until she showed up at the party.

Looking around, there was nowhere for her to sit. All of the chairs and makeshift seats were already taken. She was across the fire from me, peering around, hoping for someone to get up. She noticed me. I waved hello and got a big smile in return. To my surprise, she came over and sat down on my lap. Having another girl sit on my lap wasn’t too unusual for me, but normally it was someone I was already good friends with. We were just kind of acquaintances.

I remember her being very light. Lighter than I expected her to be. It didn’t feel at all uncomfortable to have her there. After a few minutes we were talking and laughing it up and most of the guys had stopped staring at us. She picked up the giant purse she’d brought with her and pulled out a mostly empty bottle of Smirnoff vodka. The night was getting colder, and she seemed to nestle into me a little. It made my heart skip a beat for her to be so close to me. I wasn’t sure, but it felt so much like she wanted to be there. I liked it.

By the end of the night I was very drunk, and I’d grown to like her a lot. We’d shared most of the vodka and several very steamy kisses by the fire. And right there in front of everyone, too! I have to admit, nobody really seemed to mind that sight, and I wasn’t averse to letting it happen.

When she asked if I wanted to go back to her place, I didn’t hesitate. Her behavior and the vodka had me riled up and I was ready for whatever was about to happen. We made the five minute drive in her 2007 Mustang back to her little efficiency apartment. Every second in that car felt like electricity between us. Was I really about to live out one of my longest running fantasies? Before I’d even had sex with a boy?! I was, and I was excited.

We pulled into her assigned parking spot and got out of the car. She unlocked the door and we practically fell inside kissing. We shut the door behind us, clothes dropping to the floor as we moved back to the bed. She removed my bra and hers and we were both down to our panties. Embarrassingly enough, I still had my socks on. It’s one of those little details that I’m sure I’ll never forget. Her soft, smooth, small hands felt like heaven against my skin.

She was beautiful to me, even with the lights off. Her shoulder length brown hair with its subtle highlights felt fluid and silky in my fingers. Big brown doe eyes opposite my blue ones, both filled with lust. The little bit of moonlight that was filtering in through the curtains made her skin look creamy and delicate.

At this point, I was still very drunk. I heard the door open. One of the frat boys was there. It seemed like she was expecting him, so I wasn’t alarmed. In fact, I was intrigued. The night was taking yet another unexpected turn.

She motioned for him to come into bed with us. A tiny part of my brain was telling me that maybe losing my virginity in a threesome wasn’t the best idea. The heat between my legs was telling me otherwise.

He came to me first, removing his clothes as he kissed me and moved us into a laying position. I’m not sure which of them removed my panties, but two sets of fingers found me. We spent a few minutes this way, kissing each other and them touching me. She told him to move aside, that she wanted me to herself for a few minutes. I wasn’t sad about it. I liked her better. She was pretty and funny and her hands were softer and knew exactly where to touch.

I wish I could say that we continued into the night, but the alcohol got the best of me. My stomach was not having any more of this laying down business, even if the rest of me was burning to keep going. I ended up being sick and had to call another friend to come and get me. No virginities were lost that night.

That was my biggest and best experience with another girl to date. Looking back, I regret having had so much to drink. I often wonder what exactly would’ve happened if I had been able to stay. How would things be different today, if at all?

I ended up losing my virginity a couple of months later. It was with a guy I had started dating very shortly after the last incident. He had a bit of a reputation for sleeping around, but said that I was different. He said he wanted to treat me with care because I was a virgin. He didn’t want to take that from me if it wasn’t what I wanted. We thought we loved each other, so we did it.

I wish I could say it was memorable for all of the right reasons, but for the most part, it was one big let-down. It took us forever to get my roommate to leave, and then we realized that we didn’t have a condom. A trip to the gas station was made. We got back and rushed to get started. It was over in less than five minutes. And it hurt. After the events and excitement of the last few months, I had been hoping for a much more enjoyable time. We dated for a while after that. Not one single time did he concern himself with my pleasure. In the following years, I’d have a few more sexual encounters, but nothing really worth mentioning.

Today, I’m married to a great guy that I’ve known my entire life. We go together like peanut butter and jelly. I enjoy being married, and I’m very happy, but I feel like I’ve missed out on experiencing what I desire. We’ve discussed it, and he is open to me experimenting if I can find the right girl who’s up for the task. The one problem with that is that I’m not sure how to go about finding her.

First of all, I’m married. That’s pretty off-putting for the majority of people. They see it as wrong. It’s hard to explain that it’s something my husband and I have agreed on in a way that they can understand and justify to themselves. It would be easier to pick some girl up at a bar, but I wouldn’t want to be her drunken regret, for any reason.

Secondly, it’s a lot more difficult than you might think to find a girl who is interested in a physical same sex relationship. Sure, a lot of girls my age will kiss other girls, but in my experience it’s more of a ‘party trick’ for them. Not something they’d like to pursue further. I find that misleading, and trying to make my next move often ends up ruining what was, or what could have been, a good and lasting friendship.

Looking back, and while writing this, I’ve come to realize that my experiences with girls have been fueled by lust and physical attraction, while most of my encounters with men have been based on emotion. I’m not saying I could never form an emotional connection with another girl, but I will say that I don’t know what this discovery says about myself. At times I’m still confused about where I stand sexually. Even though I’ve discussed it with my husband, it’s hard to decide how I should go about figuring it out. Hopefully I will be able to make some decisions and find a girl who can help me in my quest for self-discovery. Until then, I’ll keep fantasizing.

GAMES CHILDREN PLAY – Clara’s BFF

Tags

before sex, friends with benefits, inappropriate places, masturbating, never kissed, play it safe, playing romantic games, romantic chick flicks, sexual person, super promiscuous, was fingered

Accountant living in the midwest with my husband, furbabies and son.

My family came to America when I was about six years old. I was immediately put into day care so my parents could work two jobs each to make a life for their family in the new county. I remember my first friend, Clara. She was also a child of newly arrived immigrants. We became instant friends, hanging out almost daily.

My new friend Clara’s family had a nice family room in the basement where we could sit around and watch movies undisturbed. She preferred romantic chick flicks. I didn’t. But she was the type of person who always got what she wanted.

By the time we were about eight, our games evolved from playing romantic games with dolls, to acting out romantic situations or movies with revised plots. As I said before, her favorite movies were romances. We’d play knights and princesses or some adaptation of that, always with a damsel in distress, taking turns being the boy and being the girl. The knight would save the princess, woo her, and then they would fall into bed together. And the game would continue. We would always end up semi naked, touching each other in very inappropriate places. I guess I can consider that the first time I was fingered.

We never kissed. I guess she considered that outside the scope of the game. I never even really thought about any of it. I just did what she wanted, never thinking of how culturally ‘wrong’ it was. Let me clarify something, I have always been a sexual person, even before sex was a word that meant anything to me. Some people say they’ve never masturbated. I can remember masturbating even as a small child, in some of my earliest memories. It was always in bed at night, and even then I knew it was ‘wrong’ and I tried not to let my parents catch me. Back then it wasn’t to orgasm (I didn’t even know what an orgasm was), it just felt good. So I guess it would make sense that in my child’s mind these games never seemed strange.

It got to the point that every time we hung out, which would be every weekend (as we got older our parents moved further apart from each other so soon weekends were the only times we could hang out), these were the only games we played. It was all we did. After a couple years I got tired of these games. I wanted to do something else. And as I got older I began to realize how ‘wrong’ these games were. Because Clara was used to getting her way, me telling her no didn’t go over well. After a point we started to drift apart in our friendship until we stopped hanging out altogether.

Sex has never been a huge deal to me. I know that there are women who mistake sex and love. I was never one of those people. I lost my virginity on my sixteenth birthday, much earlier than most people I know. Granted it was with someone I was dating at the time, but it was more because he wanted to and I just didn’t care enough to argue with him. It wasn’t at all that I was madly in love with him and it meant something special thing to me. There were no flowers and dim lighting. It was more like ‘this hurts like a bitch so let’s just get it over with.’

In college I had many friends with benefits. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t super promiscuous. I kept the same ‘friends’ for long stretches of time. I still preferred to play it safe and not screw too many people for fear of contracting diseases, but I never had issues with keeping just the friends with benefits status. I never wanted a relationship from someone just because we’d drunk dial each other in the middle of the night.

I often wonder if my casual stance on sex had to do with those early childhood games. To be honest I have thought of those early years a lot, especially during my more promiscuous times. They say that a person’s childhood shapes their adult years. I wonder sometimes what kind of impact it had on me. Sometimes I’m grateful for it since it made anything sexual a non-traumatic experience for me, something I was prepared for. I don’t feel mentally broken. I’m pretty happy with the person I’ve become. Would I want the same experience for my children? No. It still feels, for lack of a better word, ‘icky’. But for me it seemed to work.

Tide Up In Darkness – Waiting To Be Pleased

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altar of my cunt, areolas, between my legs, big clit, big daddy, bound like a slave, butterfly tattoo, carefully moisturised skin, cover my eyes, crazy with desire, desire in my eyes, devour your cock, dip the tip into my pussy, feel like a queen, feel the strength of your hardness, flat stomach, give head, glistening, I beg you to take me, I want to eat you, I’m about to come, insatiable little slut, kinky blackness of my sex, lick from heel to arch, licking my body, morning hard-on, naked breasts, paraffin wax candles, pleasure, punish me, pussy juice, pussy moulds to your dick, reward of your cock, senses dramatically, sexual pleasure, smell your cock, sticking your tongue, suck on it, sucking it, swallowing the top, sweetness of your body, voluptuous chocolate body, wetness and passion of my mouth, wetness of your tongue

I used to be afraid of the dark, until you showed me just how wonderful it could be. Losing my sight behind a blindfold has over time sharpened my other senses dramatically. As soon as you cover my eyes I become a different person. I can smell the paraffin wax candles, the sounds of your heavy breathing, even though you have yet to descend the basement stairs. I can smell your cock, the glistening, sweaty sweetness of your body.

I know that you’re watching me. I stand a little taller. I can feel the worship in your eyes. Though I’m bound like a slave I still feel like a queen.

I sense your eyes on my naked breasts, especially those areas that seem to be painted in the darker chocolate hue that accentuates my areolas. You love to try and get your mouth around it all. From there your eyes travel down my voluptuous chocolate body, over my flat stomach with the butterfly tattoo, to the kinky blackness of my sex; and further on to my softly sculpted things and long legs.

I have been waiting for hours. You woke me this morning by sticking your tongue between my legs, licking my body awake until every nerve was on fire.

