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."