Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Copyright October 2008
The table, a sheet of plywood with three jig-sawn openings, rested on trestles. Brenda rested facedown on the table. Her hands and feet were secured to the corners. She was blindfolded and naked, save for her little, white, cotton panties.
Her breasts, pointing floor-ward jutted through two of the holes. Her nipples were clamped and the clamps were joined by a chain.
Every ten minutes he removed the clamps and gently massaged her nipples with fingers and thumbs. Even if she complained of the pain when he took off the clamps, she enjoyed the massage. So did he, crouching under the board, playing with her protruding breasts.
“I have to pee John.” She waited for a response but got none.
“I’ll have to go soon.” There was urgency in her voice.
“Soon my dear, soon.” He tried not to sound pleased. He’d been waiting, hoping she’d ask sooner, rather than later.
He reached for the big, plastic pop-bottle and hung it carefully on the chain between her nipples. She sucked air between her teeth as the clamps pulled a little harder but she made no complaint.
John crawled out and stood. He was naked and his cock waved as he moved. He was acutely aware of his erection and the torment of having her so near, so willing but, for now, so unavailable.
He slid the bowl, on its box, under the third opening, under her pussy.
“What are you doing?” asked Brenda.
He didn’t answer but glanced at the clock and stood waiting for the ten minutes to elapse.
“I told you, I need to pee and the clamps are hurting and this board is all splintery.”
“You know you’re loving every moment my sweet.”
He smiled and reached to caress her ass. He was loving it, loving challenging her, loving her helpless nakedness. She always complained and begged to be let go but this was their game, their foreplay.
Time to take the clamps off again. He got to his knees and moved under the makeshift table. He grimaced, next time he’d make the trestles taller.
“Yes,” she murmured and he carefully removed the first clamp and Brenda gasped above him. “Oh John, that hurts!”
He removed the other and she squealed.
Gently he caressed the skin of her breasts around her nipples wondering at the softness, the silkiness of her skin. The nipples were big now and an angry red. Brenda moved on the board above him as he played with her.
His cock was drooling. Taking some precum on a fingertip he anointed her left nipple with it. Above him, she struggled in her bonds.
“Ow!” she squealed, “splinters are sticking in my breasts.”
“Be still then.” He continued toying with her nipples, loving their hardness, their size.
“John, I have to pee!”
He clipped the clamps carefully back on her nipples, loving her cries of pain and protest.
“What are you doing now? You have to untie me.”
“I’m putting the tube from the basin, into the bottle that’s hanging from your nipples.”
There was a long silence. Finally, “Does that mean what I think it means?”
“You have a beautiful imagination, so it probably does.”
“You’ll have a long wait then,” she told him angrily but there was no conviction in her voice.
“I don’t think so.” He crawled out and stood again. He crossed to the wall and turned the thermostat to zero, “Let’s turn the heat down a little.”
Next he opened the window slightly. She turned her head as she heard him.
He said, “The chill air should hurry things along.”
“Yes Brenda. Do you know that water weighs ten pounds per gallon, maybe two and a half pounds a quart?”
She squirmed on the board, signalling her need. He moved to stand beside her, reaching over he pulled the waistband of her panties down, leaned close and kissed her buttock.
Her legs were so invitingly apart, open when she must so badly need to close them. He slid a hand up the inside of her thigh and touched her through the crotch of her panties. She was wet. His other hand was on his cock, stroking it.
Slipping fingers under the fabric he began exploring her moist softness. She writhed helplessly.
A glance at the clock showed another ten minutes gone, nearer fifteen.
He took the clamps off yet again. She told him it hurt, told him how aroused she was, begging him to release her so she could relieve herself. So they could make love.
“We are making love.” He craned his neck and took a nipple in his mouth and suckled at her. Above him she struggled frantically, making little mewing sounds.
He knew she was near to coming and released her nipple. He gently replaced the clamps. The empty bottle swung on the chain, pulling her nipples this way and that. His cock was like an iron bar.
“John I have to pee!”
“Go ahead lover.”
“In my panties?”
He laughed, “Why not? You know I love washing them for you.”
He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower knowing how it would affect her. Jeez! Now he needed to go too.
He went back to her.
“Damn you John, you’re being cruel.”
“And you’re loving it.” His hand went to his cock again; he wouldn’t have to wait much longer surely.
He bent and kissed her pretty ass, nipped the soft flesh and thought how much he loved this sweet creature.
“Oh no!” she whispered and he heard the trickling sound.
“One pound per pint Brenda.”
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Copyright November 2009
Pussyholic, that would describe him quite well he thought. His meeting with Suzanne was therefore fortuitous for both of them.
She had a pussy that craved attention. A neglected pussy, neglected for twenty-eight years and several months or at least lacking the attention it deserved. That was the way she saw it.
Simon’s love and fascination for the female pubic area was, as he saw it, perfectly normal. A cunny gave him and his cock, exquisite pleasure so he thought it only right and natural to repay in kind. He wondered if he fixated too much on the oral pleasuring but nobody ever complained.
They met at a book signing. He wrote novels with a strong erotic theme. His publisher arranged the signings; it was part of the contract. Simon attended them philosophically. Most of the people who came to the signings were women and he couldn't help enjoying their blushing enthusiasm for his creations. But now, three hours into the four-hour session, he was looking forward to making his escape. He glanced at the clock, fifty-five minutes to go and the flow of people had slowed appreciably. Maybe he would get away on time.
He looked up as another book was slid in front of him. "Hi," he said.
"Hello," she said. "Suzanne, can you write, 'To Suzanne,’ please?"
He smiled and opened the front cover. It was a well-worn, hard-back copy, probably second hand. Yes, there was a pencilled-in, reduced price in the corner of the front cover. She was tall and brown haired and maybe a little overweight. His heart gave a little bump. She was rather lovely. She wore a skirt, he liked that, skirts were getting ever rarer he thought a little sadly.
He wrote, 'To Suzanne, with love, Simon H.’ He always added the 'with love,' if he found the woman attractive.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh yes!" the words came out as a near silent breath.
Simon picked up the book to hand it back but noticed a protruding bookmark. He opened the book and smiled.
He glanced up. She was blushing scarlet. "I see we have the same favourite part."
She started to speak, hesitated and then said in a rush, "I fantasise about your reading that to me aloud." Her hand flew to her mouth, her embarrassment obviously acute.
"I'm flattered, I'd love to read it to you," he said. He realised too late he'd spoken rather in haste.
He sat and signed the occasional book while she browsed the shelves through the store. He realised that he had a date of sorts at eleven o'clock. The hands crept round towards closing time. He looked around. She was sat in a chair, in a corner, reading.
The shop manager phoned for a cab and waited with them as the remaining staff went about closing up.
He got her a wine and himself a beer. "I've only dated a reader once before."
"How was it?"
"A disaster." He laughed, remembering. "But I didn't read to her."
"Are you going to read to me?"
"I said I would."
Suzanne crossed to the sofa and sat down, book in one hand, wine in the other. Simon followed her, took the book from her and sat in the armchair facing her.
He put his beer down on the table at his elbow and opened the book at the bookmark. He read the first few lines to himself and glanced up at her. It hit him then that she was dressed just like the girl in his book. A lacy white blouse and a black skirt that showed her knees. She wore hose and black pumps with maybe three-inch heels. He felt his cock stirring.
He began to read aloud. To his delighted surprise she did exactly as the story told. She crossed her legs, right knee over left and almost imperceptibly began tensing and relaxing her thighs. Her hips squirmed slightly. He could see the back of her right thigh to the point where it met the sofa's cushion. More to the point he could see that she wore stockings, the dark top contrasting with white flesh. Now his cock was more than stirring.
Suzanne's eyes were closed as she listened. She didn't realise how obvious was the movement of her thighs as she worked them, one against the other. But she was aware of what the movement was doing. She'd been horny forever it seemed. She'd denied herself release ever since she'd read of the book signing but now she was riding a wave as his voice read. How often had she read this chapter of the book, followed word for word, action for action, always reaching the same exquisite conclusion. But his books were like that, incredibly erotic. Then, the chance to meet the author of so many of her orgasms.
Her climax was approaching, uncoiling inside her like a tight-wound spring. He stopped reading; she stopped moving and opened her eyes. He was staring at her, smiling.
'Oh God,' she thought, 'he knows I'm doing it.'
Blushing she uncrossed her legs and sat, feet on floor, knees together.
Struggling for composure she said, "I'm sorry, please go on." She gestured at the book.
She longed to get her hand up her skirt, to finish what she'd started. God! She was so horny.
He began to read again. She listened, he read very well, unhurried, his phrasing somehow bringing out the meaning so well.
She moaned softly as he reached the part where the girl in the story slid down in the sofa causing her skirt to ride up and expose her thighs, her panties. Damn it! She could hardly do that, could she?
Her eyes met his. He stopped reading again and looked at her, an eyebrow raised. His meaning couldn't have been clearer: 'Was she going to follow the story or not?’
She gasped, shocked, realising he did actually want her to act out the story. Suzanne almost shook her head, almost said no. But she did neither. This was why she’d gone to the signing. Gone with the silly, futile, dream-world hope of just this happening.
She eased forward, moving her ass across the cushion towards him. The fabric held her skirt and slowly more and more leg emerged. She glanced down; there were her stocking tops, peeping out.
Simon clenched his teeth, fighting the smile. She was going to do it. His cock swelled and his grip on the book tightened. She was going to do it.
Her ass was at the edge of the sofa and her bared thighs were in plain view.
He looked down at the book and read, “Maureen let her thighs fall open.” Suzanne’s thighs opened too and there was the gleam white and Simon knew she’d worn little cotton panties, just like Maureen.
Just as the cushion’s fabric had held her skirt so had the skirt held her panties and now they were uncomfortably tight across her pussy. She needed to hook a finger in either side of them and ease them away from herself but she was held by the story. There was no way Suzanne was going to stray from it and she prayed he wouldn’t either.
She knew the next move of course; she knew the plot word for word. He should get up and come to kneel between her feet.
Simon got to his feet, still holding the book. It hurt to stand, his erect cock was trapped inside his briefs, this discomfort hadn’t happened in the story. He moved across to her, knelt and put the book on the sofa beside her.
