eroticklyours

2010-11-24T05:43:00.001-08:00

;mojnn

"Whither Bound" Hour Three

2010-05-23T10:28:00.000-07:00

"Whither Bound" (Hour Three)

by Julius
Copyright 2004

Lise sat up and got to her feet beside the bed. She was pleased with herself, half way through their little game and she was still in control. In control of John yes, but of herself, she wasn't so sure. Touching her throat and trailing her fingers down between her breasts, her skin was still slick with his come. She could smell the sharp scent of him - how she loved that. 'Now what?' she wondered.

John still lay on the bed, watching her through half-closed eyes. His cock was a small thing now. Lise wondered how long it would take for it to recover. Sometimes they would make love the following morning, sometimes it would be a couple of days. Quick, second fucks seldom happened. As usual Lise found herself wanting more.

She asked him to stand. He was in what he called his 'post-coital-phase,' but got slowly to his feet.

John was surprised to find he still wanted her. Usually he was happy to just lie snuggled up to Lise after they'd made love. But seeing her running her fingers over her cum-wet skin, was a wicked turn on. To his delight he felt his cock stir.

* * *

She'd led him back to the kitchen. It hadn't taken long and not that many of the cable ties to have John secured again for Lise's next little play. A belt made of the black ties kept him sat in the chair. A couple more secured his wrists to two of the table legs so that he sat there, pretty much unable to move.

Lise had left him briefly, to change. Returning, she'd announced, "This is my new peekaboo look," adding, "or soon will be." All she wore was a bra and panties. He recognised both as items he'd ordered for her for Christmas by e-mail. The panties were red with blacklace and they were crotchless. The matching bra was more decoration than support but looked wonderful on her, even if the job was perhaps too much for it. She picked up the scissors and came to stand close to him.

Her next act made him cringe. She pulled the tip of each bra cup outwards and snipped off the end. For a few moments he was too afraid about what MIGHT happen to notice the results. His mind yelled, 'Do be careful!' while his mouth opened and his eyes tried to close. But she knew what she was doing, and when she lowered the scissors her nipples jutted out through the jagged holes in the bra.

She'd done a less than perfect job and had cut away too much fabric. But it did look delightful. Nipples and a sizable amount of breast-flesh, protruded though the openings. Those nipples just begged for his attention.

Lise flicked each with a forefinger and said, "Peekaboo!"

John's cock began to lift. She perched her ass on the table, her thigh against his tethered forearm. Her right breast was inches from his mouth.

Lise moved her shoulders, making her breasts jostle. She looked into his eyes then down at the poking nipple, her message clear.

He bent to kiss her, sucking the nipple into his mouth, hungrily, urgently.

Lise gasped and threw her head back. Her pussy spasmed in response to the suction at her nipple. She looked down again at his mouth, her breast. He was suckling her like a hungry puppy, drawing more of her breast out through the ruined bra.

Her hands grabbed for her breast and squeezed,o ffering herself, urging him, "Harder, suck me harder," Nipple and pussy, her world shrank to nipple and pussy. She knew she was going to come. Her ass squirmed against the table edge, her knees worked one against the other as she struggled with the glorious turmoil between her legs. God! She was going to come. She was going to come.

Come she did. It was fast, too fast, her body seemed to become fluid. She'd never come like this before, with just breast loving and never, never standing. She pulled away from him, staggered, turned, rested her hands on the table. She fought for breath, a frightening wetness between her thighs.

John for his part was wondering how much more he could take. How much more ball-churning longing would she make him endure. He looked down at his cock. It was actually moving with the beat of his heart. For the hundredth time, he wondered if a guy could come just from wanting. But he wasn't going to beg, no sir!

Lise was longing for that cock too, but she was enjoying this as well. All the times John had finished his lovemaking and left her desperate for more. Lise was come-hungry. That's what she called it, the need to climax, not once but as often as it took to scratch the crazy itch inside her pussy.

She straightened and moved round to the other side of John. She brought her nipple close to him and said, "More, please," He looked up at her, his eyes seemed to plead but there was a flash of anger there too. Lise looked down between his legs, that beautiful penis. She almost weakened - she did want that lovely cock so very badly.

But she leaned forward and moved her nipple across the tip of his nose. She knew, as any woman knows, that the poor guy wouldn't be able to resist.

Sure enough, his lips opened and he took the bait. The jolt to her pussy was every bit as powerful as the one from her right nipple had been. Dear God! Her hunger frightened her, she wanted this, wanted more, more, more.

Her hunger surprised John, she seemed insatiable. But his own reaction amazed him too, a fresh hunger replaced his annoyance at her needs. His cock was rigid. This hardening nipple in his mouth was as much a turn on as its sister had been. He bit and suckled and pulled. She didn't seem to mind how hard. When she moaned and grabbed her breast he knew she was going to come again.

Lise had had her eyes closed, utterly focused on the sensations flashing from nipple to crotch. The waves were starting to build. John's mouth lost its grip on her nipple and she looked down to watch him capture it again. Her own mouth gaped as she watched him suckle her. He seemed to have half her breast pulled out through the ragged hole in her bra. It looked so sexy, the white softness against the torn red silk.

She glanced at her other breast, the nipple looked enormous! They'd never been this big, never. Like a big, ripe raspberry. Almost translucent, as if lit somehow from within. Oh God! It was about to happen again.

Her orgasm hit then, a wave that raced down through her and seemed to burst in her pussy. Her nipple pulled from his mouth and she crossed one leg over the other, clamping, squeezing. Her vagina spasmed. Was every muscle in her body having an orgasm? She crouched over the table, sobbing, squirming her hips, trying to hump the imaginary cock she craved so badly.

He asked her if she was alright. She nodded "Oh yes, I'm fine, just too weak to stand." She murmured, "Just beautiful, you have no idea how utterly wonderful that was. I thought I was going to gush out through my pussy."

He rested his forehead on the table and waited, listening, as her breathing slowed. "John, I've never come like that before. I thought I was going to die or turn inside out or ... "

The timer ticked away but he couldn't see its face. He hoped it would be his turn when the damned thing finally went off. Surely the hour must be up soon.

Incredibly his erection began to soften. He'd thought he was going to be permanently hard. John tested hisbonds for the hundredth time, wishing he could touch her. Her hip, her thigh, her ass were only inchesaway.

Slowly Lise gathered herself, her heart slowed to near normal. She'd planned to have him pleasure her until the last hour and then release him, so they could do what came naturally. She struggled to stand and slowly moved on unsteady legs to the other end of the table. She bit back an exclamation, the timer still showed fifty minutes to go. She realised she must have set it for two hours by mistake.

She glanced at John, "Poor puppy, maybe I should release you when this thing rings?"

"I'd like that," said John. She saw the smile and knew he must want her very badly.

Moving back towards him she felt her thighs moving wetly against each other. Did she dare ask him for more loving? How did she ever get so damned horny? After what she'd just been through, how could she still want more? She slid her hand down over her belly, into her panties. God, she was soaking.

John was watching her, watched her hand. The look on her face! Talk about bitch on heat!

She turned and perched her ass on the table. Swinging around she rested her feet on either side of his neck, and began squirming herself towards him. She stopped only when her ass was at the edge of the table and her legs draped over his shoulders.

Poor John, her pussy was only a foot or so from his face. "Maybe I should rest here a while for a few minutes," she said very quietly.

John felt the cool wet skin of her thighs on either side of his face. Lise had just come twice while he'd loved her big nipples. He licked his lips and groaned, he was fully erect yet again. What had happened to the two them? There seemed to be no end to their wanting.

* * *

The panties were slit from front to back, waistband to waistband. This wasn't obvious until she reached down and drew the sides apart. Lise eased the fabric aside, letting the red satin and black lace frame her pussy. Her neatly trimmed bush nestled in the opening.

John thought her very beautiful.

She reached down with both hands and slowly peeled herself open. She glistened wetly and her ass squirmed on the table.

His cock reared erect.

Lise opened herself wide with her fingertips, letting John see inside her, see into the tunnel that loved his cock and made love to his cock. Locking her heels behind his neck she drew him towards her, drew herself towards him. He went willingly.

His face between her thighs, the scent of her enveloped him. Her heat, her wonderful wetness, John opened his mouth and pressed into her. Lise screamed a soft scream, deep in her throat.

She moved her legs and crossed her knees. She had him now, had him trapped. She could fuck him or drown him. Her hands grabbed his hair and she ground her pussy against his mouth.

It was as if the breast fuck had never happened. John's cock was as hard and straining as it had been before. He wanted to stand, to plunge it into her, into that hot tunnel she'd clawed open and shown him. But he couldn't, his hands were strapped to the table legs and he couldn't escape the damned chair. God but he wanted her! Breathing wasn't easy with his mouth and nose clamped to her pussy. Her strong legs were hugging him to her and she was writhing under his face.

John moved his mouth up and surrounded her clit with his lips. He captured it and attacked it with his tongue. This was supposed to be done gently but she was going wild under his mouth.

John couldn't escape. Her fingers were tangled in his hair and she was pulling him against her. Her hips bucked and bounced, she was fucking his face. The hardness of her pubic bone was driving up against hisnose as she fought. Finally, he pulled his face away from her, gasping for air.

"Noooooooo!" she screamed the word, adding desperately, "Don't stop John, don't stop."

She had been so close, now she squirmed her ass. The table was slick with her juices. She writhed and begged. Then bliss, his mouth was back, his lips, his lovely tongue. He was biting the lips of her pussy none too gently. She loved it. He licked the length of her. Lise slid her hands down on either side of his face and pulled herself open. Wanting him deeper, wanting all of him inside her. She heard her voice saying awful things.

Then his lips found her clit again and her nervous system went ballistic.

This time John rode out her mouth-fucking storm. She screamed when she came and kept screaming as she kept coming.

Finally she was begging him to stop, to stop before he killed her.

He rested his cheek on her thigh, face was cool with her wetness. He breathed her sweet muskiness and wondered what it would be like to slide his cock into that wetness. John waited, knowing he was going tofind out, soon.

"Whither Bound" Hour Two

2010-05-22T11:08:00.000-07:00

"Whither Bound" Hour Two

by Julius
Copyright 2004

Leading John by the cock, Lise takes him to the bathroom.