Just when I thought that you would shove your morning hard-on into me you told me that you wanted to play this game. I love our games but I’m tired of waiting. I’m
hungry in every way possible. I want to eat you, to feel the strength of your hardness under my tongue. I am waiting for you to come to me, to relieve the ache between my
thighs.

I hear your feet moving across the concrete floor and then you’re so close to me that I can feel your breath across my skin.

‘What took you so long?’ I ask.

‘It’ll be worth the wait,’ you say.

I feel your hands on my feet. I allow you to lick from heel to arch, over and over again. I feel the wetness of your tongue, the sharpness of your teeth as you bite into
my carefully moisturised skin.

A bolt of electricity shoots up my smooth thigh. I inhale deeply as you take each toe into your mouth and suck on it. Then I feel the thick carpet above your sex. I
try to take my feet lower but you won’t let me. You want to deprive me of sexual pleasure until I’m so hungry that I beg you to take me.

If you could only see the desire in my eyes that I can’t allow to reach my lips, for then you would torture me even longer. But I know that in the end I’ll get the reward of
your cock, your body heavy on top of mine, the taste of you in my mouth and on my skin.

My foot hits the ground with a loud thump. My heartbeat quickens with excited pain. Damn! You are in control and I love it! Okay big daddy, show mama what you got!

Your mouth is on mine, your tongue and teeth pillaging my softness without mercy or restraint. Viciously you take my bottom lip between your teeth and tug. I try to pull away but you grab the sides of my head in your strong hands. Your teeth sink into my top lip. I whimper with pain but between my legs there is nothing but pleasure.

You leave my side for a moment and I’m breathless, wondering what you will do next. Something smooth and soft glides up my thigh. I guess it is a peeled, green banana. In my Caribbean culture green bananas can be turned into delicious dishes but as you dip the tip into my pussy I know that my grandma never had a recipe like this!

The banana circles my large pinkie-sized nipples leaving a wet circle of pussy juice and fruit. Then it’s in my mouth and I’m sucking it like it’s your dick. I take it
deep down my throat. I learned to give head using a green banana. It’s still one of my favourite toys. It begins to fall apart under the wetness and passion of my mouth. I sink my teeth into it, swallowing the top half in one smooth gulp. I’d love to devour your cock, to sink my teeth into your military helmet and listen to you scream.

‘Please, please eat me!’

Lord, I’m begging already! This darker side of you is making me crazy with desire. Your hands slip between my legs. God you have a big clit, you tell me. It’s like a
Hershey’s kiss.

‘But I taste better.’

I hear you smacking your lips. Yes you do, you say. Your hand moves back to my clit.

‘Please oh please.’ ‘Not yet,’ you growl and pull your fingers away.

I feel white hot heat next to my face and inhale the aroma of a vanilla scented candle. Now I realize what you are doing. You are planning to fuck me with everything that I’ve fucked myself with, everything that I’ve used in place of your hard, jealous cock. I feel my arms drop as you lower my chains and for a moment the sheer relief is almost orgasmic.

Fear sets in as you force me to my knees and push my head down to the ground. Would this new torture be worth the thrill of a slick candle sliding in and out of my pussy? Don’t you understand that I need something to fill me when you’re not here? Even though my pussy moulds to your dick, it’s a naughty, insatiable little slut.

I feel the first drop of hot wax searing my apple shaped ass. I feel it congeal on my skin. Again another drop. This one rolls down my ass cheeks stopping just short of my pussy. Oh, the miserable ecstasy. I want to touch my engorged clit so badly!

‘Please, please!’

You pay no attention to the sobbing in my voice. Instead I feel you move away again. Oh God, what will you torture me with next?

I feel warm silicone sliding down my back. I know that you’ve found my favourite dildo, the one with the added leather straps and buckles. I love to strap it on our bed and ride it hard.

I wait with all holes open and panting, not knowing which one you’ll shove my beloved joy into. The snap of the straps across my ass holds more surprise than pain.
You’ve been a bad, bad girl you tell me.

So punish me, punish me until I learn to control myself!

The second swipe is a little harder; the third makes me cry out. I feel my juices flow from my pussy onto the backs of my legs.

‘Please let me feel it!’

You place the dildo at the entrance to my pussy. I hold my breath in anticipation. Suddenly the head moves upward and you’re forcing it into the tightness of my ass.
Holy mother of God! The sweetness of the shaft burrowing deep into my posterior is almost unbearable. You work it inside me, long, deep thrusts that have me scraping my nails on the concrete like a deranged animal.

Desire sweeps through me like wildfire. Brutally you ravage me. I feel your fist on my pussy, kneading me like soft island bread. I grind my hips into your hand.

Without warning the fist and the dildo are gone; I’m left cold, unsatisfied and confused. I call your name softly but you do not answer. Time drags as I wait for your next move.

I hear the drip-drip of our leaky basement tap. Except for that and my heavy breathing there is no sound. Will you leave me here for another few hours? God, I think that I would die from sheer torture and frustration.

And then I feel it. Its rough texture on my ass makes me creamy. I don’t need to see it to know that it’s beautiful, like hemp, my favourite.

You lift my body until I’m standing up again. Carefully you wind the rope around my chest and stomach in an intricate design that you have perfected over time. I would
love to see myself, the pale rope against my dark skin, my big nipples peeking out. The light deprivation is now driving me crazy, but isn’t that the point of our little
games? You place the rope between my legs, burying it between my pussy lips. It bites into my sensitive clit. The rope travels up between my ass cheeks. It is still sore from the dildo lashing. I love the feel of the rope against my raw flesh. You loop the end of the rope and secure it in a knot.

I adore the feeling of being confined, of being helpless and totally at your mercy. I feel the rope on my nipples. You play with me, teasing me until I can’t take it any longer. God, I’m about to come!

Suddenly my blindfold comes off and my face is flooded with light. Even though it is only the softness of candles it is bright after hours of darkness.

I look down and you’re on your knees, rubbing the rope against my clit. ‘Oh baby, I love the way you love me. Make me come honey, make me scream.’ The rope moves faster. ‘Oh God, I’m gonna die!’

I bend my knees, opening myself up to you. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t do anything but feel the texture of the rope and the fire it is causing. At the perfect
moment you untie the last knot. I watch in amazement as you scoot under me and open your mouth wide. I’m gushing, my female ejaculation spilling into your open
mouth like honey from the rock. I watch you worship at the altar of my cunt.

I am woman, hear me roar as I come.

Oh yes! Yes! Yes!

Just when I think that it’s over you run your face up into my pussy. My lips open amazingly releasing even more cream into your hungry mouth, enveloping your nose and mouth in a musky, sticky embrace.

I wish that I could press your head further into my body. I wish that I could grab your cock and shove it into my aching hole. But you know me so well. Sometimes better than I know myself. You stand up and grab my ass cheeks. Then you plunge your stiff, giant cock up into me.

‘Who gives you the best fuck?’ you ask.

You know that it’s you baby, nothing compares to you. Nothing comes close to the feel of your pulsating dick, your warm breath on my skin, the beauty of your contorted face as you come. Oh the taste of your come, nectar from the gods.

Once again you anticipate my needs. You pull out of me and begin rubbing your cock over my rope-clad body. How good that feels.

I drop to my knees and watch you pump your cock above me. I see it coming. Your come erupts like a geyser spewing white liquid gold all over my face. I stick my tongue out and taste the salty tang of your desire.

I love being bad. How about punishing me one more time?

In seconds I’m on my back with my legs spread open with you between them eating my pussy like it’s your last supper. God, you’re good with that wicked tongue. You eat me, over and over again until I’m reduced to whimpers. Oh yes baby, make me feel like a woman. I love you so much. I need you so much, my sweet baby.

Not So Innocent Cripple – We Fit Together Perfectly

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all-out orgasm, balloon-breasted blonde, blast-off, blowing my load, cock ready to burst my zipper, corking my eruption, filling my every fantasy, finger-fucked her, flawless feet, foot-job, get my granite pole foot-polished, get you to cum, girl’s dextrous feet, give it to me, glistening pussy, glory hole, gorgeous pair of feet, grasping my mushroomed hood, gripping my erection, hand-job experience, her round butt cheeks, I blasted superheated sperm, jamming her drenched pussy, jerk me, leave me hanging, my balls boiling with cum, my sticky adulation, no fumbling footer, painfully-erect cock, pressurised jizz, pulled out my cock, revelling in the slick, sensual swagger, sexual electricity, sexually exhilarated, sexually frustrated, she came in a heated gush, silicontitted blonde gyrating, sliding her silk-clad peds, swelling cock, tantalized my numbingly-hard cock, white-hot jets of spunk

I nodded at the bartender, Matt, and he grinned back at me. Rap music thundered out of the overhanging speakers, shaking the walls of the strip club, egging on a silicontitted blonde gyrating against the center stage silver pole. The place was packed for noontime, and the hungry crowd greedily shovelled the three dollar lunch into their faces, as they ogled the balloon-breasted blonde. She held no interest for me, however, not with her chicken legs.

I quickly threaded my way through the cheering and chewing mob, walked down a hall that led to the washrooms, on past the washrooms, and up to a guy leaning against the wall. His thick arms were crossed, and a toothpick balanced precariously between his thick lips.

‘Hey, Adam,’ I said, my voice breaking.

‘Jeff,’ the black-clad bouncer responded, eyeing me and smiling. ‘Got a new one for you today.’

I rubbed sweaty palms on my pants, sucked cool air into my bursting lungs. ‘Y-yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ He pushed off from the wall, held out his huge right hand, and I promptly crossed his palm with a fifty. He pocketed the cash, then shoved an unmarked door open and stood aside as I walked on through.

It looked like a women’s washroom, painted a drab green with white tiling, four cubicles and a couple of sinks lining the far wall. The door whisked shut, and I stood there staring at the first cubicle, my hands trembling, my throat clicking dry when I swallowed. I walked over and pushed the cubicle door open, slipped inside, shot the bolt behind me.

There was no toilet, only a round, padded hole in the wall, waist-level. I fought with my zipper as I gazed at the glory hole, at the yellow shaft of light streaming through from the adjoining room, and then I wrestled my fly down and pulled out my cock. I gripped my rigid dick and moved even closer to the hole, gulped hard and guided my prick through the opening, announcing my presence to whoever was on the other side.