“Perhaps you’d better read for a while, my hands and mouth will be occupied if I remember the plot.” He didn’t need any prompts from his book but this was a delightful game to play.
He reached into his pants and eased his cock straight. He felt the slickness of his own precum on his fingertips.
Simon put his hands, palms down, on her thighs, just above her knees. The rough smoothness of the nylon was a turn on as always, there was surely nothing like tight stockings on soft flesh. She picked up the book and began reading, the tremble in her voice betraying her arousal. He followed her words with his own actions.
He slid his hands up, up slowly, to her stocking tops in time with her words. His fingertips found the warm skin of her thighs and slowly he let his hands explore until they were on her hips. His wrists and forearms had taken her skirt higher. He breathed the scent of her, a heady mix of perfume and the heat of her arousal. Her cotton-clad mound was inches from his face.
He turned his head and rested it in the nakedness of her lap.
Suzanne’s insides seemed to melt. She looked down; Simon’s eyes were closed. His beard tickled her thigh and she could feel a hint of stubble on his cheek. She wanted to touch his face. His hands were high on her hips, his arms along her thighs and the book told her what he’d do next. Her ex’ had never done anything like this to her in four years. Her pussy seemed to almost ache with need. She glanced at the book and took a deep breath.
Simon turned his head and slowly pressed his face into the warmth between her thighs. He heard Suzanne’s sharp gasp.
He breathed in, slow and deep, savouring the wonderful scent of her. He wasn’t sure what pheromones were or if they had a smell but his body knew and he felt his near-rigid cock swell and grow. His lips formed a kiss and he pressed them into the cotton of her panties. He could feel her softness yielding against his lips.
In response she thrust forward and opened her legs wider, offering herself.
Simon sank lower, his ass on his heels, letting his mouth slide down deeper. They were wet; her panties were very wet. He heard her make a little mewing noise above him and she breathed out an ‘Oh God.’ Oh fuck yes!’ The exact words in the story.
She had never felt so happy, so ready to burst with joy. She’d known it could be like this, had dreamed of it, had tried to make it thus with her hands and with toys. Now it was being done to her by another, done the way she knew it should be done. She thought she might die from it and didn’t care at all.
His face between her legs was driving her insane and she still had her panties on and his cock was two feet away. Even so, she was having a meltdown.
He stopped nuzzling her and lifted his face. Protest parted her lips and she realised she let her hand and the book drop to the sofa.
“Can’t we just …?” She wanted to beg, ‘Can’t we just fuck and forget about the book?’ But she knew that would spoil the whole thing somehow. With a sigh she raised the book.
Simon slid his hands up and around and carefully slipped his fingers into the front of her panties. He pulled the fabric into a narrow strip that he guided between her pussy lips. She craned her neck to watch. Her panties covered her not at all now and her plump pussy lips were divided by the tight-stretched strip of cotton.
Suzanne knew what would happen next and held her breath. He lowered his face again and her whole body tensed in anticipation. He opened his mouth and gently bit her left labia. It didn’t hurt, not quite but the sensation of his teeth doing that, doing it there! He was biting her pussy, pretending to eat her. She brought her free hand to the back of his head and ground herself against his mouth.
Although she'd trimmed her pubic hair to a neat triangle he was thankful she wasn’t shaved. His lips and teeth held her while he let his tongue lick and play with the curls in his mouth. He bit harder and she tensed but made no protest so he bit until she gave a little squeal. He released her and went for the other lip.
Suzanne simply lost it then, she dropped the book and brought that hand to join the first. She pulled his face hard against her pussy and proceeded to hump against him. In seconds it seemed she was out of control as the orgasm swept through her. She was having sex with his mouth and loving it. She came and came and begged for more, sobbing and fighting for breath. Nobody had ever brought her to climax orally before. Her whole body was out of control as she squirmed and writhed with the intensity of what was sweeping through her.
Finally she stilled and then was quiet, save for the sound of her trying to catch her breath. Simon came up for air, wet-faced and smiling. He sat up and rested his hands on the sofa on either side of her knees.
“That wasn’t the way it was in the book.”
“I don’t think Maureen was as horny or as inexperienced,” she paused, “I’m sorry, I just lost it.”
“Don’t be sorry, you were wonderful. Even if you did bruise my nose.”
She sprawled on the sofa in glorious disarray, unknowing, perhaps uncaring, that her skirt was hiked, legs spread. “My God that was incredible. Nobody ever did that to me before, not like that.”
Her hand strayed downwards. “God, I’m soaked.”
In sudden embarrassment she tried to close her legs, her other hand grabbed for the hem of her skirt. Simon was still between her legs of course. Her hands flew to her face and she burst into tears.
Simon had never had quite this reaction before but he did his best. “Don’t cry, you just had a happy experience. You look sweet and you’re supposed to be wet.” He reached with his fingertips and spread her panties to cover her pussy. She flinched at his touch and he bent his head and kissed the wet cotton. She moaned softly.
“I’ve gotta go pee,” she said.
“That’s not in the book.”
“Neither is wetting the hotel’s sofa.”
Simon got awkwardly to his feet so she could get up. He was thinking about a chapter later in the book. She saw his expression.
“A penny for them,” she asked as he helped her up.
“A penny for your thoughts, you had a wicked grin on your face.” She shifted her feet and he realised she really did need to go.
“Oh, nothing, you reminded me of something.”
“Oh it was nothing.” He realised he was being defensive and he was blushing.
“Oh my God! That scene! You were thinking about that scene, in the bathroom?”
“Yes I was.” He was grinning like a fool and he knew it.
“That is so hot, the way you describe it.” With that she headed quickly for the bathroom, hobbling a little and saying, “Ooh I’ve really gotta go.” The door lock clicked loudly announcing that one of his favourite fantasies wasn’t going to happen right then.
He sat on the couch and waited, amazed at the way a perfectly normal evening had suddenly turned out. She was a delight.
A few minutes later the bathroom door unlocked and her hand appeared, “My purse please, could you hand me my purse?”
He obliged and wondered what was happening.
When she re-emerged she looked much the same. Perhaps her makeup had been retouched, her eyes looked darker, bigger and surely her lipstick brighter, whatever, she looked lovely. He sat and watched her.
She went to the chair where he’d sat and picked up his beer and drank the half-glass that remained. “An orgasm like that leaves a girl thirsty I guess.”
Next she came over the where he sat, bent and picked up the book. “Now, where were we?”
He smiled up at her, “I remember it quite clearly.” He stood and gestured at the couch.
Suzanne nodded and sat down. “Mmm, so do I.” She flicked through the pages until she found the right place. She glanced up at Simon and read, ‘He got to his feet and Maureen reached for his belt buckle.’
Suzanne put down the book and he took a step nearer. He felt a tremor of excitement run through him as her hands reached out towards him. She fumbled a while with the buckle but eventually got it unfastened. She took the tag of his zipper and drew it slowly down, very slowly. He felt, rather than heard, the buzz of it.
His cock stirred as she undid the button at the waistband and, with a jingle from his pocket change, his pants slid to his ankles. She turned and picked up the book. She was teasing him he realised in a mix of delight and dismay.
‘Maureen sat and gazed at the contours of the bulge at the front of his briefs,’ she read.
“Nice bulge, nice contours.”
Her hand reached out and touched him. He gave an involuntary gasp. His cock began its swelling and straightening.
Suzanne’s heart seemed to be hammering in her throat. She’d never done this to a man before. She sensed the power of the moment but also realised that her earlier orgasm had done little to reduce the horniness that possessed her. She was touching him through the soft grey cotton of his briefs, feeling the roundness of his balls, the ridge formed by his cock. That cock was growing.
Her self-restraint slipped away and she slid her hands round him to dig her fingers in to his ass and press her face against that lovely bulge. With nose and mouth she nuzzled at him, turning her face this way and that. His cock became huge, or so it seemed. She’d dreamed of doing things like this to a man. There’d been nothing like this in four years of empty marriage. But now it seemed so natural. Next she’d pull down his briefs and do it all again.
She pulled back reluctantly. Where the head of his cock strained against the fabric there was a dark patch. That was precum he was leaking. Just like in the story his cock was producing precum and it was doing it because of her.
She reached for him again, hooking fingers in the elastic waistband and easing the briefs carefully out and down. His cockhead appeared and she held her breath, her hands moved slowly down. When he was exposed she paused to look. How primitive his cock looked with its veins tracing random lines and the skin so tight looking.
“I’ve never …,” she breathed the words, “I’ve never seen one so up-close.”
The wrinkled ball sac below his rearing penis fascinated her. She loved the red-tinged hair that sprouted everywhere.
Of course she did it again; grabbed his ass and buried her face in him, breathing his musky warmth. She turned her face, her cheek against the beautiful rigidity of his cock. He groaned above her.
She pulled back again and reached a small hand to grasp him, she squeezed and sure enough a jewel appeared from the little slit, as per the book. And, as per the story she leaned forward and took it with her tongue-tip. She closed her mouth and tasted, sweet and salty. The inside of her pussy seemed to convulse, an involuntary clenching as body and brain reacted. God! She was in a hotel room, licking a man’s cock. She giggled.
“Giggling at my cock isn’t in the book,” he told her.
She knew that of course but she knew too what was next.
Since that awful fiasco in her teens she’d never sucked a cock. Could she do it now, as she was supposed to? To gain a little time she reached for the book which was open, face down, on the sofa. She handed it to him.
Simon took the book wondering if she’d really follow the story. Already the whole thing had gone further than he’d dreamed it would. He cleared his throat and began, ‘Patrick was close to the brink when she licked the head of his cock. She looked up at him, her eyes huge.’
He looked down and she raised herself off her heels and kissed the end of his cock again, then took the head into her mouth. Simon lowered the book and closed his eyes for a moment but he had to watch. She looked up and her eyes did look big and round with what seemed, in his imagination, to be a worshipping look. Her lips looked red and swollen and slowly she slid them down him, sucking him in. In and in went his cock with wonderful slowness until, finally, she gagged slightly and out it slid again.