"Don't go away," whispered Lise and went back to the kitchen and reset the timer. John tested his restraints, no tighter and no looser.

He watched her as she came back into the bathroom. Her tee-shirt was still pushed up high, her lovely breasts bounced below it with every strutting step of her high heels. She saw him looking and put her cupped hands under them and lifted. Lowering her head, she caught her right nipple and sucked it into her mouth. John watched and wished. When she released it, the nipple was proud, glistening with her saliva.

Lise hefted her breasts again and said, "I'll save these for your dessert, so long as you behave."

She moved to stand beside him. Reaching for his erect cock she said, "I think he might break if I try to bend him down for you."

Lise took a facecloth and held it under the cold tap, soaking it. Holding the dripping cloth in one hand she used the other to stroke and squeeze him.

John just stood, eyes closed, revelling in the feeling of her playing with him. Her hand drove him slowly nearer to his climax. His erection felt as if the skin might split. He moaned softly. Oh God, but he had to pee!

Lise cupped the dripping cloth in her hand and brought it up over his balls.

He gasped and cursed her gently. His cock dwindled in her hand. She gave a little cry of delight, amazed at the transformation; rigid weapon to cute little spout.

"Now," she said, pointing his cock into the toilet.

"Not sure I can let go with you watching,". he murmured uncomfortably.

Lise knelt, still aiming him carefully. John stood and tried. Nothing.

"Relax," she whispered and rested her cheek against his hip, her other hand stroking the back of his thigh.

Finally, he sighed and she felt him relax and he began. She could feel the sudden rush of his release inside his cock, "That's sweet," she sighed, watching him empty. She loved it, he seemed so vulnerable like this, like a small boy. The flow seemed to continue forever. The softness of his cock, being able to touch, to hold it, a wonderful intimacy.

Finally the stream slowed. Her closeness, maybe the innocence of the moment, and no doubt the touch of herfingers worked their magic. His cock was stirring. She grabbed the facecloth again and wrapped it around the beginnings of his new erection. He sucked air through his teeth as the coldness enveloped him.

"I'd like to try something," she said, "Always wanted to do this, to feel you grow." She took his flaccid cock in her mouth. Her nose was in his pubic curls,his balls were against her chin.

John sighed, revelling in the heat of her mouth, the sight of her black hair below his belly.

She felt him stir, beginning to thicken in her mouth. The swelling head of his cock crept steadily along her tongue. She fought to contain him but the touch at the back of her throat made her draw her head back in reflex. Swelling, lengthening, his cock filled her mouth.

He watched as she slid back along his growing erection, more and more of him appearing outside her lips.

When she sensed him fully erect, she drew her mouth off him. "Wow!" she said, letting his cock head rest against the tip of her nose.

"Wow indeed," murmured John.

"Your turn to please me lover," she said, getting to her feet, "Come along," and she led the way to the bedroom.

John was in love with Lise's ass and happily followed, his gaze fixed on the swivelling globes in the pantyhose. Her long thighs, the backs of her knees, the firm calves sculpted by the tall heels - a lovely picture. But it was the ass that held his focus.

In the bedroom, Lise sat on the bed and then let herself fall back. She slid a hand down and ran her fingers tips over her mound, "Kiss it for me John."

John got awkwardly down onto to his knees. This 'hands-behind-the-back' pose was getting more and more uncomfortable. He moved forward, between her legs and bent to kiss her.

The soft cushion of her pubic curls between the pantyhose and her mound delighted him. That and the musky scent of her in his nostrils, had his softening cock rearing erect again. He ran his lips lower, deeper between her thighs, she was wet there, very wet. Soaked, raspy nylon under his mouth. Her breathing had become audible and his arousal was reaching a sweetly painful level.

He moved his mouth down her leg, kissing as he went. Her weeping pussy had wet her half way to her knees, while she'd been standing. He paused and moved up again to bury his mouth in her sex. Her scent was wonderful, beyond his words to describe. His cock seemed to harden even more, if that was possible. She was so wet. John wanted to drown in her. He cursed his restraints, wanting to slide his hands under her ass, needing to pull himself deeper into her.

Lise was in heaven. She was writhing; inside and out. Her ass squirmed on the bed. Everything inside her, from belly button to bush, was in delicious turmoil. Why had she put on the stupid pantyhose? She spread her legs wider trying to thrust herself against his mouth. She closed them clamping his head, holding him, wanting his mouth to stay forever.

John caught at her pantyhose with his teeth and tugged.

She squealed as pussy hairs were pulled out. The crotch of the hose tore a little, then a little more. Finally the nylon ripped wide open. Cool air washed over the wetness of her bared sex. Lise reached down, peeling her labia wide open with her thumbs, offering herself to him. She strained her thighs apart, a hip joint clicked.

John just looked for long moments at her beautiful gaping pinkness. He bent and slowly licked, up along her slit. She screamed and grabbed for his head, forcing him against her. She bucked her hips just once, bruisingly, against his mouth. Lise came.

John swallowed, loving the taste of her. He found the tiny button of her clit and sucked it, oh so gently, between his lips. He suckled, feeling her begin to quiver, hearing her beg. He played with this tiny morsel with the very tip of his tongue, teasing, drawing her on.

Lise came again and began fighting his head away from her, as her clit's nerve endings screamed in silent protest. She thought she may have nearly died. She lay on the bed, arms spread, legs wide, her breasts heaving. Lise was, for the moment, utterly spent.

John got to his feet, moved round the bed and lay down beside her. He needed release desperately and was getting close to begging for it.

Lise rolled onto her side, facing him, her breasts against his stomach. She reached out and took his erection in her hand. John groaned and murmured, "No more teasing, honey, please."

She had no intention of freeing his hands, but sensed it was past time to give his cock some serious loving. "Would John like to fuck Lise's tits?"

She smiled when he just groaned. "I'll take that as a yes." She rolled over and took the bottle of lube off the night-table and turned back to face him again.

John wanted nothing more than to fuck her tits. He'd have happily fucked her any way he could, any way she'd let him. Anything to relieve the awful pressures inside himself. His whole being seemed centred in his rigid penis.

Lise rolled onto her back, long enough to dribble lube between her breasts. She reached again for his cock and looked down at it. A wet patch on the duvet marked where his cock had drooled precum. She felt her pussy clench in response to the sight.

She eased herself close to him and, holding her breasts, she gently enveloped his penis with them.

The sensation was incredible, his cock wrapped in her breasts. The unbelievable softness as his cock head burrowed deep in her cleavage.

Lise squeezed her breasts together, trying to make the grip on his erection tighter. The lube made it impossible to stop his cock driving between them. The pressure on her boobs felt just wonderful. She began rubbing her thighs together. Incredibly her body was catching fire again. He kept fucking her cleavage and dreamily telling her how beautiful it felt.

"Oh God, I'm nearly there," he said in a hoarse whisper. His frantic thrusting slowed, almost stopped.

John wanted to hold back, to prolong the incredible. He felt the first boiling moments of his approaching orgasm. He tried to withdraw his cock from between herbreasts but it was too late. His begging voice said, "No! No! No!" and he froze. As the inevitable spasming started and the first gush raced along his cock, he made his last thrust back into the heat of her cleavage. His cock erupted.

Lise felt the splatter of his first spurt, hot under her chin.

Poor John uttered a desperate, "Oh yes!" with each gush. He came and came and kept coming. Lise clamped her thighs together, wickedly aroused again.

In the kitchen, the timer began its chirruping.

"Whither Bound" Hour One

2010-05-22T03:03:00.000-07:00

"Whither Bound?" Hour One

by Julius
Copyright 2004

She didn't altogether trust his talk of wanting to try the bondage scene. She'd glimpsed enough on the web about hot wax and labia clips and nipple clamps, rope and chains and kindred stuff. It's alright having safe words and promises and so on but ...

It was the 'but' that bothered Lise, bothered her enough to make her gently put him off every time.

He never really pushed the subject but ..., she knew he wanted to try.

He was a gentle man and passionate. He satisfied her and she him, but... Sometimes she wished they were a little more adventurous. They never talked about other roads. She wondered if the bondage thing was John's way of trying to add a little spice.

Trouble was, his idea of bondage seemed a little one sided and that was what worried her.

Then one day she'd talked to Angie, her best friend in all the world. "Well, why not tell him you want to try it on him first?" had been Angie's advice.

That was how come the kitchen timer was ticking away and John had his wrists tied. That was why John was wondering, a little nervously, about the next four hours.

When Lise had suggested she tried the bondage thing on him he'd jumped at the idea. When she'd said, "How about an hour?"

He'd replied,"Take as long as you like."

They'd settled for four.

Lise had slipped a black cable tie around each of his wrists. Loose enough to slip but only just. She joined them with a third tie. He might as well have been handcuffed. Sitting on the kitchen chair, he was pretty well helpless. The third tie that joined his wrists, also secured him to the back of the chair. Each time she'd snugged up one of those ties, the scratchy noise had sent a thrill right through her.

He wore just a pair of black briefs and Lise felt the familiar heat blossoming in the pit of her stomach. She had no real idea what to do with this helpless lover of hers. She did know she could barely keep her eyes off the lovely stuffed pouch.

She'd had all day to think about it and had had a few thoughts but this was new territory for her. Tease him was the main idea. She wasn't sure she could inflict pain, but tease yes. He'd pushed the idea for long enough. Hinting about a change being good for them. Something new, something different; John was nothing if not persistent. It had annoyed her more than he had realised. No matter how often she'd said 'No,' John would be hinting and suggesting again before too long.

Well, now he was going to experience a little bondage, but from the opposite side of the fence. Part of her was looking forward to this, but by far the bigger part was getting aroused.

Telling him she was going to get into something a little more comfortable, she left him sitting in the kitchen.

"Don't be long honey," he called after her.

In the bedroom she took everything off; blouse, jeans, panties and bra. Lise had thought about this part and put on brand new black pantyhose, a white tee shirt and lastly black, high-heeled pumps. She posed in front of the mirror and liked what she saw. Her breasts needed a bra really, but she decided they looked just fine under the shirt. Into the bathroom she went and peeled off the tee-shirt. She ran warm water into the basin and put it in.

Lise squeezed enough water out of it so it wouldn't drip, and struggled back into it again. She looked in the mirror and all but purred. What a lot of Lise, she thought. A day for firsts it seemed, up until then she'd only read about wet tee-shirt contests.