I let go of my rock-hard prong and flattened myself against the wall, sweat prickling my forehead – and nothing happened. The distant thumping of the peeler music sounded from far off, too muted to drown out my ragged breathing. My entire body started shaking, the anticipation and the need growing and growing and growing. And just when I was ready to cry out with angry desire, I heard a slight rustling sound. I braced myself, pressing my lower body hard against the wall and sticking my straining cock out as far as it would go.

I jumped when something brushed against my prick, something soft and smooth and warm – a reply to my greeting. I quickly pulled back, awkwardly got down on my knees, and peered anxiously through the hole at a pair of petite, black-stockinged feet that rested haughtily on the pedestal in the room opposite.

‘Yes!’ I hissed, licking desert-dry lips, blinking sweat from my eyes, gazing at the most exquisitely-shaped feminine peds I’d ever seen in my life (and I’d seen, and worshipped, plenty of pairs of female feet).

The girl attached to the beautiful feet wriggled her toes at me, and her stockings whispered my name. The delicate, high-arched peds were ivory beneath their sheer, sexy, noir-shaded sheathes, slim and small, perfectlyformed, with slender, succulent toes tipped with mediumlong nails painted a shiny crimson. The playful toes waved at me, and my cock grew to epic hardness with the wicked thought of those shapely foot-digits enwrapping and stroking my dick.

I strained to see past the gorgeous pair of feet, to get a glimpse of a luscious leg or two, of the woman beyond, but the well-groomed peds effectively blocked my view, filled my eyes, waved me away; our get-acquainted session was over, it was time to get down to business. I pulled my eyes off those dainty feet and stiffly climbed
upright, shoved my painfully-erect cock back through the hole again.

The tender tootsies on the other side of the wall quickly grabbed onto my dick and started brushing up and down the length of it. ‘Fuck, yeah!’ I groaned into the green paint, revelling in the slick, silky feel of the girl’s dextrous feet on my pulsating prong.

I could tell right away that this babe was no amateur, no fumbling footer; her peds weren’t thick and clumsy, feet squeezing shaft like they wanted to choke it, toenails scraping sensitive skin, like most girls. No, this lady’s feet were soft and gentle, yet firm and controlled. She worked my dick with her feet like she had it in her hands, easily gripping my erection on either side and erotically sliding her silk-clad peds back and forth, giving me the foot-job to end all foot-jobs.

‘Yeah,’ I murmured, marvelling at the girl’s skill. Her talented toes lightly clenched my steely shaft and jacked me repeatedly, the awesome foot friction sending my balls to boil even faster than normal.

There was no holding back this time, no counting to ten or thinking about an ex-mother-in-law – she was that good. I closed my eyes and clawed at the wall and uttered a strangled scream as the wicked pedestrian foot-stroked me to the very precipice of all-out orgasm. Then, right before blast-off, right before white-hot jets of spunk rocket onto the girl’s delectable peds, she suddenly pulled her feet away.

‘No!’ I wailed, pumping my hips and pounding the wall, imploring her not to leave me hanging.

I felt something loop over the base of my raging hardon, something soft and smooth and warm, like a recentlyworn stocking, felt it pulled tight. I opened my eyes – this was something different. Most girls wanted nothing more than to jerk and run, get you to cum and go in a heated rush so they could collect their cash and get back to doing something more respectable, like stripping. But not this lady with the flawless feet; she secured the silken noose around the base of my throbbing rod, cutting off the only escape route for my bubbling semen, then started stroking again, buffing me with her bare feet now, leisurely pedpolishing me without fear of being sprayed with my sticky adulation.

‘Fuck almighty!’ I yowled, my balls bursting with pressurised jizz, my grossly- engorged dong pulsing with raw, sexual electricity as the barefoot contessa behind the drywall barrier tugged and tugged on my prick.

She swirled her naked feet up and down my cock with more skill than a massage parlour employee with years of hand-job experience, her precious peds stroking my shaft over and over, smooth and sensual and sure-footed, her teasing toes playing all over my prick, grasping my mushroomed hood and squeezing, tickling the supersensitive spot on the underside of my prong where shaft became head. The silken cock-ring held me in check, prevented me from relieving the thunderous pressure, blowing my load with volcanic intensity. I could only whimper in agony and beg for release, driven to the breaking point and beyond by the girl’s delightful, dancing feet.

She thoroughly worked over my angry cock with her fabulous feet, and then – they were gone. ‘No, please!’ I moaned, an aching, desperate emptiness instantly filling me, my abandoned, stiffened-beyond-stiff cock straining against its silken leash, yearning to be recaptured by the girl’s blessed toes.

‘Time’s up,’ someone said.

I glanced at my watch, saw that my time had indeed expired, felt the stocking being untied and pulled from my cock.

‘Fuck!’ I groaned, ripping my bloated dick out of the hole and wildly fisting it.

But the cum wouldn’t come, and when Adam knocked on the cubicle door and said, ‘Time’s up,’ for a second time, I dejectedly tucked my over-stimulated dong back into my pants and exited. If the girl with the gifted, glorious peds was daring me to come back for more, then I was going to meet her dare, because I’d never been so sexually frustrated and exhilarated in all my life.

After feeding him a pair of twenties, Matt-the-day bartender told me that the new girl with the amazing ped prowess was named Melody, and he agreed to phone me whenever she was on cubicle foot patrol. And that’s how it went for a couple of excruciatingly exciting months – Matt would give me a dingle and I’d rush right over, pay my money, and get my granite pole foot-polished by Melody.

She’d to stroke me, heel me, put me through the footspin, dressed in all manner of ped-apparel: black, red, white, blue, or striped slut-stockings; modest, brown pantyhose; or white, woolen footies with bunny tail balls on the back. Or, best of all, she’d simply jerk me to the jetting point with her bare, brilliant, pedicured feet. I could only stand forward and marvel at her talent, my body shaking uncontrollably, my head spinning, my hands, face, and groin flattened against the sweat-slick wall as she tantalized my numbingly-hard cock with her tender tootsies.

She instinctively knew just when I was about to spill my beans, desecrate her pale, perfect peds with salty, slimy semen, and at that fleeting, failsafe point, she’d instantly bind my dick at its base, corking my eruption, keeping her wondrous feet unblemished, up on the pedestal where they belonged. She’d go on stroking me once the sperm was safely bottled up in my balls, toying with my flaming cock, denying me everything and giving me everything at the same time. And in honor of her grace and beauty and buffing ability, I hadn’t cum on my own, or in a woman, since the first day I’d laid dick on Melody’s feet.

Eventually, however, I just couldn’t take it any more – two months without a jizz-letting, while continually, maddeningly getting ped-dled to the point of spermlaunch, was enough to drive any red-blooded man around the bend and over the edge. So, finally, I asked Matt, verbally and monetarily, if there was any way I could meet face-to-face with the girl with the fantastic feet who was filling my every fantasy. It was against house rules to disclose the identity of the backroom performers to the customers, but Matt bent the rules at the hundred dollar mark.

‘See that woman sitting by herself in the balcony?’ he said, glancing up, then back down again.

I turned around and quickly spotted the lady in question on the second floor, but the lights were too dim up there for me to get a good look at her. I thanked Matt and walked over to the staircase, took a deep breath, and climbed the stairs.

She was sitting all alone at a table for two, with her back to me, and I stared at her, at her long, black, himmering hair. Then I rubbed my hands on my pants, briefly touching my rapidly swelling cock for inspiration, and with perspiration prickling my forehead and prick bulging my pants, I quietly came up behind her, reached out a trembling finger, and tapped her on the back.

‘H-hi,’ I stammered.

She turned to look at me. ‘Hi,’ she said. Her voice was soft and sweet, her eyes large and violet, her face pretty and pale. A shy smile lifted the corners of her lush, red lips, and she set the drink she’d been holding in her right foot back down on the table.

I gaped at her small, shapely foot, the slender toes that dextrously grasped the highball glass, the medium-long nails flashing a crimson gloss. Then my astonished eyes travelled slowly up from her foot to her shoulders, and I saw that Melody had no arms.

‘I was just having a drink,’ she said. ‘Would you like to join me?’ She pushed out a chair with her bare foot.

I snapped back to life. ‘Um, I was, uh, wondering if maybe we could go someplace…more private…to talk?’

‘You’re Jeff, aren’t you?’ she said, her eyes shining.  ‘Uh, yeah. How’d you –’

‘I recognized your voice.’ She looked down at the table. ‘I guess I owe you something, don’t I, Jeff?

‘Nah,’ I scoffed, ‘you don’t owe me –’

‘Yes, I do,’ she said firmly.

We both looked at the delicate, ivory foot that gripped the chair, the painted toes playing across the cushion like fingers.

‘But I wonder…do you want it now – now that you’ve seen me?’ she asked, shrugging her shoulders.

‘I want it anytime you’ll give it to me, Melody,’ I responded.

She looked up at me and nodded, slipped her foot into a blue slipper that lay on the floor, and stood up and walked past me. I breathed in the warm, intoxicating scent of her perfume, my eyes following the subtle sway of her hips, the sensual swagger of her round butt cheeks in the tight, black skirt she was wearing, the twin flashes of her lithe, white legs. I quickly followed her down the stairs.

‘I have a place a couple of blocks from here,’ she said when we were outside, standing together on the sundrenched sidewalk.

I looked down at the tiny girl, studied her pretty face, her petite figure, her smooth, slender legs and slim, shapely ankles, the small slippers that exposed the tops of her delicious feet, and I knew that two blocks were two blocks too far. I was on fire, my cock ready to burst my zipper, my balls boiling with cum. ‘I-I can’t wait that long,’ I mumbled, steering the delicate beauty into an alley that ran between the strip club and the building next door.

She sensed my burning need, as she’d always sensed it in the past, and moaned when I gripped her shoulders and shoved her up against the brick wall, mashed my mouth against hers. We kissed long and hard and hungrily, devouring each other’s mouths, before she snaked out her tongue and lashed at my lips. I drove my own tongue into her mouth, and we swirled our slippery, pink stickers together over and over again.

She finally pulled back from my mouth, leaving me gasping, and then broke away and ran down the alley. I cried out for her to stop, frantic that she might be trying to get away from me, deny me my long overdue release yet again – but she wasn’t. She jumped up onto a silver garbage can, leaned back against the wall, and kicked off her slippers and cocked a painted toe at me, beckoning at me to join her. I hurried after her, then stood before her and watched in awe as she unhooked my belt and unbuttoned my pants, pulled down my fly and pants with her deft foot-digits.

Then it was her turn to be surprised, as she stared at the twin metal prosthetics that were my legs from the thighs down. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it?’ I said, ‘a leg man with no legs.’