Then he was indeed near the brink, the pressure seemed to build and he knew that first spasm was close. She seemed to sense it too because she slid her mouth off him and blew gently, chilling his wet skin. Simon realised she must know the story by heart.
Now Suzanne wanted to do everything, all at once. Cursing the book she took his spit-slick cock in her hands and began to jerk him off. One hand was stroking the length of him, the other rolling its palm over the head. In no time it seemed he was moaning and telling her to stop before it was too late, then begging her never to stop.
His hips bucked, he sobbed and she felt his first jet spurt into her hand, against her palm. Surprised, delighted she took the hand away and the second hit her between the eyes. She squealed in delight, this was just like the story. A third spurt and she put her mouth over him to catch the fourth. It tasted just like his precum, not really much taste at all. Not the awful flavour she’d half expected. It took an effort to swallow what she’d caught but she did it. With her hands she gently milked out the last few drops, pearly white over her knuckles.
“I’ve got to sit down,” he said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper.
He kicked clumsily free of his pants and briefs and sat heavily on the sofa. Suzanne crawled over and knelt beside him, her head on his lap. The little slit in the head of his cock was barely an inch from her mouth. She could smell the faint bleach-like scent of his come.
His cock was small now, gone the big, beautiful column that had filled her hands and mouth. She worried that he’d not be able to get it up again. The book said he would but she remembered her ex’ and the way he slept the sleep of the dead after they’d had their all too brief couplings. Hopefully the book would be right. Simon was slumped back his eyes closed and happy grin on his face. It was an even match so far, one cum each.
Simon’s heart and lungs slowly returned to their normal pace and he peeped at her through slitted eyes. She was quite lovely. Her thought her brown hair would look well in a ponytail. The softness of her breasts pressed against his knee and thigh. Some of his come still glistened on her forehead and the side of her nose. She didn’t seem aware of it. She’d actually swallowed, actually, actually swallowed; he’d not expected that.
He thought about the rest of the chapter. He prayed she’d stay, stay and play. He’d not felt such joy in a very long time.
“Shall we take a well earned break?” he asked.
“Fine by me.” She got to her feet and went to the mini-bar, opened it and bent to look at the contents. She knew he’d be gazing up her short skirt at her ass. She liked the idea. ‘You’re quite the little slut Sooz,’ she said to herself.
They were quoting the book almost word for word she realised and said, “Cocksucking’s thirsty work.”
She carried two bottles back to where he sat. She bent to pick up his briefs giving him a look down her blouse and noticed his eyes were drawn there. She handed bottles and underwear to him. “Don’t cut your hand, I can never open those silly screw-off tops.”
“To erotic writers,” she said. They clinked bottles and drank.
Suzanne picked up the book and read silently. Her thighs closed and she took her bottom lip under her top teeth. She was suddenly looking forward to the next pages.
She glanced at her watch.
Simon noticed and his heart sank. Hating the words, he said, “Is it getting late?”
“Late? Would you like me to go?”
“Lord no! I’m sitting here praying you’ll stay.”
She tapped the open book with her finger. “Leave? No, let’s at least finish the chapter?”
He turned towards her and she looked down. His cock was noticeably longer and fatter. “I think perhaps he wants me to stay,” she said quietly.
Simon glanced down. “Yes, we both do.”
Suzanne took off her watch and put it, face down, on the small table at her elbow. “There, time is on hold.”
She drank three swallows of beer and sensed she had a slight buzz. She’d not eaten since she’d left her apartment. “Mustn’t get too drunk, anything might happen.”
“Indeed, just about anything.”
“Back to the story?” she asked.
“By all means.” He held out his hand and she passed him the book.
He read, ‘Maureen knelt astride his lap and reached for the top button on her blouse.’
Suzanne took another swallow of beer, put the bottle down and stood up. She turned, knelt astride his lap, her ass on his knees and reached for the top button of her blouse.
Simon licked his lips. He was going to get to see those breasts.
With the last button undone she opened her blouse and shrugged it off. Her bra was a lacy, white affair. It was low cut and gave her a delightful cleavage. His cock responded. She reached behind her and unfastened the hooks. She slipped the straps off her shoulders and the bra joined her blouse on the sofa beside them.
Her breasts were big and looked delightfully heavy. His hands moved of their own accord, he badly wanted to touch.
“They’re too big,” she said quietly, as if she feared he’d think so too.
“They’re beautiful,” he said with a sincerity that made her close her eyes and smile.
The nipples were big and dark. They jutted from their dark surrounds. He thought they begged to be loved.
“Are you a breast man too?”
“Well the hero of your tale says he’s a pussyholic.”
“I guess I’m both. How could I not love those?” he whispered.
She reached down and took his hands and placed them on her breasts.
They were so soft, so heavy, their skin like warm silk. His cock was rigid again. Jutting up between them. He circled his palms on her nipples and she moaned, squirming her ass on his lap. He kept his hands moving and she began breathing through her mouth.
He took his hands away and looked. Hers were the biggest nipples he’d seen. Erect now like his cock, they just had to be suckled. He took her right breast in both hands and lowered his head. With his lips round the nipple he sucked gently and teased with his tongue. He felt an awful urge to bite. He did, trying not to hurt her.
She moaned and her body went rigid. She scrambled off his lap and sprawled on the sofa beside him. With one hand she pulled up her skirt and clamped the other over her mound and began rubbing herself.
He watched and knew they were about to stray from the story. He wanted his cock under those panties and into her heat and he knew with an awful certainty that she wanted it too.
But some strange perverse part of him wanted to follow the story, to tease them both by prolonging this first encounter. He would, if he could, stay with the plot.
He knelt in front of her again. Her thighs were spread wide. Her little white panties had tiny blue flowers on and he knew she’d put on fresh ones when she’d visited the bathroom.
Her eyes opened and she looked at him. Her hand clawed the panties to one side baring herself to him. Her pubic hair was almost coppery. She held herself open and wetness gleamed. Helpless, he plunged his face into that wetness; his lips found the top of her cleft, found the prominent bud of her clitoris. He’d barely touched her with his questing tongue before she came.
She humped and bucked under his mouth. Somehow she got her legs up on his shoulders, her heels grinding into his back. Her thighs clamped his head and she just fucked his face. She was wet and hot and Simon had to fight for breath.
Her hands were on the back of his head, pressing him into her and she just kept coming. He thought he’d drown or suffocate.
Finally she subsided and he managed to get her feet back on the floor. He raised himself. She seemed to glow. Her body had a sheen of sweat on it. Her big breasts moved wonderfully as she fought for breath. Her pussy gaped, shining with her juice and his saliva. Her panties were drawn to one side, cruelly tight. She couldn’t have been more fuckable.
When she gasped, “Please …,” her meaning was very clear.
Simon moved closer to her on his knees and she writhed her ass until she was all but slipping off the sofa.
His cock slid into her in one steady thrust.
His earlier orgasm made his second a struggle. With his hands under her ass he fucked her desperately. She squeezed her breasts cruelly with her hands, like in a porn movie. Just as he was wondering if he could make it, the first tremors began inside him. He was going to come, he was going to come. With each thrust there was a slap of him against her and he was grunting, “Yes!” each time.
Her mind and body caught his rhythm and in sweet unison they came, her first contraction, his first spurt. He thought his whole being would empty into her through his cock.
Her pussy walls milked at his spasming cock, the ripples sucking him empty. Her contractions seemed to go on forever. She was sobbing and he was gasping for breath. They were both near exhaustion.
There was no post coital tenderness from either of them. They were beyond that. He sat on the floor between her feet as if he’d climbed a thousand stairs. Suzanne was sprawled, perhaps asleep, perhaps unconscious. Their combined juices oozed from her, out of her pussy, down the cleft of her ass and onto his knee.
He gazed at her big nipples, the strands of sweat-wet hair across her face and hoped she’d never leave.
Her eyes flickered open and she looked down at him. She sought words but found none. They just looked at each other. He ran the backs of his fingers gently across the wet curls of her pussy.
“What an incredible thing this is,” he said softly. “Mustn’t let it catch cold.” He gently pulled the panties across to cover her mound.
She sighed, took a deep breath. “Will you read the whole book to me?”
“No silly, now we rest. Read to me tomorrow.” She sounded half asleep.
“What do we do when it’s finished?”
“You write me another and another and …” she began snoring softly.
Copyright: November 2009. Julius firstname.lastname@example.orgAll rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Peter wriggled his way under the bed and looked up at her.
"Hello," she said, "I hope you realise this girl is hopelessly horny."
"Not a very ladylike thing to say," he chided her.
"Believe me, I'm not feeling very ladylike."
Peter sensed her helplessness, heard the need in her voice. He also felt the buzz that he got from the situation. She'd sucked him to orgasm minutes before and his awful desperation was gone. Peter was in control here. He'd never felt this before.
"Hey, wake up. This isn't very flattering," she said.
"I was thinking how helpless you are up there and how nice to be in control for once," he said, aware he'd really had been daydreaming.
She didn't answer and he realised that facial expressions were unfathomable when you are upsidedown.
Squirming under a little further he bumped against softness. He realised with a thrill that his head was against her breasts. Peter moved further, feeling the soft resistance and then her breasts slid around to rest against his cheeks.
He brought his hands up to touch them. They hung, big and heavy on either side of his face. Pendulous was the word that leapt into his head, yes, pendulous. He didn't think Cathy would like the word.
This was some kind of boyhood dream come true. His hands ran over the softness, the beautiful silky-skinned fullness. He moved his head, revelling in the feel of her lovely tits, in his hands and against his face. His erection felt huge.
Somewhere above him, Cathy moaned softly and said, "Oh, but that feels good."
"Unbelievable," he said, "they're so soft, so incredibly soft."
He pressed one and then the other against his face. He couldn't get over their softness and warmth. He cupped his hands under them, they were so heavy. He wanted to fondle and nuzzle and caress and suck and nip. He felt like a kid in a candy store.
Peter realised he wanted his cock between these lovely things. To thrust in and out while he squeezed them together with his hands. Her nipples were teasing at his palms as he caressed her. These beautiful tits were his to play with as much and for as long as he wanted.