She walked carefully back to the kitchen in her high heels, suddenly nervous about this little scheme. Her legs and ass felt very naked in the hose. Her breasts were chilled by the air against the wet cotton, and she felt her nipples erecting. She glanced down, yes, the little devils were poking out against the fabric, wickedly prominent. How would John react? She smiled to herself, knowing exactly how John would react.

She click-clacked into the kitchen. His face said it all.

John was awed by the sight of her. The pantyhose and heels made her look so incredibly tall and leggy. But the jut of her nipples was what held his eyes. They seemed huge. Her braless breasts had a lower, heavier set to them, but those nipples, those crazy nipples. He groaned. He actually groaned. He felt his cock writhe slowly in his briefs, almost like an awakening snake, uncoiling. "Oh wow!" he exclaimed.

"Rule one," said Lise, "no more talking from you, not a word or I'll gag you, OK?"

John opened his mouth to speak but nodded instead.

Lise hoped he'd speak, she liked the idea of gagging him.

"Now then," she said, "let's see just how big and hard we can get that cock of yours." She took a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer and moved towards him, opening and closing the blades noisily.

She cut the sides of his briefs, and then squatted in front of him pushing his knees apart.

John wasn't sure he could get any harder than he was already. Lise was close enough to touch but he couldn't move his hands. Squatted as she was, with her own knees wide apart, the crotch of her pantyhose was stretched tight. He could see the shadow of her bush under the nylon.

She reached out and peeled down the front of his ruined briefs. "Oh my, he looks pretty big already."

Lise wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, to put her hand round his lovely hardness. She'd thought that teasing her man for four hours would be fun, but by then her own arousal had got pretty intense. Maybe one hour, maybe, it would be nice to hear him beg, nice to tease him, play with him for a little while. She'd try.

Lise stood again and placed her hands behind her head.

John watched in happy disbelief as Lise swung her shoulders, making her breasts do wonderful things under the wet cotton. So big and so heavy, he longed to cup his hands under them, feel their weight, get his mouth at those nipples. He wanted to make love to those love-able breasts. He wanted her. His cock hurt, it was so swollen.

She turned away and bent over slowly to touch her toes. The chair squeaked as John shifted uncomfortably. Her ass, oh god her ass! It was covered in that glistening nylon, it looked so wickedlybeautiful. The seam diving between her buttocks, joining the crotch insert. Her pussy's contours were emphasised by the clinging tightness. He strained towards her and heard himself say, "Oh God, but I want you."

She straightened and turned back to look at him, "I said no talking. Now you'll have to be gagged."

Lise moved close. The tee shirt was tight and wet and all but transparent. Her nipples and their aureolae clearly visible. She turned slightly and leaned towards him, "Now what could I put in your mouth to keep you quiet?" Her right nipple was inches from his lips.

John leaned forward and his lips found the offered morsel. He opened wide and took nipple and breast, flesh and wet cotton into his mouth. He bit her none too gently, sucking water out of the fabric. Her nipple felt huge.

Lise groaned and closed her eyes. Her legs threatened to buckle. She felt the zap in her pussy as the signals flashed down from her nipple. She grabbed his head and pulled him against her breast, wanting more. She was beginning to lose it, she thought. She pulled her breast away from his mouth and turning slightly, poked the other nipple at him. Why couldn't he suckle both at once?

John wanted to grab her ass or slip his hand between her thighs or pull the tee-shirt up, but he couldn't. Surely she wanted him free, wanted what he wanted so badly? This bondage thing was suddenly too frustrating. Why had he let her tie him up? She had too much control this way, damn it. He pulled his head away from her, "Untie me honey, please," he begged her urgently.

"Naughty puppy!" she said. "No more treats for you." She peeled the tee-shirt up off her breasts and began swinging them. Her nipples brushed his nose and mouth. She leaned closer and actually began slapping his face with them. "No more treats for a bad puppy," she repeated. She left him then and went back to the bedroom.

John liked the feel of having his face struck by her breasts. Liked the sight of them, big and heavy and swinging like that. God but he wished he could at least grab his cock.

When she came back she had her little white panties in her hand. She stood in front of him and balling them up she pressed them hard against his lips. When he opened his mouth to protest, she simply popped theminside.

John was now effectively silenced. If he spit her panties out she told him, she'd tie them in. She held up one of his ties, to emphasise her point.

She squatted again between his knees and reached for his softening cock. She played with its head with her fingers and all but purred aloud as it swelled and hardened in her hands. She'd never really looked closely at John's cock, any cock, before. It was beautiful, she knew that, but now, with him helpless she could really take her time. She traced the veins on his shaft with a finger tip.

John sat and squirmed and wondered. He wondered about what Lise was planning. He wondered just what would happen and as his cock strained and ached, he realised he was at her mercy. He could feel her breath on his thighs, and her dainty fingers playing with the head of his cock. She was talking to it.

"Aren't you beautiful, aren't you just the most lovely thing?" she said softly, then, "ooh but you're leaking." She took his precum with her finger tip and slowly painted his cock-head with the slickness. A desperate need had built in her. A vacuum between her legs that begged for filling. Teasing him had turned into teasing herself and Lise wondered just how long she could deny her pussy its needs.

John felt her hair brushing his legs as she bent her head and kissed him. Her lips were around the head of his cock, tight and sucking gently. She raised her head and her lips made a loud kissing noise as he popped out. "My, but you taste good."

All John could do was groan, and beg silently for more. He stared down into her eyes. They were huge and round and wide, wide open. She took his cock again, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Could there be a more beautiful sight he wondered, than her staring up at him like that, while her swollen lips slid up and down his straining erection?

Lise knew he was getting close. He was beginning to thrust at her, fucking her mouth. She stood then and slid a hand down over the mound of her pussy. "You're not the only one leaking and horny," she told him. She ran her cupped fingers over the swell of her sex. "Should I rip my pantyhose open and straddle you and slip my wet pussy down over that beautiful cock? Should I? Should I?" she paused, head on one side, pretending to listen. "I can't hear you, hmm, guess you're not ready for it yet."

Then she ran her slick fingertips over his lips and under his nose. He caught the musky, woman scent of her and his eyes looked up at her, pleading. John had never experienced anything like this before. The unbelievable arousal and being unable to do anything about it. His cock was a torment, he could feel his every heart beat in it. He could taste her, his mouthfull of her panties, the panties she'd worn all day. She just stood there, legs and tits, pure girl power.

The timer announced the end of the first hour. She reached out and carefully pulled the panties from his mouth.

"I want you Lise," her said. There was a desperationin his voice that echoed her own wanting.

Then he added, "God but I need to take a leak, how about you untie me?"

She reached down and grabbed his cock, "I read somewhere that a guy can't pee while he has an erection. What happens if I keep you hard forever?"

He looked at her and squirmed while she gently stroked him.

Lise went behind him and took a new tie from the counter and slipped it through the two around his wrists. Then she took the scissors and cut the one holding him to the chair. He got to his feet with a groan, one of his knee joints popped.

She moved in front of him and took his still erect penis in her hand. "I'll help you," she said and led him, small hand gripping big cock, to the bathroom.

"Going Down"

2010-05-21T15:03:00.000-07:00

"Going Down"

by Julius
Copyright January 2010

To “Playjock Magazine”

Dear Hugh,

My boyfriend and me were reading the letters in your magazine. When we got to the one about the woman who could control her cumming, Roger, he’s my boyfriend, said I couldn’t control mine, not if it was him going down on me.

We thought about it a while and I said I could control mine forever. So I’m sat here at the computer and Roger’s down there on his knees under the desk waiting to start on me. I’ve told him I can write and not cum and he’ll get too tired to keep going long before my whistle blows. He says he’ll make me come long before he gets tired. Should be fun.

I’m wearing a skirt. That’s kinda different for me. And panties too. Roger says that’s not fair because I don’t usually wear panties. But I said he’d have trouble going down on me if I wore my jeans so he said OK.

Anyway, here goes, I’m going to open my legs.

Aah! His hands are on my knees and he’s sliding the skirt up. Hope he takes his time, he usually does, Roger’s a great lover really. Hope he likes the panties. If he knew I’d borrowed them from my older sister that would turn him on I bet. I know he has the hots for Angela.

Oh God! He’s kissing his way up my left thigh. Higher and higher. Slowly, one kiss at a time. He says I smell good. I like that, the idea he likes the way I smell. I showered this morning but I only used soap so that’s my pure pussy scent he’s saying he likes.

Nearly at those panties. Jeez I can feel myself getting all trembly.

Oh no! He’s stopped and gone back down to my right knee. Must be dark under there so I guess he won’t really see the panties anyway. They’re pale blue and shiny, sort of satiny stuff. They’re too tight and they’ll really get in his way. They’re already in the crack of my ass. More like one of those wicked, little thongs he bought me for Christmas.

Here he goes, up my other thigh, little kisses I can hear him kissing and feel him too. Higher and higher, please don’t stop this time Roger. I want your mouth on me. I’m getting horny. This’ll never do if I’m going to outlast him.

Oh Jeez yes! That’s it Roger. He’s got his face pressed into my crotch now. He’s perfectly still against my pussy. God! Why did I wear these stupid panties? If I hadn’t, his tongue would be into me now I bet, honey dipping.

This typing’s difficult! I want to just sprawl here, grab his head in both hands and just fuck his face. Just hump my little cunny against his lovely mouth.

I shaved my little puss this morning. Now he can’t feel it because of the stupid panties! Never mind I’m supposed to be tiring him out aren’t I. But this is turning me on! Turning me on? Fuck, I must be wetting those panties now!

I can’t get my legs open any wider. Ouch! There goes that hip joint doing its click thing.

Oh I love it when he does that; kisses the hollows at the tops of my thighs.

Oh yes! Do it! He’s got a finger inside my panties and he’s pulling them aside. Ouch! They’re tight. I’m squirming my ass.

He’s found my bare pussy. Says he loves it. Like a little girl’s he says. He’s looking up at me now and grinning. I tell him I’m a long way from coming, which isn’t really true.