She looked up into my eyes and smiled. ‘I’ve got all the legs you’ll ever need, Jeff.’

She tugged my shorts down, and my swollen dick sprang out into the hot air, twitching with excitement. She quickly grabbed it and started stroking, like she’d stroked me dozens of times before, only this time was really the first time for the both of us.

I closed my eyes and groaned as Melody expertly polished my prick, juggled my balls with one foot while she buffed my dick with the other, completely oblivious to the foot-traffic that passed across the glaring mouth of the alley. She tugged on my jacked-up cock again and again with her nimble, nude feet, and before I could even warn her, the sexual pressure became unbearable, unstoppable, and my balls exploded and I blasted superheated sperm onto her flying feet.

‘Yes, Jeff! Coat my feet with your cum!’ she yelled, pistoning my spurting cock.

‘Fuck almighty!’ I bellowed, spraying rope after rope of thick, steaming jizz onto the girl’s pumping peds and legs. I came for what seemed like for ever, harder and longer and more voluminously than ever before, my body jerking around like I’d been plugged toe-first into an electrical socket.

And when I was finally, totally spent, Melody took her foot from my wasted dick and brought her peds up to her mouth, tongued my salty, simmering semen off her smeared feet.

‘Now it’s your turn,’ I said, once the footloose girl had licked up and swallowed all of my goo.

She smacked her glazed lips and grinned at me, then unfastened her skirt and pulled it open, arched her back and flung it aside. She spread her supple legs, exposing her glistening pussy. ‘This what you’re looking for?’ she asked.

‘Exactly,’ I replied, grabbing her lean, lightly-muscled legs around the ankles and kissing and licking and biting her fleshy calves, her well-turned ankles, her magnificent feet. Then I shouldered her dancer’s legs and jammed two of my fingers into her sopping wet twat, started sliding them rapidly back and forth.

‘Yes, Jeff! Yes!’ she shrieked, wrapping her feet around my neck, jamming her drenched pussy into my pumping digits.

I added another finger to the first two and relentlessly pounded her poon, finger-fucked her into oblivion, the leggy foot fatale closing her eyes and arching her body and screaming as she came in a heated gush.

‘We were meant for each other,’ I gasped, once Melody’s wild cries of ecstasy had stopped ricocheting off the walls of the alley, as we both tongued her tangy cum off my fingers. ‘We fit together perfectly.’

Watching… Slutty Neighbor Gives It Back!

Tags

approachable women, ass cheeks, be my slave tonight, being such a bad girl, bent over the table, bra-less tits, calling her a whore, delay his climax, feeling hot, fuck her face, fuck her pussy, gets spanked, hard cock, horny little bitch, horny men, Hot as hell, hot horny little slut, hot neighbour getting felt up, hot-looking woman, into her ass, just panties, licked her pussy, licking her neck, little skirt, naughty neighbor, naughty neighbour, pulled off her panties, punish you myself, pushing her ass, rubbed her tits in his face, sexy lady, she fucked him back, slapped her ass, spank her, suck his cock, sucked each tit in turn, sucked on one, tits exposed, tying her up with rope, watching her

Frank watched her from his window every day. Her apartment was a floor above and across the alleyway, so he was looking up at her when she worked in her kitchen.

She often had on shorts or a little skirt and sometimes just panties. He dreamed of tying her up with rope. She would be so helpless and vulnerable and beautiful. He could do whatever he wanted to her.

One night he looked up and she was getting spanked right there in her kitchen as she washed dishes. A large man yanked her light pink panties up the crack of her ass and spanked her round beautiful tan cheeks.

Frank stayed in the dark so they wouldn’t notice him watching. It seemed like the man was yelling at her as he slapped her ass. Then he pulled off her panties, got on his knees and buried his face between her ass cheeks.

It blew Frank’s mind. He felt his cock aching and just had to unzip his pants and take his throbbing cock into his hand.

The man stood up; his finger disappeared into her ass. She squirmed and he grabbed her long black hair, bending her head back and licking her neck.

Again and again he rammed his finger in and out of her. Then he pushed her over the sink, took his cock and pushed it into her ass.

Even at this distance, he heard her squeal and saw her jerk. The man showed no mercy, fucking her in the ass until she fucked him back.

Frank loved the transformation – seeing her resist at first and then pushing her ass to meet the man’s cock. He could hear the man calling her a whore and a slut and telling her to take it up the ass like she needed it.

It was just too much! Frank came before either of the two in the window did.
He liked watching her.

Another night when he got in late, he went to his kitchen to get a drink of water and didn’t turn on the light. Glancing up he saw his hot neighbour getting felt up by a much older man. The man was wearing a suit; she was dressed in a skirt and blouse.

He was shorter than her, his head barely reaching her chin. He had her up against the fridge. He was opening her blouse and she was pushing him away, but not too vigorously. She seemed to let him overpower her until her black bra was exposed.

Once he had her tits exposed he sucked on one and fondled the other.

All the fight had gone out of her; she was leaning back against the fridge, her eyes closed and her mouth open. The older man sucked each tit in turn, then removed his belt and lightly tapped each nipple. Flinging the belt aside, he put one hand over her mouth and his other hand between her legs under her skirt.

He must have known what he was doing under there because she put her arms around him and rubbed her tits in his face. She lay back on the table and he pushed up her skirt, leaned between her legs and licked her pussy.

Frank gasped. He could see her pussy, and at the same time the look of ecstasy on her face. He thought about his naughty neighbor a lot and kept watching. He badly wanted to tie her up and spank her. She definitely deserved it – and she liked it. He wanted to belt her and show her to other horny men. He wanted to fuck her face with his hard cock while she was helpless and bound. He wanted to taste her and fuck her pussy. But Frank was a gentleman. He wouldn’t do any of those things to a woman unless she gave him a sign indicating she wanted it too.

He thought about approachable women. Carmen at his job seemed to be flirting with him lately, but he took the view that it was crazy to start anything with someone you worked with.

But the right woman had to be out there. With high hopes he went for a drive and stopped for a few beers at a bar downtown. For a weeknight, it was pretty full and friendly, so he decided to play some pool.

He won the game against some guy, couldn’t stop thinking about his neighbour. That was when he saw her. She was standing there waiting to play the next game with him. His eyes stood out on stalks at a very hot-looking woman in a red blouse, her nipples brash and brazen through the cloth.

She wore tight black jeans and high-heeled shoes. Her long blonde hair was in a braid and her eyes were as big as Bambi. Her heat was enough to burn a guy. Frank let her break, his heat rising as she bent over the table.

‘Loser gets spanked or gets a drink,’ he said, his gaze fixed on her ass.

He almost blew a fuse when she smiled at him over her shoulder. ‘We’ll see which seems better at the time,’ she said, wiggling her ass suggestively. With the stakes that high, Frank played his ass off. He made damned sure she never got to shoot again.

‘What are ya drinking?’ he asked, not daring to push his luck and go straight for the spanking. She was sipping her drink when the subject came back up.

‘Consolation prize?’ she said, raising her glass. ‘So! When do I get the spanking?’

‘Do you mean that?’ ‘I am asking.’

Blood racing, he asked her if she’d ever gotten a good spanking by a man.

‘What do you think?’ she asked playfully. ‘Come on. Do I look the shy, retiring type?’

This was too good to be true. ‘I think you need one.’ He put his arm around her waist. ‘Nice body.’ In response, she wriggled and complained of feeling hot.

With trembling fingers, he undid two of her blouse buttons and blew on her cleavage.

‘That cooler?’

She let her head fall back, sighed and smiled. ‘It helps. But hell, I’m naturally hot. Hot as hell.’

Frank touched her tits through her blouse. She smiled encouragingly even though she was as aware as he was that they were being watched. The bartender came over and suggested they might prefer more privacy in the back.

Frank thanked him, and throwing a smile at those showing an interest, he escorted his sexy lady into a room et aside from the bar and furnished with a big, green sofa. He kissed her and unbuttoned all her blouse buttons, baring her bra-less tits with their big nipples and creamy complexion.

He told her how great they were then lowered his head, sucking on them one at a time.

She moaned, enveloped his face with her tits to the point that he had to come up for air, and stroked his head.

‘This is all very well,’ she said in a husky voice, ‘but what about my spanking. I lost the game, remember?’

It was difficult to pull his head away from her tits, but he forced himself.

‘You are a hot horny little slut aren’t you?’ he gasped. She let him lay her across his lap face down and wriggled seductively when he spanked her real hard.

Her squirming and squealing attracted the attention of several men from the bar. They appeared in the doorway just as Frank stood her up and undid her jeans, pulling them down to expose her lovely ass.

Resisting her beautiful bush, he pulled her back down across his lap and spanked her bare ass in front of the other men. She pretended she didn’t know they were being watched, but he knew she did, knew she was enjoying it.

After a firm spanking he stood her up and gave her a nice licking while he remained seated, his hands gripping her ass so he could more easily pull her toward his face.

As he licked her clit, she moved her pussy to his tongue eagerly.

The men who were watching could no longer remain quiet. ‘She likes what you’re giving her.’ They whistled and egged him on.

He made her get down on the floor on all fours with her blouse open and her jeans down at her thighs. Her white ass in the dim room was a fantastic sight. Frank took off his belt and used it on the hot woman’s round behind in front of the small audience they had. He landed his black leather belt across her ass until she tried to crawl away from him. Grabbing her by her braid, he made her suck his cock. While he sat on the sofa, she remained on her knees between his legs, his hands using her braid like a pulley to push and pull at her head.

Wanting to delay his climax, Frank put her back across his lap and penetrated her ass hole with his finger. She whimpered. He fingered her ass and told her he wanted to take her home and tie her up and then fuck her everywhere – in her mouth, her cunt, her big fine ass. He told her he might decide to keep her tied up in his house for days as his slave. He rammed her ass as he said that and she lifted it to meet his finger.

Their audience began to ask to join in. That was something he could well do without.

‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

She went willingly; hot to have more of him and lingering on the brink of climax.

In his apartment, he made her strip and he tied her up, just as he’d watched his neighbor doing.

He pulled the rope tightly around her tits and thighs so that she couldn’t move her hands. Her thighs were apart and her tits restricted by the time he was done.

He asked her if she minded being photographed. She told him to get on with it.

He photographed her on the bed like that, and then licked her clit until she came on his tongue. His game wasn’t ended. Not yet.

Her eyes widened when he scolded her. ‘You got naked for a strange man. You are a horny little bitch. You made the men in the bar crazy. I could have let them loose on you. But I decided to punish you myself. You will be my slave tonight. You will call me Master. If you feel pain, you deserve it. You will obey me and try your utmost to please me, whatever that entails. You are my slut, and I like you bound and helpless. You need to learn a lesson about torturing men.’