She must have read his mind, "You're enjoying this aren't you?" she said.
"Well, who wouldn't?" he asked and turned his head left and right rubbing his face against this loveliest of flesh.
"Are you a tit man by any chance?"
"I love all of you, it's just that I came across these first."
"No sweet man, you came across my tongue first," she corrected him.
Peter grinned. Remembering she'd used some sort of lubricant on his cock, he craned his neck to look for it. He saw the bottle and wriggled further under the bed and retrieved it. He glanced up. Her panty-lesspussy was just above his face. A prominent bulge with a cute strip of pubic hair down its middle.
Cathy looked down in delight. Inches from her mouth was that wonderful cock again. The sweet thing looked huge and it waved as he moved. She felt her pussy clench in response to the sight. Her body ached for that penis of his.
Peter squeezed some lubricant onto his hands and reached for her breasts. He thought he'd put off fucking her lovely tits for a while. He just wanted them in his hands. They'd felt wonderful before but with this silicone stuff the sensations were beyond belief. More than handfuls, they seemed to have a life of their and kept slipping and escaping.
Above him Cathy was murmuring words of encouragement and telling him how wonderful it felt. She moved constantly on the bed and he guessed she was becoming more aroused as he played. Her nipples had grown huge. Unable to resist he wriggled closer so he could suckle on them.
She gave a loud, sobbing moan when he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked. Cathy thought she'd lose her mind as his mouth devoured the nipple. She writhed on the bed, desperately needing to close her legs, to squeeze her thighs together. She had to ease the tensions in her clenching pussy. Wrists and ankles tied, all she could do was squirm and beg him to stop. He did stop once and she begged him to start again. While he sucked, his hands constantly roamed over her breasts, caressing, squeezing. Her whole body seemed focused on the mass of nerve endings her nipple had become.
The orgasm hit. Seeming to come from nowhere it shook her to her core. She found herself bucking on the bare-wire framing of the bed as she sobbed her way through the waves that swept over her.
The sounds of her passion inflamed Peter. He wriggled his way further under the bed until his erection nuzzled her bosom. With his hands controlling the movement of her breasts and his cock between them, he began to thrust. He was in heaven.
The sensation was unbelievable. He squeezed and fucked her tits. When his cock slipped out he carefully repositioned it and began again. This was perhaps the ultimate masturbation. Warm slippery breasts and a raging erection.
From far away it seemed, came Cathy's voice, "It feels wonderful but I have a better idea."
"What could be better than this?"
"Untie me and I'll show you," came the reply.
"I was thinking of tying your breasts together and keeping you my captive forever."
"There's always tomorrow," she said, "but right now I need that cock of yours."
"You've got it," he told her, giving her breasts a squeeze and thrusting into the soft heat of them.
Cathy's casual words belied her desperation and, with a forced, patient tone, she asked, "Untie me please, Peter."
Peter paused in his tit fucking. The phrase 'I need that cock of yours' had got through the happy fog he'd been in. There was another place to slide his cock into. He thought of her mound in tight red satin, the cute strip of pubic hair leading between her legs ...
He wriggled out from under the bed.
She lay still, trying not to scream at him to hurry.
Free at last she slowly levered herself up, dragging her breasts cautiously out and free of the wire mesh. They seemed wonderfully swollen. She was a little unsteady as she stood by the bed but her body's hunger wouldn't let her pause.
She moved to the mattress, leaning against the wall and pulled it over onto the floor. Cathy dropped onto it on her hands and knees. She pressed her breasts into the mattress. Ass upthrust at Peter, her message was so very clear. She was all ass and thighs. His precious control was all but gone.
Cathy had balanced on the ledge of her body's passion all day it seemed. Now at last ...
He knelt behind her and she felt him spear into her. His cock slid in and in with no pause and his belly was against her buttocks.
"Just fuck me Peter, just grab my hips and do it." It had been so long, an awful forever since her pussy hadbeen filled like this.
Peter did just as she asked. He seemed tireless and Cathy came noisily as he slammed into her. He didn't stop and she orgasmed a second time. She kept asking him to fuck her harder and faster. She was insatiable it seemed. As she bucked and squirmed through her third orgasm he felt his own climax begin to roil in his balls.
His coming was a sweet, almost gentle affair but beautifully intense. He seemed to come forever. When at last he was spent they lay together spooned.
It was dark when she awoke, dark and cold. There was movement beside her. She almost screamed and then remembered. A hand settled on her thigh and she squirmed back against his warmth. "Let's go find a proper bed," she murmured.
On her bed, under her duvet they clung together. No thoughts of sex now, just warmth and closeness. She'd missed this, oh how she'd missed it.
Next morning he brought her coffee and toast. They sat up in bed, side by side. She studied him when she thought he wasn't looking. She liked this man. They sipped coffee and made crumbs.
Incredible, to him, he was erect again. It had been the sight of her breasts, low and heavy. They lookedsoft and warm and he badly needed to touch and kiss. Most of all he wanted to feel the weight of them in his hands again. Her eyes lit on the contours of the duvet and she peeled it back. "Oh my! What a wonderful sight."
They didn't make love but somehow, there was an unspoken agreement that they would ... later ... not too much later.
They showered. When he emerged in shirt and pants she was in a big, pink terry-robe.
"I have a surprise for you," she announced.
She opened the robe and surprised he was. The corset was red and made her look exquisite. He stared.
"Would you lace me up? she asked.
"I'd love to," he spread his hands, "you're beautiful, have you any idea just how beautiful?"
She turned, he moved towards her, loving her ass. A thong peeped, all but buried. He wondered if this must be a dream.
Each time he tightened the laces for her she asked him to do it again, tighter. Finally satisfied she walked to the mirror, the restriction wonderful. She loved it. Peter ran the description 'hour-glass figure' through his head. Not quite he thought, but Lord, her hips and ass and thighs below that nipped waist, ... utterly beautiful.
"Turn round," he asked her.
When she did he just stared, his mouth open a little. The shimmery-red creation served as little more than a shelf for her breasts. They seemed about pour out. Tight, pale-skinned globes with an unbelievable cleavage. His cock seemed to writhe in his pants, he wanted her more than he would have believed possible.
Someone knocked at the apartment door. He looked at her and shrugged. Cathy moved to the bedroom and Peter went to answer the door.
"Dad! Where's, where the hell's Catherine?"
"In the bedroom," Peter said, gesturing.
Peter caught a flicker of red out of the corner of his eye.
"Catherine? For God's sake!" exclaimed Ron.
They both watched Cathy do a little pirouette and then stop, her breasts still jiggling.
"Hello Ron. I think I've found someone who appreciates the corset."
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Part 1 ended thus:
She released him with the sound of a sucking kiss.
"I'm not sure you know what you want Peter."
"I want you to touch me." He'd beg if that was what she wanted. "Please."
"Do you like my panties?" Inches below his face her hips moved, the tight-clad pussy's outline seemed to beckon. "They'll be getting wet soon." Her thighs opened and sure enough, a small dark patch of wetness showed.
Her hand closed over his hardness again and his hips bucked.
.........and the story continues: ........
She didn't move her hand on his cock, but just squeezed, every now and again.
Her voice had an almost dreamy note to it as she asked, "What do you suppose will happen?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well ..." she paused, "if I keep playing with your cock, will you come?"
"I expect so," he said, wishing she'd just play with the damn thing some more.
"What if I stop each time, just before you come?" she gave one long, slow stroke of his cock, "Will you beg me to bring you off?"
"I don't know," he said, wondering about the game this girl was playing.
"Or maybe," she said, "maybe I'll get so aroused, I'll untie you and it'll be little Cathy doing the begging. Which do you think?"
He looked down, the wet patch at the crotch of her panties was bigger now. It fascinated him, he wondered if he was leaking too.
"I think you'll untie me and beg," he said, not believing it in the least.
"Maybe," she said and began slowly stroking his cock.
It was beautiful, her hand sliding along his length. His eyes closed and the rest of him focused on that wonderful, milking hand. She was gentle but firm, as she squeezed and pulled.
"No!" he heard his voice protest.
"It's okay, just more lube, mustn't make you sore,"she said softly. He heard the fluid squirt from the bottle. The hand returned. So slick now, it felt more like a breath.
"You have a lovely cock," the voice startled him. He'd forgotten everything but the soft pulling and caressing.
She did it so beautifully. He wanted to tell her but he was focused on the exquisite turmoil in his groin. She stroked and stroked, gently pulling him onwards. He could take this forever he thought. Then, suddenly, he knew he couldn't take it forever. If she didn't stop, and soon ... his hips began to move urgently...
She stopped. Her hand left him. His whole body was tense. Slowly the crisis passed and all that mattered was for her to grab him again.
"I can see your every heartbeat."
"What do you mean?" he asked, wishing she'd use her hand again.
"Your cock lifts each time your heart beats," she told him. He didn't answer, he couldn't, he was willing her to do something, to touch him again.
She did touch him, a finger and thumb he thought. Then, bliss as her mouth took the head and he felt the caress of her tongue. She sucked, paused and let him go.
"I can taste you Peter, you're salty, did you know that?"
Peter didn't care what flavour he was. He seemed to have been on the edge forever. He gasped as her hand and mouth closed over him. The tip of her tongue was pushing at his cock head as if to get into the little slit at the end. His body convulsed and he knew he must come.
Cathy must have sensed it too because her grip on him tightened suddenly. It hurt as she squeezed him. She blew on him, he could hear her, feel the chill. Again the crisis passed, again he hadn't come.
Her grip eased and he heard her give a little cry of delighted surprise, "Some of your come Peter," she announced, "just a little." He heard and felt her give his cock a sucking kiss.
"I love the taste," she said in a throaty whisper. "It was very close that time," she told him.
Cathy's own arousal was getting to be too much. Her pussy cried out for what was in her mouth. He did have the loveliest cock. She wanted it in that aching void between her legs, wanted it where it belonged.
But she was enjoying the power trip too. Lube-slick hand on his lube-slick cock, how glorious it felt. Taking him in her mouth, she loved that too. When he'd nearly climaxed and his come had drooled over her lips, she'd thought she would come, just from the thrill of tasting him.