Christ! There he goes. His open mouth covers me. He’s biting, gently, a whole mouthful of my pussy. And he’s making that humming noise that he does when he goes down on me. Pressing his face between my legs, biting, worrying like he’s hungry and trying to bite piece of me. Oh God Roger, don’t stop, don’t ever stop.

I can’t type ……………... I need to keep his head there, I need to squeeze my tits, pinch my nipples, I need to come, Oh fuck I need, need, need.

He stops. Oh god, don’t stop I beg silently.

He looking up at me again, grinning again, he knows what he’s doing to me, how can he not, I can‘t keep still and I know I must wetter than fuck down there.

His hands move and now he’s peeling me open with his thumbs. My pussy gapes, it’s all wet pinkness. It’s hungry, a hungry pussy. Looks like it might bite him first.

Roger sticks out his tongue and wiggles it. All the time his eyes are on mine. Teasing bastard. Get at my cunt, I scream inside my head, get at my cunt.

Oh God! He does the lick thing. Lapping at me, bottom of my slit to the top. Once, twice, again and again. My hips buck, I want more and more and more and more. I know he’ll suck my clit next, I pray he’ll suck my clit next. Please suck my sweet little clitty Roger!

He stops again and tells me he’s going to win. His mouth is wet. I’m wet. He doesn’t know he’s licking beside the crotch of my sister’s panties.

I’m nowhere near yet, I tell him. Liar, liar, cunt on fire!

He looks down, tells me it’s a cute little clit. Tells me he’s going to bite it off. He touches it with tongue tip. Fuck, I’m rigid. His lips close over it and he sucks, sucks it in for his tongue to play with. He’s sucking, sucking my fucking clit like it’s my nipples.

Oh fuck, I gotta grab his head, clamp his ears with my thighs, keep him there and fuck his lovely, clitty-lickin’ face. I’ll be cumin’, I’ll be cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu

Oh Jeez, Oh God, Oh fuck, I’ve cum and I’ve cum. I’m done. Limp as lettuce. Sat in a puddle of cum. That rhymes!

I’m staring at what I wrote. Roger’s still down there, all wet faced and grinning because I came and he won and telling me we gotta swap places.

Angela’s panties are up between my cheeks of my ass, so tight it hurts. Soaked with my cum and his spit. Maybe I’ll make him wear them now, before I drain his balls.

Oh God he’s licking me again, says he’s still hungry. No Roger, no, I can’t, oooooh yes I can, please do it! Eat me! Eat me all up Roger.

Editors note: Sue’s account stopped there. We chose hers as 'letter of the month.' Well done Roger. Well cum Sue. Here at "Playjock” we agree that really, you both won.

A free year’s subscription to "Playjock" for Roger, don't forget to thank Sue appropriately.

"The Sitter"

2010-05-21T14:45:00.000-07:00

"The Sitter"

by Julius
Copyright May 2010

In idle moments he often wandered the Internet’s corridors of porn.

As so often with his generation, it posed as many questions as it answered. Sex, in his earlier years had been new and sparse, hard won and often frightening.

His new partner was forty-three, young enough to be his daughter but, as she laughingly claimed, old enough to be a grandmother to his grandchildren.

As they lay late abed one Sunday morning he asked, “What’s face-sitting?”

She giggled. “I love you.”

“Because I ask funny questions?”

“That and because I get to answer them.” She thought for a moment, smiling at him. “Wriggle down the bed a bit.” She gestured.

When he was where she wanted him she got to her knees beside him and looked down. There was that hunger in her eyes, it always made his heart race.

She wore a sheer, pink, baby doll. It covered, but didn’t hide, her pretty breasts.

Gripping the headboard to steady herself she knelt awkwardly astride him.

He was now in the tent formed by the nylon, the soft under-curves of her breasts above him. Nearer was her pussy. She’d let her hair grow back and it formed a pretty bush that normally hid her charms. But now, pantyless as always, she was open, a palette of pretty pinks, inches away.

They’d showered together the night before but now, woman-musk vied, and won, against the soap’s perfume. Nostrils to cock went the signals and behind her, the latter reared in eager response.

His hands went to caress the soft, twin globes of her ass. He loved that ass.

She sank slowly down. He felt her radiated heat on his face. Moisture glistened in her pussy’s gape. Then the first tickling touch of her curls against his chin, his lips.

He turned his head, ever so slightly, and took a bite of her, gently, gently.

Eyes closed, ears muffled by her thighs, he was in a world of breathed scents and tasted sweetness.

It was a mouthful of cunt, a cuntful of mouth.

They were sittee and sitter.

"When Ordering a Woman"

2010-03-23T07:58:00.000-07:00

"When Ordering a Woman"

(The thoughts of a Connoisseur a.k.a. Julius)
by Julius
Copyright March 2010

There are so many variables, that choosing a woman, perfectly suited to all one’s needs, is a daunting task. That said, the following might aid the prospective owner. The sequence of headings is deliberately random so I beg you to remember that wherever a requirement falls in the list, its position should not influence your thinking.

Height: This matters little if she is pleasing to the eye. However, if you have any choice in her height, imagine her bent submissively over the kitchen table. If her opening is level with your groin and she is therefore comfortably mountable in this position, then this is ideal. Measure yourself, floor to cock root and commit this figure to memory. If this measurement is not given for a woman you find attractive, you must ask.

Bosom: I like ’em good and heavy myself, bordering on pendulous but of course this is a matter of preference. However, the importance of there being a sufficiency of flesh to allow titty fucking cannot be emphasised enough. Each breast should fill your hand to overflowing, this allows you or she to enclose the whole of your member comfortably in soft, yielding breast flesh. A small breasted or boyish figure is of no use for this pleasure of course.

Nipples: All the better too if her breasts have large nipples - “All the better to suck and bite on my dear!” Also, they can be a great comfort at any time you find yourself overstressed. A perfect means of administering pain or pleasure.

Her and anal sex: In my opinion anal sex and bathing in a septic tank are much of a muchness. That is to say, it is not my choice. Of course this is another of those personal matters. Rarely need her preferences in any matter be considered. However, be sure that her preference in this matter matches yours. You don’t want to have her whining for a cock up the arse when you don’t want to put it there or, conversely, whining that she doesn’t, when you do. Her obedience is a given but they are inclined to complain, even when they should not.

Age: There is no substitute for experience of course. That is not to say that ‘the older the better’ but rather, better mature than immature. Younger women tend to be silly and quite scatter-brained and therefore quickly become tiresome. But be cautious, older women tend to feel a sense (undeserved of course) of superiority. Perhaps early thirties is best. Then she will still have some good years left in her while being more entertaining in those post coital times when conversation can be enjoyable if it is relatively intelligent.

Weight: Avoid thin women! Boniness can cause bruising to your person while engaged in vigorous copulation. Do not choose a woman who is all elbows and hipbones. Softness and warmth are so important in a bed warmer. Beware too much weight of course! A man might suffer suffocation or crushing or worse while underneath such a one. But a little soft flesh provides good hand-grips when romping with her and good cushioning when your passions run amok. The rule is: some buxomness is essential. One can always feed them less and/or exercise them more, an easy means of control, should excessive weight gain occur.

Manners: All a man asks is obedience and a quiet disposition. She must not be forever chattering; she must be silent unless spoken to. Of course during copulation she may be vocal if only to display how well you are pleasing her while pleasing yourself. By all means let her be the vocal evidence of your prowess.

Arse: Full and round. This cleft is as good a spot as the bosom in which to do a little cleavage fucking from time to time. A well-spanked bottom is a pretty sight too and a delightful warmth in bed on a cold night. Her backside is of course ideal as the means of disciplining your woman. Sadly they tend to enjoy having their nethers reddened so alternative punishments may have to be sought.

On the subject of punishment or discipline: no matter whether she likes corporal punishment or not.If she DOES, then the hairbrush, cane or whatever can be a source of pleasure for both of you and if punishment is needed, simply lay it on the harder.If she likes it NOT, no matter. The smack of wood or leather on her pretty arse can serve as pleasure for you or punishment for her - at your whim. So, she’ll be getting her buttocks reddened anyway. No woman can avoid having a few imperfections. The more she needs correcting, the more pleasure you’ll derive doing that correcting! Remember the sorer the arse, the prettier a woman sits.

The muff or pubic hair: No question here. Where possible, choose a hirsute love mound. If your preference is trimmed or shaven, considerable pleasure will be derived from doing the barbering yourself. There can be few joys to match using comb, scissors and razor in this fashion. So, choose a cunny au naturel.

There gentlemen, ten suggestions. Finding the perfect plaything may not be easy. Try as many samples as you deem necessary in your quest for the ideal. Never hesitate to give them chores to do while you are trying them for your physical pleasures. A gentleman friend of mine got his whole mansion spring-cleaned before finding his heart’s desire.

Remember, God made pretty women for us; it would be a sin not to enjoy them.

"Bobbles"

2010-03-23T06:53:00.000-07:00

“Bobbles”

by Julius
Copyright March 2010

(delighted to say that this was the 50th of my tales chosen to appear on ERWA's Galleries)

Bobbles or pom-poms or maybe even tassels but I think bobbles sounds best. You know what I mean? On girls' boots lately, a bobble on each lace end. The chunky, furry boots are best.

There’s something so utterly sexy about bobbles. The bobbles draw attention to the boots, the boots to the legs, the legs to the thighs, the thighs to the ass and the ass to the sexy young thing with the bobbles.

She goes by, bobbles dancing at her ankles like four tiny kittens. The eye goes: boots, calves, thighs, ass. See what I mean?

If she has “IT” and most girls do, my mind goes into lust-drive.

My favourite fantasy is “her” wearing just bobbled boots. Nothing else, just her bobbled boots. She stands astride my head and grinds her hips, lifting first one heel off the ground, then the other and so on. The bobbles hop and bob beside my ears.

High above, her pussy hovers, oscillating in time with hips and heels. It’s at the confluence of her thighs, a little, furry, munchable morsel.

Then, in my happy fantasy, I issue the command, a one, has-to-be-obeyed word, “Squat!”

And down comes the fifth bobble.

"A Cumly Wench"

2010-03-17T11:52:00.000-07:00

“A Cumly Wench”

by Julius
Copyright March 2010

Roy was more than pleased with his new, big, flat screen. The picture was incredible, money well spent he decided. The movie, an old favourite, began. Roy loved porn movies. With his shorts at mid-thigh and a bottle of lube to hand he was all set for a delightful afternoon.