He sat on a chair and stared at his hostage. She was quite a sight and he couldn’t possibly leave her unmolested, not with his dick still stiff in his pants.

He got up and went to her, nibbling on her tits until her nipples were very hard. While she remained bound in his rope and on his bed, he climbed on her and fucked her cunt from behind, yanked her by her hair and called her a whore, a hot slut, a horny bitch, a brazen hussy.

He told her she was his bitch and she was going to like being his bitch. He told her she was going to be naked for days and at his service. He fucked her hard and told her that her pussy was delicious and hot and juicy. He told her she liked getting fucked because she was a whore.

She answered him, telling him to give her more, not to stop.

‘I love being so overpowered. It’s so hot.’  ‘Had it done before?’

He gasped as he said it, fucking her for all he was worth.

She told him of her summers with her Uncle Lou and how he’d sneak into the bathroom when she showered and try to do things. She had acted like she didn’t want it, but she’d left the latch off purposely.

At night he sometimes climbed into bed with her. She was only 18, and he would pull down her baby doll panties under the covers and turn her over onto her stomach. He would play with her ass and push his finger into her tight ass hole. She would gasp and act like she was going to cry and Uncle Lou would cover her mouth and tell her she needed something. He told her she was walking around in skimpy clothes all day asking for it. He told her he wouldn’t get her in trouble if she accepted her discipline from him.

One night ‘discipline’ meant she had to show her pussy to his friend. She had to act like it was accidental, but she had to be sure his friend saw her naked between her legs. Uncle Lou threatened her with a much worse punishment if she didn’t do as she was told. And he reminded her it was her own fault for being such a bad girl. She’d never disclosed that she’d liked what she was doing, that although he thought she was in his power, showing her naked pussy to appreciative older men, he was really in hers. She liked what she was doing.

Frank pulled out of her cunt and came on her ass, the come dribbling down between her full cheeks. Once he was sated, he untied her and directed her to shower. They ate, they drank, and later he tied her up again. It was different this time although still intricate.

This time he tied one of her legs to the leg of his kitchen table. He also tied her hands together in front of her and made her stay bent over the kitchen table for a while.

‘I want everyone to see you.’

He put his kitchen light on, stood behind her and stared at her ass; drank another beer; lit a joint and held it for her when it was her turn to inhale.

‘Slut?’

‘Yes, Master?’

She shivered with apprehension when she said it.

‘I’m going to fuck you up the ass.’

His cock was hard again just from looking at her. The kitchen light glared, so he turned it off and lit candles so anyone outside could see her getting fucked up the ass.

‘A little punishment, just to remind you of your place in this.’

He took his belt and whipped her ass a few times until she yelled.

‘Now you are goin’ to get it, bitch.’

Separating her cheeks, he guided his cock until he was easing himself inside her tight hot ass hole. The feeling was electric. His cock was being squeezed and at the same time sucked into her ass.

Her ass cheeks shook some when he rammed inside her. ‘You like it, bitch? Huh? You like getting my cock up your ass, bitch!?’

‘Ow, it hurts,’ she whined.

It was a put-on. He could tell that by the way her ass was wriggling, pushing back against him. But he knew what she wanted. He responded with a whack of the belt.

‘How’s that? Does that hurt?’

Tied down and taken, she pushed her ass up to meet his cock. He sensed she knew it would inspire more beating.

He grunted and belted her as he came in her tight hot ass, until eventually he had no more to give and the woman herself collapsed, exhausted, beneath him.

Frank remained slumped over her body for a few minutes, but as he began to disengage himself, he happened to look upwards. His neighbor was at the window touching herself as she watched him, just as he’d used to do.

The Boob Hill Story

Tags

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John ‘Long’ Johnson held up a weather-browned hand, bringing to a halt the six horsemen and women trailing behind him. He pushed back his dusty, ten-gallon cowboy hat and shaded his brow, squinting stinging sweat out of his blazing blue eyes as he gazed down at the ramshackle collection of wood frame buildings and homes that were Dike City, Kansas. Shimmering waves of heat rose off the sun-baked land below, and the sluggish Little Snake River, which regularly overflowed its banks and the town’s crudely constructed dykes, wound its way like a muddy artery through the burnt-stubble heart of the valley bowl.

‘That her?’ one of the men asked, bringing his mount alongside Johnson’s.

‘Yep,’ was all the handsome, taciturn cocksman replied.

‘Her’ was a good description of the wind-whipped, bare-ass town, because Dike City, Kansas, was home to the infamous Boob Hill – a barely-legal brothel that was busy turning the local female population into howling nymphomaniacs. Married men were being left wifeless, families daughterless, single men ecstatic by the depraved goings-on at the sprawling whorehouse. Good-hearted, god-fearing womenfolk would enter the brothel on a mission of mercy and never leave, turned on to the powerful pleasures of the flesh by the devious Madam of the house, Lurlene ‘Chesty’ Laflemme.

By hypnosis or potion, or some other means unknown, Chesty would transform the modest little ladies of the prairies into sex-craved she-devils that no one man could ever hope to satisfy. The reborn brazen babes needed, craved, men, and plenty o’ ’em, and Chesty provided the man-meat to temporarily satiate their overwhelming hunger, at a tidy profit to herself, of course.

Johnson had been hired by the town council, twelve married men good and true, to put a stop to it – to tame Chesty and lift the gate on her ever-expanding corral of lust-addled women, to reunite families torn asunder by allconsuming carnality.

Sure, the single men, and a good many of the married, too, had objected to the Town hiring Johnson, but most of those men weren’t landowners, and, thus, couldn’t vote, so their opinions counted as much as cow chips to the political leaders who felt the Wild West had no place in Dike City.

‘We gonna hit her tonight?’ another of Johnson’s mob inquired.

‘Naw,’ the well-endowed tail boss drawled. ‘We’ll hit ’er come mornin’, when the debauchery’s at low ebb.’

The attractive group of cowboys and girls nodded, confident of Johnson’s skills on the range, the battlefield, and in the sack. Every clam-shaped notch on Johnson’s rifle stock spoke of his abilities of seduction and survival.

There were a hundred and twenty-five such notches in all. Johnson kicked a glowing ember back into the campfire, then squatted down and tilted a tin cup of hot, black coffee up to his thick, sensuous lips, taking a good, long draught.

Somewhere far off in the night-shaded wilderness frisky coyotes barked love songs back and forth, while lusty gophers made chattering love in their funk-smelling burrows. Good signs, all.

Johnson sagely regarded the flame-licked faces of his posse, liked what he saw: three men – experienced, dickheavy dudes who could cunny-ride the orneriest of ladies; and three women – big-breasted beauts who kept their men’s tools well-oiled, and pacified any stray males who got in their way.

‘Mebbe y’all should work on your moves some, so y’all be ready come mornin’,’ Johnson instructed.

The sex-hardened gang quickly jumped to their feet and shucked their buckskin like it was crawling with fire ants.

They stood nude and lewd before the flickering campfire, the men’s iron-hard dongs bobbing long and heavy and sure, cocked for action, the women’s hefty, heaving jugs
swollen with mother’s milk, begging to be sucked dry.

Then they paired off, started getting down and dirty with
each other.

Johnson studied their technique, mindful of any flaws that could get a man bucked, a woman chucked. He drew his own ten-inch cum-cannon out of its cotton holster and commenced to stroking, watching Lynn ‘Man-Eater’ Craven tease Cal ‘Sure-Shot’ McGroot’s lengthy prod with her playful, pink snake of a tongue. Her awesome, snow-white tits, capped by inch-long, rosy-red nipples, swayed ponderously from side to side as she licked all over Cal’s hard wood. Then she ably swallowed the groaning man’s timber in one slobbery gulp, her fiery-red hair cascading across her pretty face.

Lynn bobbed her head up and down on the bucking cowboy’s bushwhacker, sucking hard and sure with precision mouth-strokes, from bloated tip to furry base, till she finally yanked Cal’s dripping lady-killer out of her stretched-wide mouth and asked, ‘Y’all gonna fuck my titties, or what?’

Johnson’s lips creased into a smile, as he pulled on his pecker with a calloused, practiced hand, looking on appreciatively as Lynn cupped and seductively juggled her over-ripe melons. Her magnificent, blue-veined mams were enough to tempt even a not-so-straight-shooter to bury his spunk-gun in between her soft mountains and lighten his load, frost her flesh-cones.

Cal ambled closer and eased his throbbing rod into Lynn’s heated chest canyon, began churning his hips in a dosey-do as old as the Jism Trail itself. Lynn shoved her ivory mounds together, smothering Cal’s pumping dong, then spat into her tit-tunnel to grease the action even further. Cal sawed his saddle horn back and forth in the redhead’s depthless cleavage, fucking her treasure chest faster and faster, pinching and rolling her fully-flowered nipples as best he could. And Lynn stuck out her tongue, providing a warm, wet cushion for Cal’s peek-a-booing cocktop.

Cal rode roughshod over Lynn’s tremulous titties, blazing a heated, humid, velvety path between her jouncing jugs, till he broke the flesh-spanked night air open with a yowl of satisfaction and blasted a bandolierful of white-hot jizz onto the girl’s all-natural endowment. He coated Lynn’s neck, her cupped casabas, with the unerring accuracy of a man who’d corralled and domesticated a passel of damsels in distress (and out of ‘dis dress’). Lynn joyously rubbed Cal’s salty jerk into her massive, shiny breasts, revelling in her own wicked powers of tit-suasion.

Johnson’s shrewd eyes roamed over the rest of his merry, messy band of fucking and sucking cummers, confident that they could handle the wayward women of Boob Hill. He tucked his own purple-knobbed fuck-stick back into his trousers, saving his juice for the personal challenge that lay ahead – a high-poon showdown with the dangerous, money and man-lusting proprietress of Boob Hill, Chesty Laflemme.

Come the crack of dawn, Johnson rose up on his hind legs and stretched, felt his manhood to ensure it was in working order, and then roused the rest of his posse. The plan was simple: take on all comers, cum on all takers – hands-on demonstrate to the horny, horn-swoggled women of Boob Hill that one man could, indeed, satisfy one woman, and then return the satiated gals to their rightful families.