Teasing him was fun but she was teasing herself too and a girl has limits.
She squinted at the cock in front of her, at his balls and his mass of dark curls. The strong, almost bleach-like smell of his come was a stimulant to her. And, she reminded herself, he was helpless. Maybe a little more tormenting, maybe she could manage a little more teasing. And she was enjoying her own desperate arousal.
Cathy took the head of his cock in her mouth and suckled it gently, wondering if he'd respond.
He did, he tried to thrust down against the bed and then withdrew. The inch or so slid in and out of her mouth.
Soon he was eagerly fucking her mouth. There was no hair-grabbing hands, no gagging, no choking. This was how she thought cock-sucking should be. She pictured Peter's rather cute ass bobbing away up there as he humped at her.
Her lips followed the contours of his cock head. Her tongue playing around it as it popped in and out. She was loving it.
Which is why she let him get too far.
Too late she sensed or heard the urgency in his movements, his louder breathing. A sudden rigidity and stillness to his body, then the urgent beginning of his orgasm. She stilled her tongue and relaxed her lips but knew it was too late. His first spasm jetted into her mouth, almost choking her. She swallowed and the next spurt arrived.
Delighted to accept the inevitable she began sucking at him hungrily.
Peter doubted he'd ever been so aroused for so long. He'd struggled to be quiet and gentle as he made his short thrusts into Cathy's mouth. Desperate for release he'd wondered if she'd notice his approaching orgasm and would manage to forestall him yet again. But, when the moment had come, she'd been too slow or too relaxed to stop him.
She let him stay in her mouth. Her soft lips had suckled him as he spilt and spurted into her. He'd actually heard her swallowing. She kept up the sucking until he was drained and didn't stop then. He found himself begging her to stop, "For God's sake, stop, stop! You're killing me." Finally her mouth was still. At last his body stopped tried to empty itself. He'd thought he would turn inside out.
Now, utterly spent, he lay panting, heart pounding and gazing down at her red panties. Cathy's mound was perfectly outlined by the tight fabric. The crotch was soaked with her own juices.
Her scent was stronger now, warm and wonderful. It made him think of cinnamon and buttered toast. He smiled and wished he could reach down and touch her. Better, kiss that wet crotch, make her come, pleasure her the way she'd pleasured him.
He watched as she squirmed out from under him. Her navel, then her breasts, barely in the bra. When her face was under his she stopped and looked up at him and smiled. Her looked at her full lips, they looked swollen and very soft. They'd been torturing his cock moments before.
She disappeared from view and he heard her getting to her feet. She began untying him. "Now we change places," she announced.
He stood, she looked at him and giggled. He followed her gaze. Chest and belly and thighs bore the imprints from the bed. Squares all over him.
"You look like a crossword," she said, glancing down,"with your own pencil."
Cathy slid the bra straps off her shoulders. He watched as she unfastened the hooks and released her breasts. This was the first time he'd seen them; unfashionably big and utterly beautiful. With cupped hands she hefted them, looking at him from under her lashes. "You like?" she asked.
"Oh yes, I like."
Cathy shimmied her panties off her hips and let them slip to the floor. She bent to free her feet of the tiny garment and her breasts jostled heavily. Peter'scock was a rigid thing again. She looked at it, "He likes too."
Cathy handed him the bra and panties and moved to the bed. He watched her as she carefully eased her breasts through the open mesh of the frame's springing.
She moved her hands and feet to the corners of the bed, "You'll have to tie me," she said.
"If you're sure."
"Oh, I want to feel helpless, at your mercy."
Peter tied her feet with the same pantyhose that had secured him. He gazed at the globes of her ass and her parted thighs. His cock was aching.
As he tied her hands she turned her head and looked at his new erection, "I'll take that as a complement."
Peter sat on the floor with his back towards the bed. He looked down at his cock, the little slit gaped wide, seeming to look back at him. He lay back and began working his way under the bed, and the magic creature on it.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
A bonus at work had sent Cathy to the lingerie shop and she had emerged with a corset. At home she'd showered and powdered and stood naked in front of the mirror, holding the corset against herself, her heart singing.
It was a beautiful, glistening scarlet, with yards of black lacing and lots and lots of hooks. Putting it on was really a two person affair. But she'd laced it by guesswork and wrapped it around herself, fastening the hooks, revelling in the way it held her. It had been tight but she'd needed it tighter. Cathy had wanted her waist cinched, her breasts confined. She'd wanted things much, much tighter. Cathy had been getting wet as her new corset lit a fire inside her.
Two hours of aching anticipation had followed as she'd waited for Ron to come home. She'd postured in front of the mirror, seeing what he'd see, imagining him tightening the laces. Then tightening them again as they'd both became more and more aroused. Her pussy had cried out for her fingers.
When finally his key had sounded in the lock Cathy had been standing, bare-assed, with her back towards the door, waiting, waiting to have her laces tightened.
The row that followed had been terrible. She'd stood in her untightened corset while they'd yelled at each other. The humiliation; he'd pointed and mocked, shouted about wasted money while she'd stood, feeling naked and foolish.
They'd divorced. Not just because of the corset of course, that had just been the last straw. The split had been about a whole list of differences and shortcomings they saw in each other.
Now Ron was out of her life. He'd got a teaching job in Saudi Arabia. Cathy had thrown herself into her job at the newspaper. The corset? It lay at the back of a drawer in her bedroom. Her life was on hold.
Peter sat in the coffee shop, staring at the crossword and tapping the eraser end of his pencil on his teeth. He considered another coffee but decided against it, his body was starting to jangle with caffeine. Enough crossword, enough coffee, the day was a'wasting. He'd been widowed six months now but the adjustment wasn't complete. He wondered if it ever would be.
The door opened and a woman swept past his table. He was surprised to recognise his son's ex'. She went to the counter and he watched her. Peter had been out of the country for their wedding. The break up had come before he'd got to know her. He'd never thought them suited. Cathy was too bubbly and full of life for his quiet, studious son.
She turned from the counter and saw him. Her smile was a lovely thing that seemed to light up the day.
They sat and talked of this and that. She knew he was widowed and he knew she was divorced, so they avoided those two avenues. They talked a little of world affairs, a little about the weather. Then trivial stuff about books read and movies watched. He got them another coffee. Somehow they agreed, as lonely people sometimes do, that both needed company. Supper at an Indian restaurant, the suggestion was made and accepted.
When she got up and left, Peter couldn't believe how much she'd brightened him. How could Ron have let this woman escape? Peter sat and thought about her. Tall enough to carry those extra pounds and still look sexy. He guessed she'd passed thirty or soon would. To him she seemed so very young and alive.
He was old enough to be her father. Well, he grinned to himself, he had been her father-in-law. He found himself wondering about her and him. He shook his head. She was so lovely and he ached for company.
Cathy hurried back towards the office thinking about Peter. She seemed to see all the good things she'd liked about Ron, but none of the bad. She was shocked to find herself wondering what he was like in bed. She needed a man in her bed, needed it very badly. But Peter? He was old enough to be her father, damn it he'd been her father. Well, her father-in-law. But she and Ron were divorced so ...
The rest of the day crawled by for them both.
When he turned the corner, she was just getting out of a taxi in front of the restaurant.
The evening flowed perfectly. The food was wonderful and she was a joy to be with. He'd not been this happy in so very long. They talked and talked, oblivious of the passing of time. They laughed and drank too much wine. He thought her perfect.
He glanced at his watch, eleven o'clock, they'd been together for nearly four hours and the time had flown by. "I'd better take you home," he said waving to the waiter.
He helped her on with her coat, admiring the swells of her breasts as her shoulders moved. The near black of her shoulder length hair was shot with silver. She was lovely.
In the taxi she'd rested her head on his shoulder and thanked him and giggled and thanked him some more.
When they reached her apartment block he helped her from the taxi and told the driver to wait. He hoped she'd tell him to pay off the cab and ask him in but she didn't. He saw her to the entrance and she thanked him again. He kissed her offered cheek and moments later he was back in the taxi - alone.
In her apartment Cathy wondered why she'd let him escape. She was alone. She'd spent the whole time in the restaurant wanting him. She'd even drifted into a daydream, thinking about them fucking and fucking soon. Now here she was staring around an empty apartment. She thought of calling him and even got out the phone book but resisted the urge to call him. She should have told him to send the taxi away, brought him up here and ....
Cathy curled up on the sofa, her hand between her thighs, wishing.
Several miles away Peter stood in the shower and wondered what would have happened if he'd paid the cab and had simply walked her to her apartment. He thought of her warmth in the taxi, the scent of her. Heremembered her breasts in the vee of her dress, his cock began to lift.
It was a week before they got together again. He'd been waiting in the lobby of the apartment block when she got home from work on Thursday. With a pile of writing to do she cried off a date that evening but invited him for supper the following night.
She'd cooked Italian for him. It had been wonderful. He'd been cooking for himself and eating in restaurants for far too long. A bottle of wine had helped temper the spices in the sauce and she'd opened a second.
As the level in bottle number two dropped steadily, they relaxed and the talk flowed. They took their glasses and the bottle out onto the balcony.
As she talked, he found himself falling under her spell. Her voice, her laughter, the way she moved. Peter was becoming aroused.
Cathy found herself telling him things she'd never talked about to his son. Her wants, her needs, what she liked and disliked. She talked about very intimate things and realised that she wanted this man very much.
She was struck by how well he listened. Not just sitting there but responding with the right words and expressions, truly listening.
Peter poured the last of the second bottle into their glasses and asked, "So what's your darkest fantasy?"To her horror she heard herself tell him, "To find a man I can trust enough to love me, while I'm helpless."
He grinned at her and spread his hands, "Here I am."
"How can anybody ever be sure?" she asked.
"I don't know, perhaps it requires a leap of faith."
Despite Peter's arousal and the subject matter he'd leaned back at some point and closed his eyes. He'd drifted into a wine-warm sleep in the late evening sun. Cathy had watched him for a while and the idea had formed. The conversation's direction and his apparent sincerity had got her imagination racing.
She'd gone to the spare bedroom and cleared everything off the bed, pulled the mattress off and leaned it against the wall. She stood and gazed at the bare bedframe and dared to wonder.