Outside, it was a warm, almost hot, spring day. His garden beckoned, but he was horny and there was only one cure for that. Roy tried to be good at whatever he did and he reckoned he was a very good masturbator.

He figured the ideal self-pleasuring session should last for two, full-length movies. He seldom made it last that long of course, his movie collection was too good for that. Women always claimed it was the foreplay that counted. If his climax lasted only seconds Roy thought his foreplay should be as long and as pleasurable as possible.

With the new screen Roy realised that his solo sex would be about as good as it gets.

The girl on the screen began her little dance. She was one of his favourites and he loved black lingerie. He squirted lube into his left palm and brought his half erection to full flower. Levering his recliner a little further back he began the slow and steady stroking. On screen the first heavy breast slipped out of the inadequate bra, its nipple pointed straight at Roy. God! The new screen was incredible. Roy’s cock was rigid.

“Roy! Roy, are you home?”

Fuck! He’d not bolted the back door. It was Monica, one of his neighbours.

“Roy, it’s me, Monica.”

Roy got the recliner upright and managed to mute the TV. “Hello Monica, I’ll be right there.”

He struggled to get up but a lube-slick hand slipped on the recliner’s leather arm.

“Roy, I, oh my god!” Monica’s voice exclaimed from much nearer.

He looked round and there she was, staring at the big screen.

“You should knock,” Roy said, anger and embarrassment vying with each other. His shorts were still down, and if she took another step …

Monica stepped into the room and her gaze went from the movie to Roy’s face, then down to his hand which was over his groin. He erection was gone, banished by his embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said and turned to flee.

Roy managed to stand and pulled up his shorts.

“If you’d knocked,” Roy said defensively.

She paused in mid stride and, with her back still towards him, replied, “Well, you were hardly dressed to answer the door, were you?”

She turned to face him. “Is that really one of those porno movies?” She looked past him at the screen.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” He looked for the remote but it had disappeared.

“Don’t apologise Roy, I’ve always wondered what they were like.”

On the screen the big blonde had lifted a breast and was licking its nipple.

Roy’s embarrassment went up another notch and he looked behind the chair, found the remote and picked it up.

“No, don’t turn it off. Could we maybe watch it a while?”

“I guess,” he said but wanted to say no. Wanted her gone, perhaps wanted the earth to open up.

“Brian and I just had an awful row. I just slammed out of the house. I don’t know where to go, I’ve no shoes on. Thought I’d come and have a coffee with my old gardening buddy. Perhaps I should go.” It all came out in a rush.

Roy didn’t know what to do. “Let me make us some coffee,” he offered.

“I’d like that.” She crossed to the sofa and sat down, staring at the movie. “I wish I had breasts like those.”

Roy stood in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, and thinking. Monica, and Brian of course, had been his neighbours for forever. She loved gardening, as did Roy. She was attractive enough but he always seemed to see her dressed in her gardening stuff, devoid of makeup and with her hair up. She hadn’t registered on Roy’s lust scale, not until now anyway.

The few times he’d seen her dressed up, she'd been a different woman, going out with her husband. Monica was Monica, the woman next door who gave him cuttings and seedlings and happily accepted the vegetables he always grew too many of.

Today she was different, rather excitingly different. Wearing a cute yellow summer dress and barefooted and her long hair in a ponytail she looked delightful, beyond pretty, almost beautiful. Not only that but she was sat in his living room watching one of his porno movies.

He carried two mugs of coffee into the living room. Monica sat staring at the TV, her left hand pressing her skirt between her legs. When she saw him she moved her hand quickly away and smiled up at him. It was a strange little smile and she was blushing.

“God! What must you think of me?” she said.

“I don’t know. What did you think of me when you walked in just now?”

She smiled. “You looked so embarrassed and guilty somehow. I thought you looked cute and very sexy.”

“There you are then,” he said, “I think you look very cute and extremely sexy.”

She patted the seat beside her. “Let’s watch together.”

He handed her a mug and sat down.

Roy was acutely aware of his slick cock and his lack of underwear beneath his shorts. He thought about the movie and realised it still had better than an hour to run. Then he thought about some of the scenes still to come. No! He couldn’t imagine her sitting there, next to him, through those.

“Monica?”

“Yes Roy?”

“I’m not sure this ... ,” he hesitated and gestured at the screen, “that this is suitable for,” his voice trailed off.

“Suitable for a lady,” she said. Her voice had deepened somehow.

She pressed her hand back between her legs and added, “Perhaps I’m not feeling ladylike today.”

On the screen one scene had ended. Now a woman in a bikini was asleep in a garden.

“An hour ago I came on to Brian. I’d got myself all prettied up. He wasn’t interested; I could see that. Before I knew it we were yelling at each other. He said I was always horny. I said he never was. We both got very angry, very quickly and here I am.”

She looked at him. Her eyes looked huge and they glistened. She didn’t cry, just sat holding her coffee.

Roy swallowed, loudly. “Let’s watch the movie.”

The woman in the movie slid her left hand slowly under her bikini‘s panties. Roy watched the outlines of her fingers moving between her legs.

“I’m not wearing any panties,” announced Monica.

Roy chuckled. “Neither am I.”

“I know,” she said and giggled.

Roy’s cock stirred and he lowered his coffee to try and conceal the restless thing.

On screen the hand was hard at work between the legs and Roy could smell Monica’s perfume. His cock grew and was caught in his shorts and it hurt.

She put her coffee on the small table beside her, got up and went to his recliner. She picked up the bottle of lubricant from the floor and came back and sat down again. She handed him the bottle.

“Go on Roy.”

Roy froze. He couldn’t do it. Not in front of her. He couldn’t.

She took the hem of her dress and slid it slowly up her thighs. Roy watched. Up higher, until she was bare to the waist. A tuft of brown curls peeped out from between her closed thighs.

“Now then, where were you before I interrupted?”

He stared at her nakedness, and then looked up. She was smiling at him, her hand still holding out the bottle.

“I’ve showed you mine,” she said.

He took the bottle. His erection had disappeared yet again. On screen the woman was writhing silently.

His shorts had an elastic waistband, no fly. He was going to have to push them down again. He glanced at her knees, her bare thighs, the delightful glimpse of her curls. He didn’t have a choice did he?

His cock was a little thing now. His crop of pubic hair made it look pathetically small.

Monica got up again. To Roy’s dismay the hem of her dress dropped and covered her.

“I’ll go lock the back door shall I? You never know, somebody might barge in.”

Roy liked the implications of her locking the door. The dress clung to her hips and ass as she headed into the kitchen. This couldn’t be the next-door Monica, could it?

She came back, picked up the remote from the arm of the recliner and sat down again beside him.

On the screen a bronzed young man knelt between the woman’s legs.

Monica said, “I’m sorry, I forgot.” She pulled up her skirt again. The sound came on as she pressed the mute button.

Roy just sat. The situation was quite unbelievable. Monica leaned against him and put her head against his shoulder.

“How long is the movie?”

“At least another hour.”

“Can we watch it all?”

“Why not?” Roy liked that idea although he seldom made it to half way through.

“Can I watch you too?” she asked putting her hand on his bare thigh.

Surely she didn’t expect him to jerk off in front of her? The young man had his face between the woman’s thighs, apparently pleasuring her through the bikini.

“I wish I could persuade Brian to do that,” said Monica, gently stroking Roy’s thigh.

Roy thought he’d be happy to oblige. His cock was stirring again. He watched it swell and lengthen.

She was looking too. Her hand want back between her legs again. “Let’s both do it while we watch the movie.”

Seeing her touch herself, watching the screen action and his near erect cock were making it difficult to just sit there. She moved her hand off his thigh and took his hand and moved it towards his cock.

“I want to watch you,” she said in a husky voice. “You have a lovely cock.”

He wrapped his hand round it and squeezed. He was very aroused. He wished she’d do it for him.

Monica picked up the lube and squeezed some, too much, over the head of his cock. It trickled down over his knuckles. Roy slid his fist down his erection. He groaned; it felt good. Monica’s hand went back between her thighs.

“There.” she said softly, “now let’s watch the movie together.”

Poor Roy, he had to divide his attention. Monica’s legs had parted and she seemed to be sliding two fingers up and down her pussy. She obviously didn’t need any lubricant. On screen, the bikini panties were gone and a shaved pussy was being enthusiastically devoured. Roy slowly stroked his cock. It was fully erect now, hot and rigid. He wondered how long he could keep control. How long before he spurted and was spent? He didn’t want that to happen, not yet. He wanted to watch Monica.

Then, in a flash, he realised he wanted Monica, wanted her very badly.

“I’ve always wanted to be shaved like that,” Monica said, “with just a little strip, pointing at my belly button.”

Roy pictured his electric shaver. Pictured mowing Monica’s little front lawn. He stroked nearly once too often and froze. He stared down at himself.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“I almost came,” he said.

“I’d love to see that. I want to see you come. I’ve never actually seen Brian come.”

“If I do, I’m pretty much done for the day.” He was shocked at how easy it had become to say a thing like that. He’d gone from nearly paralysed with embarrassment to almost at ease with her.

“Well, we’d not want you finished for the day, would we? Leave it be for a while and we’ll just watch the film.”

He took his hand away. His cock looked huge and it glistened with the lube.

Monica took her hand from between her legs and picked up her coffee. On the screen the woman was stroking the man’s cock and telling him to come. Her stroking was slow and gentle. Seemingly, just slow enough and just gentle enough that he didn’t come. She was doing a wonderful job of keeping him on the brink while begging him to come. Maybe it was all just acting but it was incredible erotic nonetheless.

Monica was motionless, staring, her lips parted. She looked down at Roy’s cock then at him. She licked her lips. Her hand had gone back to her pussy. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Maybe the same as me.”

“I want to touch it,” she said looking down at his cock again. His erection had softened a little and now lay to one side on his thigh.

“OK,” he said and gasped as she reached out and took it in her hand.

“It’s so hot!” she said and squeezed him gently. A pearl of precum oozed from the end. She brought her other hand from her groin and, with a fingertip, spread the precum over the head of his cock. She milked another drop from him and repeated the smearing. His cock stiffened yet again.