The group of well-hung twat-tamers and their busty cock wranglers mounted up, cantered off the high ground and down towards Dike City, rocking sensuously back and forth in their polished leather saddles. They were trotting Main Street in a matter of a minutes, then pulled up and looked towards the end of the deserted street, where on a rocky, barren plateau stood the gaily-lit brothel that would be the sexy scene of Johnson and his gang’s showdown/ho-down with Laflemme and her lusty ladies of the evening, and morning, and afternoon.

The gang dismounted, and with the torpedo-titted women covering their broad backs, the thick-membered men trod the dirty, grey planks of the sagging wooden sidewalk, resolutely striding past shuttered storefronts and up the hill to the din of iniquity that had laid claim to so many normally monogamous women. The brothel was a gaudy, rambling mansion of twenty-some rooms, as structurally unappealing as a temperance tomboy with bumps where breasts should’ve grown. Johnson didn’t waste time skinning his knuckles on the red-painted front door; instead, a well-placed boot splintered the entryway and his posse passed inside.

They crossed a long, marble entrance hall, climbed a spiralling, red-carpeted staircase, and then trundled down an upstairs corridor. Johnson fanned his men and women out in front of him, and they burst open doors and leaped into chambers framed in chiffon and doused in perfume, taking the slumbering, all-too-temporarily satiated women of the house of ill-repute unawares. The heavy-breasted cowgirls pulled the paying customers aside, using their ample charms to convince the stunned johns to make love, not war, while the three-legged cowboys bared their loins and put into practice their studly powers of seduction, rustling up memories in the confused ladies’ minds of just how sweet and sweaty it was to be a one-man woman.

Johnson, meanwhile, moseyed off further down the hall, in search of even breastier babes to stamp with his brand. When he reached the end of the long, wallpapered passage, he toed the last door in line open and strode inside, found one Lurlene ‘Chesty’ Laflemme ensconced in the bubbly chop of a cast-iron bathtub like a siren in the sea. Johnson could tell it was she, both from the fact that her striking face matched the Wanted poster he carried on his person, and the fact that, even though her body was completely submerged in the soapy water, her Sierra Nevada-like breasts still peeked their pink tips out of the suds.

‘Been lookin’ for ya, Chesty,’ Johnson drawled, slowly and carefully unbuttoning his buckskin jacket.

‘Been waitin’, long rider,’ Chesty replied, a defiant smile lifting the corners of her crimson lips. Her sunbleached, blonde hair was piled atop her head like a stook of ripened wheat, with a blood-red rose stuck in its midst, thorns and all. She pushed her mams still further out of the bursting bubbles, till they glistened huge and hypnotic in the oil-lamp light, gargantuan in size, tanned an almost allover tawny, saddle leather brown and twin-peaked by jutting nipples that looked like they could spray enough white gold to satisfy the most parched of ’49ers.

‘What’s it all about, big ’uns?’ Johnson asked, cautiously dropping his jacket, going to work on his flannel shirt, warily avoiding any sudden movements that might spook the big, brazen, bathing mama. ‘Why you turnin’ good women bad, wives into wantons?’

Chesty regarded him steadily with her slate-grey eyes, watching as the loaded-for-bare cunt rustler deftly unbuttoned his shirt, shunted it aside. She surveyed Johnson’s hairy, muscular chest and licked her bee-stung lips. ‘A girl’s gotta have her gold,’ she replied. ‘And business is boomin’, big man.’

‘That the only reason?’ Johnson inquired, wellknowing that dollars and cents weren’t the only factors at play here. The weaker sex coveted coin and carnal knowledge as much as the male of the species, sure, but they coveted something else even more, something that all the money in the world couldn’t buy – love, sweet, love.

Chesty blushed, looked down, up, at her tremendous, sud-sprinkled titties. ‘I was a one-man woman once,’ she spoke softly. ‘But then he ran away with a two-bit bar floozy and…’ She glanced angrily up at Johnson, whose pants were now down around his ankles, his rigid dick sticking out like a flagpole at a frontier fort, waiting to be saluted. ‘Well, let’s just say that I vowed to never let that happen again, and filthy lucre became my one true love; you treat it well and it’ll never leave you.’

‘Money’s cold comfort on a long winter’s night – ’specially ’round these parts,’ Johnson stated.

‘I’ve plenty of one-night stands to keep my bones warm through the winter months,’ Chesty responded. ‘So don’t think for a damn minute that you can bring me back in line with that handsome pussy-prod of yours, cunt-puncher,’ she sneered, her spongy, soap-lathered boobs undulating as she slid upright in the bath, her glittering eyes locked on Johnson’s twitching trenching tool.

‘Well, ma’am, we’ll just have to see about that,’ Johnson said modestly, lifting his snakeskin cowboy boots out of his puddled denim trousers. He stood before the dripping, over-endowed frontier goddess, the both of them as naked as Adam and Eve save for the ten-gallon hat and size-fourteen pair of boots Johnson was wearing. And then he rushed her.

Chesty toppled the tub over on its side and spilled out of the bathwater, was on her bare feet in the blink of a third eye, brandishing a steely eighteen-inch dildo in her clenched right fist. Johnson slid to a stop on the slickened floor and held up his hands. ‘Whoa there now! You put that hole-plugger down, ma’am,’ he intoned.

‘This is all the man I need!’ Chesty shrieked. ‘Maybe you wanna try it on for size yourself!?’ She hurtled herself at Johnson, the metallic cock-substitute aimed ass-high. Johnson scrambled backwards, slipped, and crashed to the floor. He desperately kicked out his right boot, caught Chesty’s shin, and knocked the top-heavy madam off her feet. She cried out in alarm, flailed her arms, and then landed smack dab on top of Johnson’s propped-up pecker. Her sticky, splayed pussy lips caught on the cowboy’s bloated dickcap, and then her downward momentum buried his massive schlong to the hairy balls inside her stretched-out pink.

Johnson pinned Chesty’s arms to her side and frantically pumped his hips, savagely fucking the discombobulated babe before she even knew what hit her.

Her foot-and-a-half-long lady-pleaser/man-smasher lay on the wet floor, as defunct now as the twin cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Johnson pounded the tittified gal’s poon with his prong, fucking her relentlessly, striving to pacify her, to demonstrate beyond any reasonable doubt that one man could readily satisfy one woman, even a huge-breasted, jilted woman. And when Chesty finally let out a soft sigh of surrender, Johnson knew he was hitting his mark. He released her arms and grabbed up her overhanging jugs, 1 fondled and squeezed her sodden, stunning breastworks. Chesty closed her eyes and moaned, dug scarlet fingernails into Johnson’s striated chest, pumping her firm, round bottom in rhythm to his urgent thrusting.

Johnson knew then that he’d at last brought law and the natural order of things back to Dike City, Kansas. He rolled Chesty’s rock-hard, distended nipples between his long fingers, kneaded her smooth, sun-kissed, Texas-sized titties, the muscles on his arms standing out in stark relief as he feverishly worked tit and banged twat.

The pace of the Westerners’ frenetic coupling grew even more intense, and the chest-blessed gal bleated in ecstasy and Johnson grunted with satisfaction at a job well done. He blasted wad after wad of heavy-calibre cum deep into Chesty’s gushing gash. Steaming justice had been served.

The Boob Hill brothel now sits as empty as a politician’s promise, abandoned by its proprietress and her minions of man-lust, the wives returned to their loving husbands, the daughters to the warm bosoms of their families. The Johnson posse disbanded shortly after the graphic action at Boob Hill, the Wild West, it was clear to see, becoming a whole lot less wild. And Lurlene ‘Chesty’ Laflemme and John ‘Long’ Johnson? Well, they bought a spread due south of Dike City and hung up their guns, hers in a bra, his in a clean pair of hand-spun drawers, for hire no longer.

The Big Bang

Tags

been abducted, body rippling and jiggling, dirty-talk, fuck her multiple times, Fuck me more, Fuck me up the ass, horny as hell, hot star sex, man’s erection, pounding her pussy, spill sperm early and often, sticky wetness, still-hard cock, strip-shaved pussy, white-hot sperm, zipped its mushroomed hood

When Joe Coup saw the bright lights on the dark, lonely logging road up ahead, he stomped the brakes and banged the steering wheel.

‘Hell’s bells!’ he growled.

The brilliant, vertical beam of pure, white light swept up the dirt road towards his battered pick-up truck. He slammed into reverse, stomped the accelerator. The vehicle shot backwards, jouncing crazily over water-filled potholes, Joe’s head ricocheting off the bare metal roof, clamping his hardhat down like a bottle cap.

The speedometer needle quivered up to fifty then fell like a tree. The beam of light had suffused the truck, capturing it and the cursing lumberjack, stopping the both of them dead. The roof peeled back like the lid on a sardine can, and Joe was airborne. His indignant profanity filled the pine-scented night air, startling wolves and shocking chipmunks.

‘What’d you want this time?’ Joe groused, cantilevering his fingers under his hardhat and popping it off, freeing up his brains.

He was standing in a spaceship miles above the Earth’s surface, glaring at a glowing orange sphere hovering eyelevel in front of him. An alien life form of pure energy, he grudgingly assumed.

‘I’m over here,’ came the reply, in perfect, if squeaky, English.

Joe looked down, way down, at a green, two-inch long centipede-like creature on the metallic floor of the spacecraft.

The creature arched its head, waved ten or twelve arms or legs in universal greeting. ‘That’s our light and heating unit,’ it explained, pointing still more appendages at the orange sphere. ‘My name’s Kazar.’

Joe looked back up at the glowing ball, like he preferred it. ‘This is the sixth time I’ve been abducted,’ he complained, ‘and I’m starting to get pissed off.’

The first three times had been interesting, fun even, the cold probing offset by the warm and fuzzy half-hour of fame: guest appearances on the television shows Unexplained Unknowns and PSI: Oregon, guest-of-honour spots at science fiction conventions and NASA fundraisers, a ghost-written bestseller-in-the-Nevada-Area 51 entitled ET Loves Me.

But the celebrity had faded like the prospects of an ALF reunion movie anytime soon, after the fourth abduction. And by the fifth, the ‘kook’ label had been firmly affixed. He lost his long-suffering girlfriend and his plum job at her father’s sawmill, moved into an abandoned Airstream trailer on the edge of an acid lake in the middle of a clear-cut nowhere, only his hand and a satellite dish to keep him company, chainsawing and trimming and hauling logs, freelance, for a living.

He was the guy who cried ‘Watch the skies!’ once too often, Chicken Little in a spacesuit, and now no one was listening – except the tiny green centipede with the Mickey Mouse voice.

‘This will be the final time,’ Kazar assured him. ‘For this,’ it gestured expansively with almost all its limbs, ‘is the mother ship.’