She made coffee and took him a mug. Peter stretched and yawned.
"I fell asleep, I'm sorry," he said.
The sun had gone and the air was getting chilly. They moved inside. They settled in armchairs, facing each other cradling their coffees.
"I find it hard to imagine a woman trusting a man that much. To the point of being helpless and in his power," he said thoughtfully.
"No harder than a man trusting a woman, we're cruel creatures," she countered.
"I'd trust you," he said.
"Would you?" her eyes snared his and she smiled.
He stood, his hands tied behind him, feeling nervous.
"How safe do you feel now?" she asked him. She was walking, almost strutting, slowly around him.
"A little scared believe it or not."
"That's good, I might be planning anything," she stared at him, "anything at all." She moved round behind him and unfastened the knot, setting him free.
Cathy handed him the cord, "My turn."
"You sure?" asked Peter.
"Trust has to go both ways," she said.
He tied her wrists and stood facing her. Her breasts were heaving and he looked at them. Peter had never had a woman helpless in front of him before. He lickedhis lips.
"Powerful stuff being in control, isn't it?" she asked.
A dozen delicious ideas raced through his head and he looked at her. "Indeed it is."
He untied her wrists. He could feel his heart beat in his throat and realised he'd just tasted something very new and very frightening. More than that though, his cock was half hard - this was turning him on.
He lay naked, face down and spread-eagled on the old bed. Being tied up was a new experience for Peter.
He heard the shower being turned on. There was little for him to do but think and perhaps worry a bit.
He trusted her, almost. There was that 'almost' again, it had got bigger since she'd tied him to the bed with pantyhose. She'd tied his hands with the pair she'd worn on their date that evening. "Still warm" she'd told him with that wicked smile. He was sure it was no coincidence that the crotch was under his face. He could smell her all the time. He rested his cheek on the nylon and closed his eyes and breathed carefully.
There it was, a warmth, a muskiness as elusive as the smell of woods in autumn. His cock stirred, stiffened and he had to move his body cautiously on the wire springing of the bed. A moment of near horror as he realised his cock and balls were hanging through. Well, his cock wasn't hanging at all by then. More likely it was pointing at the floor somewhere under his chin.
A sense of awful vulnerability swept over him. Naked and tied, he was helpless and feeling rather foolish.The erection quickly subsided.
Cathy had said she'd shower and wash her hair. When, if, he ever got to stand up he'd carry the marks ofthe bedsprings forever. His feet were towards the head of the bed, tied wide apart with more pantyhose. He raised his head as far as he could but the foot boardof the bed denied him any view. There was the crotch of her pantyhose again and the scent of her. Nervous or not, Peter's brain was telling his body what to do. His cock began stiffening once more.
Finally the shower stopped. A long, near silence followed and he pictured her towelling herself. The hair drier started.
The bathroom door opened and he heard her bare feetmoving towards him. He wondered if she was naked. What did she look like out of her clothes? Her height and heavy looking breasts and wide hips promised much.
"Don't go away, I have to dress in something appropriate."
He listened with impatience to drawers being opened and closed in the next room. His erection didn't subside. Imagination is a wonderful thing and he was imagining her in all manner of frilly and revealing outfits.
Finally her voice sounded close to his ear. "Okay? Ready for some teasing?" she asked him in a whisper. Shivery little spasms ran down his neck. All he could see was to his left and right and through the bed to the floor. Cathy was out of sight and he imagined her kneeling, facing the foot board.
He waited and heard her moving. A face appeared belowhim. He was looking down at Cathy, she was wriggling her way under the bed on her back.
She kept moving and her breasts were directly under his face. She wore a bra, a white lacy thing. Her big breasts were a little flattened by gravity. They seemed likely to spill out from the bra at any moment. Although only inches from his face they quite untouchable.
Embarrassment flooded him as he realised she must soon notice his erection.
Cathy moved some more and her belly button came into sight. He heard her exclaim, "Oh my!" She'd seen his cock. She moved some more and now her panties were under him and the delightful mound of her sex. Her pussy was outlined in tight, clinging, red nylon. He could feel the heat of her on his face.
His whole body went rigid as he felt the suction on his cock. 'My God! Oh fuck!' he said inside his head as her mouth engulfed him. Wet heat and fierce suction. He groaned.
Her mouth was gone. "Don't stop, don't stop," he begged.
This was incredible. She was blowing him and he couldn't see her doing it.
"Did you like that?" she asked, her voice bubbling with laughter. "Shall I stop or make you come? Or should I tease you? Tell me what you'd like Peter."
He felt her hand close around his cock and shesqueezed. The hand was slippery, she must have had some sort of lubricant ready. She squeezed hard andbegan pumping him slowly, steadily. "Tell me what you want or I'll stop."
He heard himself say, "Just keep doing that."
Immediately her hand stilled, "Didn't you like my mouth Peter?" He felt the softness of lips and tongue again.
"Oh yes," he said, almost sobbing.
She released him with the sound of a sucking kiss. "I'm not sure you know what you want Peter."
"I want you to touch me." He'd beg if that was what she wanted. "Please."
"Do you like my panties?" Inches below his face her hips moved, the tight-clad pussy's outline seemed to beckon. "They'll be getting wet soon." Her thighs opened and sure enough, a small patch of dark-red wetness showed.
Her hand closed over his hardness again and his hips bucked.
copyright April 2009
It was sex as usual, wonderful sex, as always.
He kissed, nuzzled, suckled at her nipples, carefully drawing her orgasmwards.
He revelled in her joy as she attained it.
She begged for him to be inside her, knowing he was as eager as she. She wrapped lubed fingers around his cock and he fucked her fist in urgent anticipation. They were both too far along to even think of making it last.
She rolled away, offering herself. He rolled too, spooning with her. She raised a knee and guided his questing cock. He speared into her, how could she be so hot, so tight?
They fucked with the ease and passion of experience; each knowing just what best pleased the other.
Their orgasms came, perfectly timed, his, vocal and teeth-grindingly delicious.
Sated they lay, passions slowly cooling, appreciations murmured, his cock dwindling slowly in her wet heat.
With no warning she gasped for air and sneezed violently.
Her vaginal contraction was incredible and his cock was expelled in a slick, peristaltic ripple.
He chuckled and hoarsely said, “That was the second time I’ve been birthed,” another chuckle and, “far better than the first I’m sure.”
Monday, May 18, 2009
copyright January 2009
Sometimes, like most men he guessed, Bob woke with a hard-on, like this morning. It was a beaut, or at least it seemed so to him.
A raging, hot creature that seemed as pleased to see him, as he was to see it. He grabbed it and squeezed. Hot it was and hard too.
The screaming pleading of his bladder would have to wait a while. Wait at least until he’d savoured the moment. He stroked his fist along his cock, gritting his teeth, closing his eyes, just plain enjoying himself.
‘God, he needed a leak!’ The morning erection was the sweet accompaniment to this urgent, other need. His hips thrust slowly, fucking his fist.
He couldn’t lie there much longer; he had to go, had to. But the bed was warm and the bathroom cold. If he relieved himself his stiffie would be gone, its pleasure lost. He lingered, not masturbating, he told himself, just enjoying.
Skin dragged skin. He needed lubrication. The precum was there but it wouldn’t coat cock and palm. In his mind’s eye he could see the bottle of lube on her night table. Pleasure oil, that was what Sue called it.
He could use some pleasure oil! A great palm-full of the stuff to make his fist into a loving pussy. God but he was hard! He squeezed his cock-head until it hurt. He needed to come. He needed a leak. He heard himself moan.
Sue stirred and rolled towards him. Her hand wandered, touched his cock. “Mmm, look what I found.”
Bob’s hand yielded possession to hers. “Is this for me?” she asked, her voice full of laughter.
“It might be if I didn’t need to pee so bad.”
“Can’t pee with an erection, everybody knows that,” she told him. “Besides, if I squeeze him tight, he can’t go.” With that she squeezed and he felt the pain and pleasure of her small hand gripping the head of his cock.
“Ow, that hurts.”
She changed hands deftly and he could feel and hear her reaching for the lubricant.
“I don’t think I can hold on honey; I really have to go.”
“So do I, so do I, bad, bad, bad,” she said and released him.
Her need to go always turned him on. She knew it and often played on that quirk of his nature.
He heard the squirt from the lube bottle and squirmed in anticipation. God but he was going to wet himself if he didn’t go soon. There was pain now, real pain. But he and his cock wanted her hand too.
She found him again. Her small fingers closed round his waiting penis. Oh bliss. She squeezed and slowly stroked. He thrust like a nervous boy, fucking the hand that pumped him.
Her hand, silky and slick with the lube, drew him onward. The pain from his near bursting bladder backed off a little. But even the pain added to his focus on his cock, his aching, eager cock.
The sudden boil in his groin, the first warning of his climax made him beg her to stop. He wanted to come but he wanted to wait. Not yet, not yet, not just yet, soon, soon, not yet. Her hand stilled and the flood paused somehow at the root of his cock. Paused, while his erection pulsed in the curl of her fingers. One squeeze would trigger him. He knew it. She knew it.
Would she roll over so they could be spoons, offering him her sweet pussy? Or, would she hand-fuck him, empty him with her clever, milking fingers?
He groaned, the need-to-pee surged again, unbearable. He tensed and she giggled.
Her hand began to move. She breathed the words, “My baby’s going to come, he’s going to come before he goes.”
She stroked, slow and firm, the full length of him, root to tip, tip to root. With each slide of her hand she said, “Come before he goes.”
He couldn’t last. He didn’t last. She sensed the moment, felt his first spasm, the first boiling rush through his cock and she said, one last time, “Come before he goes.”
copyright May 2009
She supposed she should mind about his fascination with on-line porn but she didn’t. In fact she was very glad of it. It got him horny and it got her fucked.
The red of the dawning sun lit the bedroom window. He was in their little office now.
She’d peeked in on him more than once in the past, watched him stroking himself while he stared at the screen. His right hand on the mouse and left on his cock, on his lovely cock.