She stroked him gently and he closed his eyes and told her it felt wonderful. It did too, having a hand other than his own doing it. How long since?

She picked up the remote and pressed “pause”. She got to her feet and stood in front of him and began to slowly unbutton the dress. She shrugged it off her shoulders. She was naked underneath, no bra, nothing, just Monica.

“You’re lovely,” he said and sincerely meant it. She had small breasts with big, protruding nipples that were surrounded by big pink aerolae. She pirouetted slowly showing him the cutest of asses. The urge to grab her was all but overwhelming. She turned to face him again.

He chuckled. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I think so, but we’ve a movie to watch.”

“I’m so glad you came to visit.”

She sat down again, closer this time. He looked down at her incredible nipples.

“Big, ugly things aren’t they?” She asked him touching a finger to a nipple.

“Ugly! No! They’re beautiful,” he said and, without thinking, added, “just made for suckling.”

She pressed the “play” button and Roy resigned himself to watching.

They watched the movie for a while. Roy gently stroked his cock from time to time, careful not to come too close to coming. It wasn’t easy. Monica’s nipples seemed to be sticking out more than when she’d first shown them to him. Her hand moved almost constantly, doing things to her pussy, things that made her squirm.

She divided her attention between screen and cock.

The movie was approaching the point where Roy usually lost control. On-screen, the woman was kneeling between the seated guy’s feet and was pumping his cock slowly. The look on her face was one of pure anticipation. She was doing it so slowly, so carefully that he was obviously very, very close.

Monica said, “Oh my,” and sat still, staring.

The hand stroked, slowly. The muscles in the guy’s legs tensed and Monica said, “Yes, yes, yes,” very softly.

The movie went to slow motion at that moment and the first jet of cum slid out of the cock and soared, in a long wiggly string, up onto the guy’s chest. The woman moved her hand and the second spurt splattered on the bridge of her nose and across her face.

Monica giggled.

Successive, smaller jets went here and there, on his belly over her hand. Monica’s hand left Roy’s cock and went between her thighs again. Her other hand went over her mouth but she managed to say, “Wasn’t that incredible?”

The scene again then, at normal speed, and still Monica stared. She fumbled for the remote and paused the movie yet again.

She slid off the sofa and there she was, on her knees in front of him.

“Can I?” she asked, “Please?”

Not waiting for an answer she grabbed his cock and began to stroke. “Tell me when to slow down,” she said, glancing up at him.

Her hand felt different and much better than his own. It was smaller, making him look bigger. She was gentle and moved slowly. She seemed fascinated by his cock and stared, wide eyed, at it as she worked.

Slow and gentle maybe, but soon enough the familiar boiling sensation began behind his balls.xx
“Slow,” he murmured, wanting to come, but not yet. This was the way he pleasured himself, holding off, prolonging the pleasure, delaying the inevitable.

Monica learned quickly and in no time was bringing him close, then slowing or stopping. He looked at her face and she glanced up from her work and smiled a wicked smile.

Next time she didn’t stop or slow, just slid her slick little fist up and down, squeezing the head of his cock almost to the point of pain.

Roy knew he’d come. The point of no return and that incredible gathering sensation began.

“Oh no!” he exclaimed, then, “Oh yes!”

The first rush through his cock, the sudden clench that gathered every nerve and muscle behind his ball sac. The first geyser burst past the grip she had on his cock-head and shot straight up, level with her startled eyes only to fall back over her wrist and knuckles.

Her startled, delighted, “Oh!” of wonder was followed by his next spurt that hit her chin and lips.

She laughed and pumped at his cock, milking him in decreasing spurts until he was spent. She carried on stroking his straining erection until he was begging her to stop.

There seemed to be an aching void in the pit of his stomach, as if he’d emptied his whole being out through his cock. He slumped back, chest heaving, heart hammering. His eyes closed.

She still held his fast-deflating cock and stared in girlish wonder at his come that covered her curled fingers.

Monica got to her feet, turned and dropped onto the sofa beside him, laughing.

His voice was full of wonder as he said, “That was incredible, I thought I was going to pass out or maybe die. Oh wow!”

She spread her legs wide and reached down and pulled herself open.
“My turn now Roy, my turn.”

The only response she got was a gentle snore.

Monica sat very still as her emotions rose and fell. Anger, frustration and lastly, amusement came in waves. How typically male she thought. Give him what he wants and needs; offer him more and he falls asleep. She look down at her gaping nakedness and sighed. Another gentle snore came from beside her. She dipped a finger into her wetness. She was close to tears. Her frustration surfaced again.

God but she was horny! Could a pussy ache with need? Hers did she knew. She looked sideways at the shrivelled little cock nestling in the shock of Roy’s pubic hair and sighed again.

Monica got up and slipped the dress over her head. She peeped out through the curtains. Brian had gone, the driveway was empty She thought she’d heard a car door slam earlier.

Monica walked through to the kitchen and let herself out of the back door.

She came back a while later with a plastic shopping bag in one hand and a pair of black heels in the other.

On the sofa Roy still slept. Monica looked down at him. Her anger was gone; after all, he was just a man. A man, she suddenly realised, that would be very easy to love.

On screen the jerker and jerkee were frozen, both staring at the last white drooling.

Monica went behind the sofa and slipped out of the dress again, praying Roy would sleep until she was ready. She drew the little red panties up her thighs. Crotchless, they barely covered her ass and her pussy, not at all.

The corset was still laced from its first, futile and only wearing. It was a brilliant, shimmery red and trimmed in black lace. She loved it. Hooking it up the front was a challenge.

The last three hooks were nigh impossible as she and the corset captured and restrained her breasts. The little, lace-edged cut-outs made her big nipples jut almost obscenely. With fingers and thumbs she pinched and pulled at them, feeling the jolts in her pussy that made her whole body spasm. She’d been horny since dawn.

Monica stepped into the heels and wished there was a mirror. She moved around the sofa and picked up the remote. She clicked ‘play’ and brought up the sound.

Roy never stirred. She lifted her foot and pressed the sole of her shoe against his cock; the spiked heel threatened between his balls.

His face lit up and she heard his intake of breath. His eyes flickered back and forth between nipples and pussy. “Oh dear God!” he murmured.

“Like I said Roy, my turn.” She dropped a hand and combed her fingers through her bush and added, “Now!”

"Lust at First Sight"

2010-03-17T07:52:00.000-07:00

"Lust at First Sight"

A 100 word Flasher
by Julius
Copyright 2003

She was the bank's loans officer. Brian Jenkins' arrival had made her sunny, Spring morning suddenly much sweeter.

As he closed her office door her brain exclaimed, "Nice ass!"

He turned.

"Nice bulge!" her pussy purred. The handshake was powerfully gentle. 'Nearing forty,' she guessed.

She knew she was blushing and looked down at his application. He was divorced! He ran the "Appliance Repair Co." She'd had her old food mixer overhauled there last year!

Glancing up she met a smile that stole all her blue-suited poise.

Young Brenda the lender, had a blender mender on her agenda.

"Just One Serving"

2010-03-17T07:32:00.000-07:00

"Just One Serving"

A 100 word Flasher,
by Julius
Copyright 2003

Ravenous, they'd ordered in pizza, eating by the pool.

Now, fresh, fruit salad, her favourite.

He stood behind her. The too-small bikini had tormented him all day. He dribbled sun tan oil over his erection.

He nuzzled at her armpit with his cock head and she shrugged that shoulder gently. He thrust, slid through and she trapped him, almost.

This new exquisite tightness, him thrusting, her breasts jostling! Seconds only and he was poised.

She sensed it and lifted her bowl, holding it ready.

As he spurted over the fruit, she cooed, "Nothing like fresh cream!"

"Coming and Going" Part 3

2010-03-17T03:22:00.000-07:00

"Coming & Going" Pt. 3

by JuliusCopyright 2003

James found her standing, staring at him, as he crossed the basement, "I can't get back!" she said very quietly, an edge of panic in her voice.

He put his arms round her while she told him what had happened. "Is it such a bad thing?" he said softly into her hair.

"It's the only home I've ever known and everything I have is there," she was trembling, "what if I can never go back?"

* * *

He sat in the living room and listened to the shower running. The fact that the 'time machine' had changed its frequency was as frightening as it was intriguing. It meant "someone" was using it. This scared him a little. For some reason he'd thought it 'disused', now it seemed it wasn't lying dormant after all. From a ten year, suddenly to a hundred year cycle. The questions came tumbling in. How long, if ever, before it went back to ten years? How would he react if 'they' turned up in his basement? More importantly, what about Cilla?

He was only too happy to have her stay. She was beautiful and magic. He was lonely and, to be honest with himself, desperate for female company. But, and it was a big but, he worried if she'd be happy with him and his "now". For a while at least she was his responsibility but that suited him fine.

The shower stopped and he got up to put the coffee on. He found himself with a real spring in his step. He smiled, he'd not felt this full of life in a long while.

Upstairs Cilla had finished her shower. Things like the shower in this world weren't that different from hers. A shower was a shower. She didn't feel too much like a stranger. But the clothes! Hooks and buttons, zips and the funny stuff that made the tearing noisewhen you undid it! She'd met them all during the shopping spree. It seemed such a complicated way to dress. She was used to the all but exclusive use of magnetic fastenings. 'Oh well, when in Rome'.

Cilla was aware of several emotions teasing at her. She knew she wanted him and that want came in long waves, the peaks disturbingly high. Her mind teased her with memories of his cock in her hand. Then there was the worry of being marooned here, that would surface and she'd feel panic bumping away in her chest. Of course there was the almost desperate need to dress herself in her recent purchases. 'His recent purchases!' she corrected herself. This most feminine of urges made her smile to herself.

She finished drying herself and stood looking at the clothes on the vanity. She'd got the 'time machine' problem pushed into a back corner of her mind for now. As she reached out and touched the frilly blue underwear she knew that the awful want between her legs wasn't going to be so easy to control.

The bra was a puzzle. She'd never seen one before, let alone tried to put one on. She seldom wore anything but her little slave uniforms and those shaped and held her breasts so easily. Moulding and supporting wonderfully; but this thing! Hooks and eyes, four of each and adjustable straps and it seemed much too small. Now she was faced with getting into it.