‘And what were all the other spaceships – kiddie cars?’ Joe grumbled.

Kazar grinned, then scuttled over to an inch-high instrument panel and peered out of a BB-sized porthole, pressing a button to correct the trajectory of the flying saucer. One of its limbs inadvertently triggered the hyperlight drive which sent it splatted against the porthole. The sudden speed sent Joe flying.

Kazar shut down the drive and apologized, as Joe climbed angrily to his feet. ‘The others were merely…exploratory vessels,’ it said, continuing their discussion. ‘Equipped to search for the man who will serve our peoples’ purposes – serve the place purposes of peoples in all…uh, serve the purposes of all places and…’

Joe snorted, ran a rugged hand through his shaggy, blonde hair.

‘And you are that man, Joe,’ Kazar said, ‘and this ship contains the most precious of all cargoes.’

Joe defiantly spat a line of black tobacco at the floor, splashing little Kazar in the wash. ‘I’m not doin’ nuthin’ for you guys! I’ve had it! I’m all sampled and studied…out! You guys can go crawl back into your black hole and pull it in after…’

He stopped his tirade when Kazar snapped its limbs and a being as beautiful as a billion sunsets suddenly appeared, naked as the break of day. ‘Mother!’ Kazar squeaked triumphantly.

Joe’s fists unfurled and he gulped his chaw, ogled the woman with the stars in her eyes.

‘She’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Joe,’ Kazar piped, standing up on its hind limbs and gesturing at the heavenly creature. ‘A composite of your ideal woman come to life, assembled from mind probes of your onceevery- ten-seconds sexual fantasies.’

Joe had to admit she was built, alright. He brushed splinters off his dirty Hard-On Wood Products t-shirt and finger-combed his scruffy beard.

Kazar glanced at a data screen the size of a pinkie toenail. ‘She has, uh, Diane Lane’s feet and legs, Jenny Lopez’s rear end, Pamela Lee Anderson’s…uh, Pamela Anderson Lee’s…’

‘Pamela Anderson,’ Joe breathed. ‘Right, yes. Pamela Anderson’s chest. Jenny Connelly’s face and Jenny Aniston’s hair. And, uh, Paul Newman’s eyes?’

Joe’s sunburnt face burned a deeper red. Kazar twitched its limbs as if in a shrug. ‘For your purposes, we shall call her Dijepa Coanman – or Jenny, for short.’

‘Jenny,’ Joe exhaled. ‘Is she an alien?’

‘At her core, yes. But you won’t be seeing her core.’

Joe was seeing everything else, though, his eyes wandering over the wondrous woman’s swollen breasts and jutting nipples, rappelling down her plump butt cheeks and along her lithe, golden legs, and then scaling back up her legs, resting briefly on her strip-shaved pussy before ascending to her globular tits again. He glanced quickly at her shining face and ‘Friends’-era styled hair. He avoided her eyes.

‘You will fuck her multiple times,’ Kazar squeaked without compunction. Then he slithered into an opening at the bottom of the instrument panel, like a silverfish oozing under a refrigerator, leaving Joe and Jenny all alone together.

‘Do you like what you see?’ the celestial body spoke, eternity in her Kathleen Turner husky voice.

Joe hardened like an eight-foot length of green spruce in a fired kiln, the lumber visible in his tight jeans his universal response. He blessed the satellite dish back home, the space age technology that allowed him to watch all the shows and movies from which his best-of-the-best dream girl had been fashioned.

Jenny glided towards him, her tanned, toned body rippling and jiggling in all the right places. ‘You were chosen because of your stamina, Joe, your ability to spill sperm early and often.’

Joe was honoured, horny as hell. He tore off his t-shirt and flung it aside, unlaced and kicked off his steel-capped boots, unbuckled and unzipped his faded blue jeans and shoved them down and off. Jenny looked at the man’s very tighty-whities, and smiled.

She pushed her lush chest up against Joe’s hairy trunk, and he grabbed on to her like a born-again tree-hugger, crushing her hot body against his. His cock pressed urgently into her flat belly, a sticky wetness already staining his underwear. She gazed up into his gaping, brown eyes and kissed him. He hungrily devoured her soft, moist, Angelina Jolie-like lips, and she gripped the sides of his Jockeys and yanked down.

After inflaming each other with their mouths and hands and sundry other body parts, Jenny fought her way out of Joe’s hairy, blond arms and fell back onto a padded platform that had arisen as quickly and surely as the man’s erection. ‘Fuck me, Joe!’ she hissed, spreading her slender legs and pulling her pink, Jenna Jameson, petals apart, urging him to dock his rocket.

Joe was on her like gravity on a Jovian. He pressed his bony, lanky body against her soft and cushiony one, his lips against her lips again, his sweaty hands rummaging around for her impossibly upright breasts and finding them. She slid a Gene Simmons tongue into his mouth and moaned like she meant it, Joe not-so-dry-humping her stomach.

‘Fuck me, Joe!’ she repeated.

He fumbled between his legs and grabbed hold of his cock and zipped its mushroomed hood right over her slit and into her Britney Spears bellybutton. It’d been awhile since he’d done this sort of bush work. She took his cock in her hand and pressed its boiled-up head into her juicy cunt, grabbed onto his pale buttocks and slammed him home.

‘Yeah,’ Joe mumbled, tonguing a Scarlett Johansson ear and pumping his hips in a rhythm as old as all creation.

Jenny gripped Joe’s shoulders and urged him on with some Ginger Lynn dirty-talk. His thick cock sawed back and forth inside her with an oiled ease, faster and faster, until he was pounding her pussy with an animal intensity.

Her Elvira-like fingernails bit into him, and he tilted his head back and howled at the moon, white-hot sperm launching from his balls and into her silky pink space.

‘More! More!’ she urged, as Joe shot his payload. He collapsed on top of her, gasping for air, bathed in the sweat of his efforts (his first bath in quite some time).

‘Fuck me up the ass, Joe,’ she whispered in his ear, before pushing his deadweight away and doing a log-roll on the platform. She jumped up onto all-fours and wiggled her bold, bronze bum at him.

He responded like a bear to honey, possessing that rare ability of almost instant sexual recovery and semen rejuvenation. He reared up on his knees and trundled in behind her, steering his still-hard cock into her puckered, Nina Hartley asshole. His pole slid inside her like greased doweling, plunging right to the hairline. Then he gripped her Shakira hips and started banging away.

And only a minute or so after penetrating that taut, gripping bottom, watching those split-peach cheeks shudder resplendently as he smacked them repeatedly with his body, Joe went supernova a second time, shooting for the stars all over again. He tilted his head back and bellowed loud enough to register at the Arecibo Observatory, spraying sizzling spunk deep into Jenny’s chute, into her core.

He toppled over on top of his out-of-this-world lover, sliding right off her sweat-dappled skin and landing with a thunk on the platform.

‘More! Fuck me more!’ she implored. She encircled his shaft with her Palmolive fingers and sealed her lips around his cap and sucked like a black hole.

They had hot star sex in every position imaginable, every Joe-brain-inspired orifice offered and explored. He leaked semen like his pick-up leaked oil. Until at last, when he was as spent as a white dwarf, Kazar reappeared.

It squeaked at the woman to wake up the depleted, dozing woodsman, and she squirted milk into his face á la slut number four in Breastpumpers III, rousing Joe back to consciousness.

‘Human, thank you for all your help,’ Kazar shrilled.

Joe rolled off the platform and hit the floor pleading. ‘No problem. I can do more,’ he gasped. He staggered to his feet and stared at Jenny, picturing her with Eva Longoria’s body for a change of pace. ‘Unfortunately, you cannot stay long – and hard,’ Kazar added with a smirk, ‘in this atmosphere.’ It gestured about the ship with a multitude of limbs. ‘An atmosphere that allows the both of us to function. No man can. That’s why we needed a man of your…special abilities, Joe. For to impregnate the one we call Jenny, much of your Earthly seed was required.’

‘Impregnate!?’ Joe yelped, coming back to his senses, his atrophied sense of responsibility.

Kazar grinned. ‘Yes. I said this was the ‘mother’ ship, Joe. And thanks to you, Jenny can now give birth to another universe, just as she did fifteen billion of your years ago.’

Joe gave his head a shake, his penis now as shrivelled as little Kazar.

‘You mean…I’m…’

‘Yes, you’re free to go.’

TEXTUALLY ACTIVE – Amber @ A Full Margin

Tags

access to pornography, adult stories, cyber-sex, erotica, my sex, sex stories, sexual journey, stories of sex, sugar daddy’s

I’m a full time single parent and full time student preparing to transfer into my first bachelors program at thirty. I’m pan-sexual, kinky and tend to avoid politics and religion wherever I can. I’m a bad feminist. I’ve been writing fan fiction and erotica for over fifteen years and, at the moment it’s my sexual outlet of choice.

I came of age in the ‘90s, born in 1982 and raised in rural Arizona by working parents that didn’t really think I needed sex ed – they were right, by the time they thought to even begin introducing it at school and eventually at home I was already prepared for the advanced courses. Bless a precocious mind and easy access to pornography.

After dinner, I put the kids to bed, light a few candles and some mellow-scented incense. A mug of tea, usually lavender or mint, and something sweet to nibble on complete my personal self-care regimen. Before I had kids, it’d be my boyfriend or girlfriend going to bed and when I used to drink, it’d be a shallow tumbler with a double shot of tequila instead of tea and when I smoked it’d be my trusty Marlboro hard pack and zippo instead of hand-dipped incense, but the routine has remained mostly unchanged for over a decade. I turn on my computer and with a few keystrokes the experience has begun.

Tonight, I’m a bubbly twenty-six-year-old vixen looking to wrap my fingers around a sugar daddy’s big fat…wallet by the best means at my easy disposal, this time by posing as an escort. Yesterday I was a wealthy executive being beaten and fucked raw by an ex-commando mercenary working for a man that I screwed on a business deal. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go off my rails and change into the hazy green skin of a tentacle monster on the hunt for virgins who dare disturb my slumber. Perhaps I’ll be a fifty-something divorcee meeting with his new lady love for a clandestine night of passion between slices of his homemade pie and full contact cuddling. Or even a super-spy bedding an inter-sexed space alien he met in a pan-dimensional brothel, an awkward thirty-something with an unspoken crush on his long-time best friend, a bored plus-sized housewife who decides to moonlight as a mistress for thrills, any number of gawky young adults still learning about the pleasures of sex, a survivor of the zombie apocalypse desperate to feel anything but fear and hopelessness, a curious anthropomorphic feline, part of a gang bang, a sex slave or slave owner. I could be anything, any one, any number of faces and bodies and stories working toward the simple goal of text on the screen dripping with unadulterated lust.