She was in bed, under the covers, with a cock inside her. Maybe a little longer than his but this one was glass, not hot and blood-swollen flesh. She steadily fucked herself, angling just right to massage her G-spot, letting the knuckle of her thumb nudge her clitoris with every inward thrust.
The pulled-aside thong was a torture. It was all she wore. He loved her in a thong, the briefer the better. Silly things really, she thought. Always insistently reminding her of their presence, invading her, going where they shouldn’t. And yet, and yet she loved wearing one. They turned her on and they turned him on. She used a hooked finger to try and get it more comfortable, to not quite cut her in half.
She’d come once already. Violently, hungrily, switching between thrashing and rigid as her body went mad and her closed eyes watched the light displays on her retinas. She wanted a proper fucking and she knew she’d get one. Sooner rather than later, she hoped.
Praying for the sound of his chair rolling back, she slid the glass cock in and out. Was there anything better than being full of cock?
‘Hurry, hurry!” she murmured, drawing the glass dildo slowly out of her. She brought it to her lips and tasted herself, marvelled at the pussy-induced heat of the thing. Into her mouth it went, heavily-hard against her teeth, deeper, just shy of making her gag. How she wanted the soft-hardness of his cock. Her mouth, her hands, her cunt, they all wanted him. Most wanting of all was her cock-hungry cunt.
She fed that cunt again, seven inches of hard glass in deep, deep, deep. The head of it nudged her cervix just before the flanged end reached her pussy lips. She squirmed on the impalement; longing to sink herself onto his beautiful cock, have him buried deep inside her, deep all the way. Filling her pussy, letting her pussy have its fill. Oh how she’d bounce on him, punish his cock for keeping her waiting.
She felt the first flutters of another orgasm and caught a nipple between finger and thumb and twisted it, hurting herself, sending ripples coursing away, down to her pussy.
Then she was coming again, helpless to hold back the rushing tide of the climax. Writhing, feeling the rippling walls of her pussy trying to squeeze the glass intruder the way it would squeeze him. Her orgasms frightened her with their intensity. She had no control as she curled foetaly and then straightened, legs rigid, thighs clamping her hand until it hurt. Her mouth sucked air, her pussy sucked shiny Pyrex.
At last the storm subsided. She withdrew her hand. It was wet; the tops of her thighs were slippery with her juices. Her whole body was damp with sweat and her breathing was ragged. She listened to the blood pulsing in her ears. Yet the hunger was still there, the wanting, the need for filling.
She caught the sound of the chair’s casters! She pictured him standing, his cock jutting. At last, he was going to join her. She slid the glass penis out of her and put it on the carpet beside the bed. Lying on her side, facing away from the door, she feigned sleep.
Her fuck was coming.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Perhaps I should explain a little about the characters in the tale. Celia and Stephan are from an earlier story. She's a tennant and he's the building's janitor and they have struck up a friendship which is on the point of blossoming 'twould seem.
"Wet My Pet"
Eleven-thirty and Celia was feeling tired, her bed was beckoning.
The gentle knock at her apartment door was an unwelcome interruption. She peeped through the little spyhole and saw Stephan looking back. A little reluctantly, she opened the door.
"What d'you say to a midnight swim?" he whispered.
"Pool doesn't open till next week."
"I've got a key," he grinned and brandished a large bunch.
"I've no suit," she was too tired for this.
"Skinny dip," he shrugged, "if you don't wear yours, I won't wear mine."
His mood caught her and she felt herself yielding. She sighed and he smiled his smile. He really was a persuasive man, "Wait, let me find a towel."
Celia went to the bedroom, suddenly eager to go with him. She rummaged in a drawer, looking through her underwear, amazed she had no swimsuit. Her eye caught a flash of bright green. No, she daren't! She drew out the teddy and held it at arm's length.
When she emerged from the bedroom Stephan grinned at her and pointed to the terry robe, "Are you ...?"
"Just wait and see," she said and scooped up her keys, "let's go."
They rode the elevator down to basement level and stepped out. Stephan led the way. Unlocking the door he gestured her inside. The smells of chlorine and fresh paint hit her. The lights came on, the pool was filled. Stephan turned out all the lights but the underwater ones. Celia gave a little squeal of delight, it looked so pretty like that.
"Beer? Can't skinny dip without beer," Stephan took two bottles out of the bag and twisted off the tops. He handed her one.
"Want to sit a while?" he gestured towards an alcove with benches on two sides. A shower spray hung on the third wall. She sat and took a swallow of her beer and shivered. Stephan disappeared, four heat lamps came on overhead, warmth flooded over her. He came back," There, that better?"
"Answers for everything, haven't you?"
Stephan grinned at her, "No, not quite, I don't know what's under the robe."
"Mostly Celia," she said making no move to show him. She sipped the beer. The radiance from the lamps was relaxing her. She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes.
"I think you should let me see what you're wearing for our swim," she suggested.
He removed his shoes and socks while Celia drank the last of her beer. She was getting a gentle buzz and heard herself giggle, "More."
He paused with his shirt over his head, "More beer or more Stephan?"
"Oh, more both."
"Well, I brought a six-pack and ... " he pulled off the shirt with a flourish and tossed it in her lap.
Celia picked it up and pressed her face into the cloth. Her insides seemed to flip as she breathed in his scent, felt his body heat. She looked up at him, his arms, his shoulders and felt an awful yearning.
Reaching into the bag for another beer she chanted, "More beer, more Stephan, more beer, more Stephan."
He slid down his zipper and Celia tipped the bottle and gulped. Midnight swims were suddenly a wonderful idea.
When Stephan's pants slid to the floor she gazed hungrily at the bulge in the front of his tiny white briefs. "Ooh, lots of Stephan," she said and actually hiccoughed. To herself she said 'Celia, you are little bit drunk.'
She got to her feet, "Well, fair's fair, hold this," she handed him her bottle and unbelted the robe, shrugged it off her shoulders and let it slide to the tiles.
His sharp intake of breath said it all. His mouth actually stayed open for long seconds. "Oh my!" was all he managed.
Her glance in the bedroom mirror had almost made her change her mind. Now she was glad she hadn't. The teddy concealed very little of Celia. His reaction was a most wonderful thing to see and hear.
Little wonder he gaped. Celia glanced down, her heavy breasts were all she could see of herself. They looked beautifully big, she thought. Resting in the cups of the teddy, they gave her a splendid cleavage. She wanted to shake her shoulders and jiggle her breasts for Stephan. But she knew they'd simply fall out if she did.
She watched, delighted, as Stephan's eyes roamed up and down her. The crotch of the teddy was hauled tight into her pussy, she could feel its insistent presence. She turned slowly, showing him her ass. It was big and beautiful, she knew. She reached a hand back, "Oh my!" she murmured and giggled. The fabric covered her not at all, it had worked deep between her cheeks.
She turned to face him. "Oh my!," she exclaimed again at the sight. His erection formed an impressive ridge up the front of his briefs, "that's very flattering."
"Have you any idea how beautiful, how sexy you look?" he asked her.
She squirmed under his gaze, she felt sexy and beautiful. Celia sucked air in through her teeth as a spasm caught her somewhere below her belly button. Her thighs tensed and she pressed her knees together in the classic female pose. A sudden need. "Dear God, this sexy, beautiful woman needs a pee."
She remembered another time, a week ago. They'd been a little drunk then and had told each other their favourite fantasies. She thought now of his.
"Lie down Stephan," she told him, "here on the tiles."
At Celia's urging, Stephan lay on his back. The tiles were pleasantly warm. Heat from the lamps bathed him. He closed his eyes against the glare and waited.
She moved to stand over him, he could feel her ankles against his thighs. His cock was splendidly erect inside the briefs. It had to be, after she'd dropped the robe. The warmth, her closeness, he knew something beautiful was about to happen.
He felt her move and opened squinting eyes. She squatted and then settled slowly, kneeling astride him. She sank further, her crotch settling on his. Just two layers, silk and cotton, between her sex and his.
She leaned forward and rested on her hands. He closed his eyes again. Celia's lips were at his ear and she whispered, her breath tickled. "Have you any idea how horny I feel right now," she paused, "and how badly I need to pee?"
Stephan shook his head and she added, "I don't know which I need most," she squirmed her mound on his cock, "to be filled or to be emptied."
She sat up then, heavy on his hips. Stephan shaded his eyes with his hand and watched as she slipped one strap off her shoulder and allowed a breast to spill free. Heavy and full it moved beautifully as she swung her shoulders. The nipple seemed to point straight at him. "Baby hungry?" she asked and gave her shoulders a shake, making the breast jiggle.
"Very hungry," he croaked, his wanting was a desperate thing.
She leaned down again and brushed the breast across his mouth. He caught the swollen nipple and held it with his teeth. Celia cried out softly as he nipped her. With tongue, teeth and lips he made slow love to her. When he paused she raised herself a little and pulled free. He caught her again and they played, her nipple a small, swelling, ripening fruit.
Celia began grinding her mound against him. He sensed that, between them they were taking her towards an orgasm. The suckled nipple seemed to grow in his mouth. Suddenly she froze and looked at him through slitted eyes. Her teeth were gritted when she spoke, "I've got to pee, I've just got to pee." But she made no move to get up, just kept slowly grinding herself against his erection.
He wondered if this was a little girl struggling to control her bladder or a woman on the brink of orgasm. She crouched down over him, breathing loudly in his ear. "I'm going to lose it, I'm going to lose it. I can't hang on." She seemed to be crying and laughing by turns. "I can't hang on, I'm so full and it feels so incredibly sexy. I daren't move and I can't keep still." All this was said while she trembled and wriggled on top of him.
He was desperately aroused by her words and her movements, he thought his cock would burst. If she thought this was making her horny ... what about him?
Celia suddenly sat up with a soft cry. A look of surprise as she raised her hands to cover her mouth. Her eyes closed and she seemed to relax.
The glow started at Stephan's groin and it began to spread. She was peeing on him! Through the teddy, through his briefs the heat came soaking. It felt almost scalding hot as she flooded him. Over his cock, his balls, down between his legs and over his belly. Stephan thought it the most beautiful sensation. Almost enough to make a guy come, just from the exquisite, spreading heat.