Some minutes later she was looking at her captive breasts in the mirror. From what she'd seen in the mall and the catalogue she thought he'd be well pleased. The bra was the right size, or too small, depending on the viewpoint. This period's males obviously worshipped breasts. Hers looked very worshippable she thought. Unfashionably large for her time, they were crowded into the bra giving her a very noticeable cleavage. The thin, powder blue fabric showed her nipples quite plainly, her rising arousal making them prominent.

The panties were easier, not skimpy little things. They almost covered her shock of red curls at the front and most of her ass at the back. They were so incredibly feminine, frothy with pale blue lace. She loved the way they clung to her mound and she slid a hand over herself. She gasped at the touch. In a moment her desire leapt out of hiding and the near desperate urge was back.

Cilla crept out of the bathroom, her nose scenting the smell of fresh brewed coffee. She sat down on the top step and called down to James, "Come tell me if you like what we bought." She leaned back on her hands and moved her feet as far apart as the stair tread would allow. She was offering herself, knowing his need, achingly aware of her own. Quite a sight for him when he saw her. 'Oh, but make him want me enough,' she silently begged.

James came to the bottom of the stairs and began to climb. He was halfway before he glanced upwards. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes almost level with her crotch. He knew he was staring and where. He glanced quickly up to meet her eyes but he was caught by the sight of her overflowing breasts. She almost purred at his reactions and said softly, "Do you like my new clothes?"

He wondered if she really saw it as underwear. After all, that little outfit he'd met her in was arguably briefer than what she wore now. "You look lovely like that," he told her.

Before she could stop herself she heard her voice saying, "Would you, ... would you like to ...? Oh, I've never, never asked this before, would you pleasure me?"

"I'd love to!" his mind jumped to the moment her small hand had first held his cock. He'd sensed her arousal then, now he was sure he could feel her heat on his face. His cock seemed to go from limp to rigid in a heartbeat. He knelt on the step, his face inches from the tight nylon. Red curls sprouted from the sides, mingling with the lace, he could see flattened curls plainly through the fabric. A darker patch showed the moistness of her arousal.

He sensed Cilla letting herself fall back to lie on the carpet of the landing, her feet on the step below. He leaned foward and pressed a kiss into the crotch of her panties. Her response was between a sob and a long sigh. He felt her thighs close gently on his ears and then she spread herself, opening, opening herself. Soap perfume and her sweet muskiness mingled in his nostrils. He felt her wetness with his lips.

James struggled awkwardly up one step and put his hands on the outsides of her thighs. He nuzzled his mouth and nose against her mound, tasting, smelling this wonderful creature. A long, gentle, open-mouthed kiss. She squirmed and writhed under his face, between his hands. Her flesh felt almost fluid through the thin fabric.

Suddenly there were fingers clumsily working between his face and her panties. For an awful moment he thought she wanted him to stop and he lifted his head. But the hand quickly peeled the panties to one side and there she was, a dozen shades of glistening pink amid the bush of red hair. He heard the one word, "Please!" and he bent to kiss her again, tongue seeking, exploring. Her sobs measured her mounting arousal. Then, near silence as her thighs closed over his ears. Her fingers grabbed his hair and pulled him hard against her pink wetness. There was no way now that he could control the pace. Her thighs, her hands, her grinding, humping pussy were fucking his mouth. He was lucky he could breath through his nose, through her wet fur. He was swallowing her juices all but drowning. Then she began to chant, a faintly heard "Now! Now! Now!" each word coming with a buck of her thighs, she seemed desperate for release. Suddenly her thighs opened. Now he could hear her again. "Don't stop, don't stop, nearly there, oh nearly, oh!!" Then a keening cry and she bucked frantically against his face. He clung to her thighs, his face against her wet heat while she struggled in the throes of her orgasm.

She seemed to come forever. Her thighs repeatedly closing over his ears then opening wide. She bucked and writhed like a wild thing. Sobbing beautiful nonsense all the while. Then she was pushing his face away from her, begging him to stop. Begging, begging. He drew back and looked at her in wonder, she was glistening wet, her pubic hair matted against her mound, his beard must look the same he realised. She was fighting for breath.

James moved up to crouch beside her. He cradled her head in his hands while she gasped for air.

She tried to tell how it had been, the words coming in little sentences, "Never came like that before. Never been loved by anyone's mouth. Beautiful. Thought I'd die. Turning inside out!"

He stroked her hair, kissed her. Told her how beautiful it had been. She clung to him, giggled, "I can taste me, smell me in your beard!"

"I think there is much I've never done before. A slave doesn't get to choose!"

"Perhaps you could have a slave," he ventured, a delicious idea forming in his mind, "I could be your slave."

"That is unthinkable!" came her protest.

"No it isn't! I just thought of it." Almost simultaneously they broke into giggles.

He'd protested, red faced, at her suggestion that he wear her outfit. She'd explained that slaves, male and female, wore them. "It would never fit me!" he'd argued.

"Oh yes it will," her eyes alight at the thought, "this fabric will fit anything!"

* * *

And fit it had. Very flatteringly too she proclaimed. He looked like a well-endowed male ballet dancer. He'd hated it, she'd loved it and slowly, as she'd oohed and aahed and walked around him, he'd come to accept it. In the mirror he could appreciate her point. It clung and moulded itself to his genitals like a coat of green paint. It flattered his upper body. But he wasn't about to answer the door in it!

So James was now her slave until midnight. He liked the idea and she was so childishly delighted, as if he'd given her a wonderful gift. Perhaps he had, he thought soberly. She'd never been free before!

She ordered him to make her a coffee. Alone in the kitchen he ran his hand over the silk coated bulge of his groin. In an instant it seemed, he was hard. The amazing fabric seemed to sense his need and with no resistance at all his cock squirmed erect and stood proudly up his stomach.

"That is beautiful!" exclaimed a voice beside him. Her hand was to her mouth as she looked in awe at his erection. "We must find a use for that!" she reached out and ran her fingers up and down the length of him making him groan. Then she turned to the doorway, "I must dress in something appropriate for a mistress."

She added, from the stairs, "This mistress is hungry too!"

"Yes Mistress," smiling he set about making sandwiches.

He carried the sandwiches and coffee into the living room and carefully closed the curtains. One thing was bothering James and bothering him badly. He was so damned horny that he wondered what control he had left. The expert hand job of yesterday, wonderful though it had been, had merely whetted his appetite. Now, after the beautiful frolic on the stairs, he was sexually as high as a kite. Her slave for the rest of the day! With his cock and balls so tight and snug in this carressing fabric he was cruelly aware of himself. He was rock hard now, he was sure he could come, just by thinking about that red-furred pussy of hers. And those breasts!! Dear sweet Jesus ... he wanted her so badly. How in God's name was he to act when she came downstairs?

Upstairs, Cilla dressed, if that was the word. She struggled with another bra, only three hooks this time but it was still so very difficult. Finally! She was in and fastened. Black crotchless pantyhose. These made her almost drool. She mastered the knack of rolling them on and then moved about the bedroom, revelling in the feel of this lovely extra-skin sensation. The odd chill, as the air moved over her thighs! She postured before the mirror, loving the way her ass peeped from the cutouts at the back! Her pussy framed in the opening of the front. Cilla loved Cilla at that moment and rather thought James would too. Poor James! He was so horny, you could almost see his aura!

She'd not washed herself. It seemed wrong to clean away the magic of that orgasm. She could smell her muskiness as her body's still unsated hunger fed on her scent. 'Like a mink in heat' was a phrase she'd learned on one of the slave courses, she'd no real idea what it meant but it kept running though her mind "I'm like a mink in heat!"

He watched her come down the stairs. His heart hammered, his cock strained. Black bra, blackpantyhose, the latter crotchless. She was SEX incarnate! Her silver hair, that crazy red bush at her thighs' junction. She paused on the bottom step and turned towards him and smiled. How could this creature smile like a little girl? But she did.

He'd decided to tell her right there, how much he wanted her, how desperate he was. To warn her, to ...

But she spoke first, "Lie on your back on the floor slave, I wish to use you." She smiled a sinful smile.

Puzzled, half hoping, half guessing what was going to happen, he did as he was told.

She walked over and stood astride his hips. The pantyhose so dark, her thighs so pale. Her breasts looked huge from this angle. She was staring down at his erection. "My slave is very aroused isn't he?"

She bent from the waist and reached for the silver collar. How were those breasts staying in that bra he wondered? Her fingers moved and the front of the green costume snapped free. She took the corners and peeled it down, off him, flicking it away to lie between his knees. The cool of the air on the heat of his cock was exquisite. She dropped to her knees and took his cock in her right hand. He moaned, terrified he'd come right then and there. She held his cock erect and simply lowered herself down onto him. Hot, scalding hot and tight and slick. He howled almost silently through clenched teeth as he speared up into her.

Cilla settled her weight onto his thighs, squatting, perfectly still. "Don't move my slave!"

He didn't dare move. His climax was a straining captive thing, ready to burst out in an instant. By unspoken consent they were still. Time seemed to stop awhile. She could feel his heart beating in his cock, pulsing gently against the walls of her vagina. How deep inside her he was! She was full and stretched. So beautifully full, full, full. Full of him. Tears prickled her eyes.

James lay staring up at her. Drinking in her loveliness. The bra was too small, areolae peeped like rising suns. But it was her heat wrapping his cock that was his focus. His hardness pulsed steadily inside her, he could feel the throb of his heart throughout his body but most strongly in that cock of his that she was impaled on.

Then she did it! The contraction of her pussy around his cock. Strong yet soft. Like powereful lips kissing and squeezing his erection. His eyes widened in wonder and she saw this and gave a little chuckle ... the ripple of that carressed his cock too.

"I can make you come like that you know."

He knew, oh he knew! And she did it again. "Tell me when to stop." she whispered and did it again.

She was milking him! And not a muscle moved on her body except that beautiful rippling grip inside her.

He told her to stop but it was too late, they both knew that. Both sensed the instant when his control went. She raised herself and instinct took over for him. He began to thrust up into her desperately, frantically. A year of hunger and need couldn't be denied. Three thrusts, five and then it was happening. Bursting, boiling, he spent himself inside her, gushingand spurting. They both felt the pulsing wonder of it. She, complete perhaps for the first time in her life and he, sobbing with the joy of it.