This is my sex. Late at night by the light of a few candles and my monitor I spin stories of sex and intrigue, lust and longing. Tales where lonely cops, waitresses, mythical creatures, parents, teenagers, models, politicians, soldiers and spies are stripped down to the level of lovers. Givers and takers, tops and bottoms, masters, mistresses, slaves and pets and anything and everything in between. My fantasies, no matter how taboo or vanilla they are that day, are safe and as free from judgement as one can be while still straying out of the solid walls of md by mind.

Far from what I’ve been told people assume when they find out about my text-based hobbies, I’ve had sex in the real world. Quite a bit of it, considering I’m a fairly unassuming looking overweight thirty-year-old single mom. I started young, too young, perhaps, but curiosity has always gotten the better of me and over the last fifteen years I’ve dabbled in anything that’s taken my interest. Much like my fantasy life, finding my true self IRL (in real life) has been difficult. The list of identities I’ve held in one form or another includes (but is certainly not limited to): bisexual, gender queer, victim, bottom, mistress, gay, goddess, top, slave, slut, boi, little girl, ftm, observer, furry, director. Right now, at this moment, I consider myself to be a pansexual mamabear with toppy tendencies despite my intensely submissive fantasies…it’s a label that’s stuck longer than most but I won’t pretend it’s how I’ll always see myself.

The ‘vanilla’ world disappointed me, I remember as a young teenager being frustrated with the pervasive reliance on gender roles and rigid “gay” or “straight” sexuality. The black-and-white world of this-is-good/that-is-bad has always bothered me and the only way I could ever explain it is to say that my world is gray. Which in and of itself isn’t entirely true. It’s more like it’s a Technicolor rainbow of possibilities where things are flexible and fluid and the rigid notion of sexuality being an either/or only continuum was done away with. Throughout my formative years I can remember the streams of contradictory information coming from every direction: girls only like boys but good girls don’t sleep with boys and you should have a close female friend but if you kiss you’re lesbians and that’s dirty…

I forged my own way. I played with boys and girls, exploring everything I could, like a fat kid at a Dairy Queen with a big bowl of little pink spoons (which was also a literal indulgence of mine, but in all fairness I was a pretty cool fat kid). Before too long, though,they took my spoons away and I was left without people to explore. At thirteen I was the weird kid who giggled a lot and knew way too much about sex: the pervert and the slut. That was the year I started writing.

The first gentle steps into textual sexuality were much like the fumblings of any virgin; I kept a diary where I wrote down all of my fantasies in gory, graphic detail. Thoughts I’m almost ashamed to admit came out of the mind of a sexually-obsessed tween. Things along the lines of “I bet Mr. (insert teacher here) has a really big dick. I wonder what would happen if I told him I’d suck it.” Which – oddly enough – would be one of my first documented fantasies involving intergenerational relationships with an authority figure, something which has popped up many, many times in my fantasies since. At fourteen I fell in love with the internet and found fanfiction, which I still write to this day and don’t ever plan to stop. I’ve just this year found my very first stories under a pseudonym I haven’t used since 1999. In them Hercules and Ioalus (from TV’sHercules: the Legendary Journeys) shared a very manly time at the baths including scrubbing and copious amounts of poorly-written anal sex. Many stories followed, all based in various fandoms and around various pairings.

After those initial writings I became like a woman possessed. I wrote about anything and everything, spending hours chatting with friends who were into the same exact things I was. It was heavenly but at that time it was all limited to discussingfictional sex lives. It was safe but unsatisfying. I got my personal kicks in the real world, experimenting with sex all through high school with anyone I was attracted to that seemed interested in me. I supplementplaed heavily with porn in every form I could get my hands on: videos, magazines, books, nifty.org and newsgroups with alt.sex in them.

My next big step in my personal textual-sexual revolution came in the form of something anyone who has ever been in a large chatroom has probably seen: an instant message with the simple line “a/s/l.” I can’t remember the guy’s handle, but shortly after I answered it became pretty clear what he wanted. Eventually he asked outright what my fantasy was, and for the first time ever I shared my biggest fantasy of the time: for a marching band practice (I would be the third chair trombone in this scenario) to turn into an orgy. Oddly enough, it’s one of the few fantasies that has survived to this day and every so often I’ll Google ‘marching band orgy’ only to be sorely disappointed and reminded that when I die some poor soul will end up reading my search history and learning things nobody ever needed to know. In return, he sent a grainy webcam picture of his cock. Thus began the cyber-sex portion of my sexual journey.

Cybersex was my first introduction to openly sharing my own fantasies, learning about kinks that I had always assumed nobody but me had. I’d stay up until the early hours of the morning getting off with men and women I never intended to meet, sharing our fantasies over IM and in private chatrooms, one-on-one or in small groups. In that time I was always upfront about who I was, no characters, just a lonely, horny girl looking to swap fantasies and talk about the weird shit I’d love to do with someone else. The cybersex led to real life sex back then, random hookups and my shaky introductions to the BDSM scene around eighteen or nineteen when I was treated horribly for being a newbie and more or less clueless about things like roles or identities; I just wanted to play! And I played. And learned games that I hadn’t even thought about at that point in my life. I recall on my twentieth birthday I got my very first caning at a play party because I’d mentioned to a guy I met in a chatroom that I wondered what it would feel like to be beaten and humiliated and then fucked in public. I got to play out fantasies of being “Daddy’s girl” as well as a mistress with a man twice my age licking my toes before begging to eat me out. It was a pretty good run, really. But in the end, it was just too much. I got sick of being told Ihadto be either a Domme or a sub, that Ihad to be into leather and pain and humiliation, which sometimes I was, but not always. But again, there were always those either/or lines. Too many times I got told that situational switches don’t exist or that I wasn’t straight enough or that I wasn’t lesbian enough or that it was a man- or woman-only space. I got sick of fucking people I barely knew and engaging in what I now know was very risky and self-destructive behavior and plain old poor judgement. I wanted freedom to not just be me, but to be anyone I damn well pleased. And I wanted to be loved for it.

Retreating back to the internet, I found a place to call home, the furthest place I could possibly find from the leather-and-pain I thought of as BDSM at the time: I became a furry. Okay, to clarify: I’ve never been sexually attracted to animals, nor do I ever expect to be. I never wore a fursuit (though I have played with someone in one) and I never subscribed the whole ‘otherkin’ thing. That said, for a (before-children) period between the ages of about twenty-one and twenty-three I identified as an anthropomorphic gray and black tabby cat. Still with me? Good, you’re a trooper.

The furry community was an eye-opener for me, for the first time I found others that were in tune with my philosophy of sexuality as something that should be playful and friendly (even when the scene you’re playing isn’t). I was able to explore fluctuating identities ounand the concept of playing a character other than myself in a sexual context. My writing changed and grew as I did until it too became more fluid. Fiction began to crossover into my life as cybersex with the intent to get off and maybe hook up with someone was replaced with roleplay where the goal was to weave a story with someone else.

But again, I grew and changed and my sexuality and identity changed with me. Over the course of the next five years I’d have two lovely children, become a single parent, and lose most interest in actually having sex with someone in the real world. Don’t get me wrong, if the right person and the right time happened to coincide, I wouldn’t think twice about it, but most days I’m pretty sure I’ve had more than my share of the ice cream buffet that is sex.

Roleplay and fiction became my outlet of choice then, and for over three years now I’ve been pretty happy with that. My sex life is far from over, in a lot of ways I see it as just beginning in this world where I can be anyone I can imagine and indulge in things I either can’t or wouldn’t do in the real world. If I wanted to, tonight I could be Batman. I could write a story by myself or with friends where I yet again save Gotham and then have a three-way with Catwoman and Robin. Leaving the masks on, of course. And if I feel like it, I can be an unassuming thirty-year-old single mom with a wild imagination who wants to cuddle and maybe kiss and someday fall in love. It’s like a pornographic costume party where we’re all wearing a mask and our readers (of what we choose to make public) are voyeurs to our exhibitionism.

At the end of the night, when my lust is sated and my imagination has drifted off, I snuff out my candles and shut down my computer before retiring to bed with a few good toys and a very, very vivid memory of the many lives I lead.

THE SNOW STORM – Night That I Will Never Forget – Christy Summer

Tags

kissing, kissing him, milf, sex, sex story, slide his fingers, turns me on

I’m a thirty-something wife and mom who previously partied like a rock star and has all the memories to prove it. I had a strict religious upbringing and let it all go when I hit my twenties. I can currently be found reading books to my toddlers, relaxing at a local bar or writing about my previous party life.

I knew what I wanted when I drove to the mall that night. I didn’t care that it was snowing like hell outside and that the parking lots were iced over. I wanted him and I wasn’t sure when I’d see him again.

We both knew that it was risky, but I for one did not care. All I wanted was to experience his hands on me, sense his tongue tracing the inside of my lips and to feel him inside me again. It was all I’d thought about that afternoon at work, after he’d brought lunch to me and I’d sat next to him, having to control myself when all I had wanted was to fuck him, right there, in his truck.

Later I found out that originally his intentions for that night had not included sex, but of course he didn’t protest when I got on top of him. I could not help myself. Five minutes of kissing him, feeling his hands touch me, first over my skirt, then pushing my skirt up and out of the way so that hwane could grab my hip, and then finally slide his fingers inside me, where I was already so wet and so ready that I was moaning – I simply couldn’t wait any longer.

I had to have him, right there in the parking lot, in a snow storm, in his truck. I got on top of him and positioned myself so that I could feel every inch of him.

I still remember everything about that night: how amazing he felt inside me, the scent of his sweat mixed with mine, his hands, grabbing my hips to pull himself deeper into me; the feel of his mouth on my neck, my collarbone, finally my own mouth, kissing me with a passionate but controlled need. The excitement of possibly getting caught made everything more intense. The look in his eyes when we came up for air, the sound of his voice and the feeling of his breath on my neck: he’s a vocal lover, something that turns me on so incredibly quickly. I never had to wonder if I felt good to him, his words and moans told me everything.

We completely fogged up his truck that night and were both left dripping, covered with the sweet smell of sex. I had come three times and was blissfully exhausted. There were more times between us after that, but something about that particular time was different. Maybe it was the contrast of the cold outside and the hot, sweaty sex inside the truck. Perhaps it was the intensity with which I had to have him. Whatever it was, that night is now one that I will never forget.