Celia let herself fall forward onto her hands and she began slowly working her way up his body, her groin sliding up his skin. The heat, the flow moved up over his stomach, over his chest. Still she moved, still she flowed. Soon it was trickling down on either side of his neck. He could hear the gentle hiss as she kept draining.
The heat came from deep inside her, from her pussy, through the crotch of the teddy to him. Celia's own warmth, her wetness. Stephan opened his arms and she lay on him, her wetness between them. "That was what you meant, wasn't it?" she asked him.
"Yes, oh yes, just the way I dreamed it should be. It was the sweetest thing," he murmured into her hair.
She was wonderful, it had been perfect. His need for her then was a desperate, grinding thing inside him. His cock an aching rigidity trapped in the briefs she had soaked.
Celia went very still and he looked up at her. He could see her own hunger in her eyes and then she moved back down him. He could hear her making little mewing noises. Her fingers scrabbled his briefs down, baring his cock. Raising his head he watched her. A hooked finger caught the crotch of the teddy and she pulled it to one side, off her pussy. He could see wet curls and the petals of her labia. The teddy's front was near black with her wetness, it clung to her every contour.
The stream began again, hot over his scrotum. No intervening fabric this time, just scalding hot pee on cum-filled balls. He groaned as the flood washed over his nakedness. He writhed under her hips, his body begging. Finally she slowed to a trickle.
Her fingers curled round his cock, holding it vertical. She lowered herself, open and ready. A new and beautiful heat engulfed his penis. Down she came, in he went. Steadily piercing her, skewering upwards until he nudged the end of her. She settled on him, ass against balls.
She fucked him, rather than he her, bucking back and forth, as if to break his cock off at its root. Stephan struggled under her in a mix of pain and joy. She rode him, one wild animal on another. Her body drawing the orgasm from him. When they came, it was as one, sobs and cries echoing each other. Celia's climax was a feral thing, her pussy clenched and sucked at his gushing cock.
She collapsed onto him. They were both sobbing for breath, both exhausted, both utterly spent.
They slept, perhaps just minutes. She kissed him awake. His hands slid down her back and grabbed her ass, pulling her against him.
"How was the fantasy?" she asked him.
"Perfect, incredible," he told her, "swimming's fun, being drowned is beautiful."
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Emerging from anaesthetic is magic.
"Welcome back," said the blur.
She lifted the sheet, "She's going to be very pleased."
I wondered vaguely why my wife would be particularly pleased with a repaired, herniated belly button.
"New technique and pricey," she leaned closer, "four thousand bucks an inch."
"I thought the health plan paid," I said, still out of it, uncaring.
"Not penile enhancement honey."
She sensed my panic, grabbed the clipboard.
Eventually the hospital paid the twelve grand. The hernia? Repaired five weeks later.
The nurse was right though, Cynthia was, is and will ever be, pleased.
*** *** ***
A historical note: Friday saw Julius getting his belly button "done." His fans will be delighted to know he's fine. Sorry Iris, Amanda and others, too numerous to mention but his secret inches remain the same. (Aspire measures in metric by the way, being a funny Canadian .... mind you, it sounds much more impressive in centimetres)
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Sue stared at the screen, “I can’t believe you got this.”
“Well I didn’t really,” he sounded annoyed as he compared the numbers, “wrong movie in the right box I guess.”
“Well, let’s watch it anyway,” she said, snuggling up to him as he sat down again.
Soon they were thoroughly enjoying the action. Hearts speeded up a little, hands strayed, fires kindled. With sweet inevitability they slid into passion. They always did when they watched blue movies together.
On the screen the closing scenes played amid jetting come and happy cries. Bob was spooned against Sue’s back feeling the wonderful afterglow of their loving. They lay on cushions on the floor, a blanket over them. She squirmed her ass against him and whispered, “Why don’t we have a fetish?”
Bob thought about fetishes. The movie had been all tight black leather and shiny chains, straining bodies and reddened buttocks. He decided that perhaps his fascination for underwear, women’s underwear, rated as a fetish. The underwear ad’s in catalogues always aroused him. In stores his eyes would stray to the women’s underwear. He loved Sue in hers and bought it for her at birthdays and Christmas.
“I suppose I do have a thing about women’s underwear,” he said thoughtfully and added quickly, “mostly about yours.”
“Yes really, you know how I love you in lingerie,” he said. Bob wondered how she’d look in a thong.
“How would I look in a thong do you suppose?” she asked and, as so often happened, shook him with her apparent reading of his mind.
“This sweet ass of yours would look incredible in one,” he said.
Sue squirmed her buttocks against his groin again, “I wonder how my sweet ass would feel in one? I’ve heard them called butt floss.”
His mind juggled with the images and his cock stirred strongly.
“I’d love to see you in one,” she said, “then it could be my fetish as well.
“Let’s go shopping tomorrow,” she said, wiggling herself against his new stiffness, ending any argument he might have had. Not that Bob had any argument against her in a thong
Sue was up and out of bed before the alarm. “Take me out for breakfast, then I’m taking my ass around the shops for a thong,” she told him.
He watched her dress and wished she come back to bed, but she was on shopper’s autopilot by then. His imagination handed him a picture of a thong-wearing Sue and the morning brightened.
Breakfasted, they left the restaurant and she shooed him off to the bookshop, the hobby shop and the like. Sue headed for the mall’s lingerie boutiques. They’d meet in a couple of hours at their favourite coffee bar.
“Well?” he asked, “find what you were looking for?”
“Pink and blue and yellow and green and black and white; six of them and they’re sweet, just you wait.” Her eyes seemed to sparkle and Bob got that racing feeling in his chest.
The waitress came over and they ordered coffees.
Sue got to her feet and looked at him, “Don’t go away.” She walked off to the washrooms.
When she came back to the table she had a mischievous smile on her lips. “My, but I like the way this feels,” she said.
“How what feels?” he said, knowing perfectly well.
“How a thong feels,” she said and squirmed on her chair.
She giggled, “Blue, pink, green, yellow, white and black, black last of course.”
“You’re not wearing all six?” his cock began to stiffen.
“I imagined you taking them all off, with your teeth, one at a time. So I put them all on, just couldn’t resist the idea,” Sue said, blushing as he stared at her.
She slid her hand across towards him. A scrap of black cloth fell onto the table. “Now,” she said, “go put yours on."
“Weird is the word,” he whispered to her when he came back from the washroom, “I feel bare-assed naked and I’m sure everybody knows.”
She wriggled in her seat and made a purring noise, “Feels like I’m being invaded.”
They sat and sipped their coffee for a while.
Sue propped her chin on her hand, an impish grin on her face, “Want me to tell you how it feels?”
“Okay,” he said, wondering where this was going.
“Want me to tell you how it feels and get you all horny?”
“Okay, but I feel horny already,” he told her.
“Well, six of those wicked, narrow bits of fabric are deep and tight between my cheeks, and can you imagine that?”
Bob said he could imagine it because he was wearin gone. He also had a raging erection.
She continued in a whisper, “It’s like sitting on a clothesline, I’d hate to ride a bike like this. Oh my poor little ass, don’t make me walk home Bob!”
Bob imagined the six straps pulled up into her sweet round ass and his cock sought a way out of his own thong’s pouch. “Let’s go home Sue.”
“Let’s have another coffee lover,” said Sue getting up and going to the counter. Bob watched her panty-lineless ass. She was wiggling it just for him.
“Want to hear some more about my thongs?”
“You can be very cruel Sue.”
“So can these thongs. You watched me walk to the counter just now. My poor little ass felt naked, ooh, I love the way this feels,” she squirmed some more and closed her eyes.
“You have no idea what this is doing to my poor little pussy Bob. I’m being cut in half. There’s more thong in me than on me.”
Bob groaned at his own discomfort and his hand went into his pants to re-arrange his equipment. He wondered if he could come just by imagining the happenings between Sue’s soft thighs. He thought he probably could.
They were alone in the restaurant. Bob was sat with his back to the window. Sue stood up and grabbed the hem of her skirt and lifted it.
“How do I look? Do you like my tiny thongs?”
Her labia pouted on either side of the thong. The fabric, only black was visible, formed a sharp-pointed arrow that seemed embedded in the top of Sue’s prominent, shaved pussy.
“My God, all it hides is your clit,” he murmured.
She dropped the hem of her skirt and sat down. She giggled, “Standing up and sitting down was never such fun.” She stood again and then sat slowly down, rolling her eyes, “Have you any idea what that does to my pussy, to my clit?”
Finally she said, “Okay, let’s go home.”
The walk to the car was a set of new sensations for him. The cold air sought out the apparent nakedness of his ass. The intimacy of the thong up between his buttocks and the firm cupping of his balls. It felt good. He wondered about being forever horny in a thong.
For Sue it was a sweet torment. She was all but naked under her skirt and feeling sweetly violated. Six tight strips were trying to get inside her. Every step was a turn on. She fished her keys from her purse and hurried to the driver’s side of the car and unlocked the door.
A scream bubbled in her throat when she sat down. When Bob got in he looked at her, “You okay honey?” he asked. Her head was against the headrest, her eyes were closed and her hand clamped over her mouth.
“My God Bob, I almost came then!” she hissed.
They’d not driven far when she pulled the car over. “Hold my hand honey.”
Amazed, Bob watched her. She went rigid. Her skirt had ridden up. The muscles and tendons of her thighs were straining. Her other hand was clamped between her legs. Her hips and belly were humping, her breathing coming in quick, loud gasps. Sue climaxed, bucking frantically. Her grip on his hand was painful as she writhed and fought through her orgasm.
Bob’s cock was rigid, hard as iron. His wife had just come in the seat beside him.
“I’m wearing six thongs. I just came. I’m soaked. I’m soaked Bob.” She turned and looked at him, “Take me home and fuck me.”
They swapped places and Bob started the car. “Can I still pull your thongs down with my teeth?” he asked her.
“One at a time,” she whispered, “just get me home.”
She reached over, working his zipper down needing to get at that cock, needing, needing.
Bob wondered if this really was a fetish and decided he didn’t care, Sue was dragging his thong aside.
Sue wondered about fetishes too, but, right then, she wanted cock.