She came too but somehow it was his release that she felt. A silent, hot, flooding joy spread inside her. She collapsed onto him, eyes streaming tears, "Don't send me back!"

"Never, never in a thousand years."

They clung together, satisfied, yet wanting more. They had all day and they had eternity.

It was almost dark when Cilla stirred in his arms. "Slave?"

"Umm?"

"Can we do it again?" she whispered dreamily.

"Now!"

"Soon," she paused, "and another thing slave."

"Yes Mistress."

"I must teach you about foreplay."

"Oh yes Mistress!" he smiled into her hair, "That I would like."

"Coming and Going" Part 2

2010-03-10T12:45:00.000-08:00

"Coming & Going" (Pt. 2)

by Julius
Copyright 2003xx

Cilla was in heaven as she fondled James' cock. It was new and strange to her, so naturally different. She couldn't believe the surge of her arousal at the moment she'd first touched it.

Loving her own Master's cock was a part of her duties. Sometimes she enjoyed it, sometimes she even needed it. Yes, needed to do it. But all too often it was because he needed it and wanted it, with no thought of asking about her needs. But with James it was different. This was her choice. There was something fresh and sweet about having a choice.

James groaned, Cilla stilled her hand and pressed his hardness against her cheek. She needed to concentrate! The wonderful springy curls, magic! After the immaculate hairlessness of her Master this was a new delight. She pressed her face into his groin. Feeling the hair on her eyelids, her lips, tickling the edges of her nostrils.

She sat up and squeezed some more oil into her palm and reached for the beautiful hardness.

She could keep her Master on the edge for an hour, sometimes longer. Keeping him balanced, close to release, taking him close, close, closer. Knowing just when to slow and when to stop. She wondered if she could do the same to James guessing that he needed this so very badly. Cilla doubted she could control him the way she controlled her Master - not this first time. But she would try.

"Relax James," she said softly, "let me play, let me please you." She slid her hand slowly down to the root of his cock. "Focus on the feeling. One thought, let everything else float away." She gripped him tighter and drew her slick hand up the length of him, he sighed a long sigh.

She cupped his balls gently with her other hand. Loving their weight and warmth. She wondered what it would be like to impale herself on this cock of his. She slapped herself mentally, she must not think like that. Faithfulness was the first rule. But the word 'impale' echoed round in her head. Massaging James was for his comfort, this was the slave's prime function but she knew at the back of her mind that she was enjoying this too much for it to really be right. She was, she knew, a little over the 'faithful' line! But he was a little longer, a little thicker than her Master ... 'a slave can dream can't she?'

He thrust up, driving his cock through her fist, reminding her that she was day-dreaming again. She gripped its head and forced her clenched fingers down the length of him. His hips squirmed on the bed. 'You're loving this aren't you?' she asked him silently. 'So long since you had a woman do this for you.'

The heat was building between her legs. She needed pleasuring too. Her nipples chafed against the side of the bed and she drew back. The signals had flashed down to her crotch, that was more than she needed right now!

James was squirming on the bed making happy noises in his throat. Cilla kept up the slow strokes bringing him nearer and nearer. His cock was oozing steadily now. A droplet glinted like jewel. She licked her lips, wanting to taste him. She was concentrating with a fierceness that made little frown lines appear between her eyes.

He kept saying "Oh!" and "Yes". Words, sounds she understood so well. They meant 'I'm going to come soon!' and 'Stop! or I'll come!' and "Don't stop!" The sweet sounds of barely contained joy. This crazy, sweet conflict would go on as long as her skill could control him.

She watched his whole body, his head, moving from side to side, the tightening of his stomach, the straining tendons in his thighs. Her eyes kept coming back to his beautiful cock. Its glistening head disappearing in and out of the top of her fist. It drew her, her whole body seemed to strain towards it. And that was what made her nearly lose control of him. He tensed, his body went completely still and she eased her hold on him, just steadying his rigid cock with finger and thumb. His body was rigid, he was close, close, close. She blew gently on the head of his cock, cooling it, soothing the quivering nerves. She stared, as motionless as he and waited. His cock twitched just the once and a slow ooze of white boiled out of him and trickled down his shaft into his curls.

The moment was past! 'There must be a name for that,' she thought. It was a beautiful moment for her. Her hand began moving again, slowly oh so slowly, lubricated now with a mix of oil and his come.

"Should we let it happen soon James?" she asked him softly.

"Oh yes," he murmured, "if you don't I think I'll die!"

She smiled and tightened her grip on him and began moving his balls in the cup of her hand, so very, very gently. Now his hips were moving in concert with her hands.

Her own arousal was extreme and in her mind he was thrusting into her pussy not her hand.

This time she just let it happen. Just let her hand stroke him, no thought now of pausing or prolonging. He groaned and said a long soft "Yesss...," Cilla watched in delight as he came. The sudden, beautiful violence of his movements. She held his cock vertical and his juices squirted high and then fell back over her hands and wrists time and again. Over his thighs and belly and into that lovely pubic hair of his. She pressed her face against his cock again and felt his last spasms, like a beautiful heartbeat pulsing against her cheek.

They stayed still and silent for a while as his pulse and breathing slowed. 'What about you?" he asked.

She almost cried that he should ask about her needs. That was a wonderful first. Nobody ever asked slaves if THEY need release!

"I'm fine." she said, almost meaning it. Almost meaning it but acutely aware that her brief costume hadn't coped with her arousal. She climbed, wet-thighed, onto the bed and snuggled against him, stroking his belly with her small, come-slick hand.

Despite the gnawing need between her legs Cilla was happier than she could remember. Perhaps defending her, her mind moved towards sleep and her thoughts drifted back to ninety years hence.

She'd known about the 'doorways' in her office in the basement. Her Master had shown them to her, it was obvious that they worried him. It was several weeks before he confessed that he was too afraid to go near them after seeing his arm disappear into one. Cilla had been off and exploring as soon as his back was turned. She'd chosen to go back but had found seemingly endless dark and dirty basements before trying to go forward. This had produced two 'jumps' before the way was apparently 'turned off'. The next 'forwards' door simply wasn't there and she'd had to come back. Her duties and her Master's antiques business kept her very busy. For the next few weeks she merely glanced at the door from time to time and wondered.

Then James had appeared. His mention of a basement filled with 'stuff' had really piqued her dealer's instincts. His way of speech, his style of dress and that beard. She had instinctively trusted him. Yes, Cilla was glad she'd come visiting.

She awoke to find him watching her. Her body betrayed her before her brain could get control. She wanted him, wanted him badly. All the training and all the conditioning couldn't override this need. She felt tears near and scrambled off the bed, "I don't want to go back!"

He propped himself on an elbow, saying gently, "I don't want you to go back."

When he came down to the kitchen she had a coffee waiting for him. She was sitting at the kitchen table in his bathrobe poring over a thick catalogue. It was open at the lingerie section. She looked up, eyes dancing. "How I'd love to wear this stuff." She made 'this stuff'' sound positively prehistoric.

"Let's take you shopping then," he said mirroring her enthusiasm.

"Wouldn't people stare?" she gestured by pretending to open the robe and reached a hand to touch her hair.

Half an hour later they were walking from his car to the mall. One of his wife's coats had hung in the spare room closet, now it covered Cilla's nakedness. Her hair washed and combed down and to the sides made an almost passable silver page-boy. Her plain silver shoes were no stranger than many being worn around them. Her nakedness under the coat felt wonderful and she knew James must be very aware of it too.

Cilla wondered too how he felt about her, walking with him, wearing his dead wife's coat. She'd seen his face cloud as her helped her into it. Poor James, she wanted to heal him.

Their stomachs were growling by the time Cilla had satisfied her curiosity about clothes and much else. She was like a little girl, flitting wide eyed from store to store. Of course everything was different and she had to see it all. He'd made two trips back to the car with her purchases before she asked about lunch.

She'd loved the restaurant and the strange food. Sitting naked in the coat with people around her. The torment of rough cloth on too sensitive nipples.

Back at the house they'd sat with a pot of tea, full and happy after the big meal. She liked it 'here' she decided. The complicated women's clothes, the food, the freedom to go out and about. She looked across at him. He seemed very happy, the change since he'd stepped though the wall was wonderful to see.

When she announced she had to be going he looked devastated. "I'll be back to see you," she told him gently. "I'll leave all my new clothes with you."

In the bathroom she slipped out of the coat and began putting on her own little red outfit with its silvercollar. The 'slave's collar'! Suddenly she hated it. The still wet fabric pulled snug between her legs had her wanting him again.

They parted in the basement surrounded by dusty boxes and furniture. She thanked him for the clothes. He gallantly said her presence was payment enough. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. She wanted so much more. The wanting ache in the pit of her stomach had never left her since she'd first touched his cock. She'd never felt this screaming longing before. What a beautiful pain it was.

She glanced back and smiled as she stepped through the wall.

Into the grey fog and turn and into 2013. No! It was 2093! Her office! No, not for another eight cycles surely. But it all looked wrong somehow, changed but unchanged. She glanced at the clock, at the year; 2103! Time was now in hundred year bites! Footsteps above her, she froze, then fled.

Back in 'his' basement. The light bright above her head. She was shaking, her knuckles against her teeth.

"James!" she called, then, with an edge of hysteria, she shouted, "James!" She heard his footsteps, his voice, questioning. She couldn't get back! Fear flooded through her ... then a sweet, sweet thought...

cont'd in Part 3 ....................

"Coming and Going" Part 1

2010-03-10T02:56:00.000-08:00

After a shamefully long silence, here's a new (well, new here - 2003 ain't new but...) story.
Dedicated to Sharita who says she follows my blog and that it's time I added more.
This is a long one (for me). It has a time travel theme but don't let that put you off - it's really all about fucking ... as my stories tend to be! A fair bit of scene setting too, but it warms up fast enough. So ........ welcome back to "Eroticklyours" ........ enjoy I hope and let me know what you think:

"Coming & Going" (Part 1)

by Julius
copyright 2003

The house was old and what little research I'd done showed that it was built on a much older foundation. Just how far that went back seemed to be anybody's guess. The basement was dark, cold and damp. I'd finally decided to at least explore it and even had some idea of cleaning it out. Maybe build a workshop down there.

I ran an extension cord down the stairs and hung the light on a nail. The place was jammed with furniture and boxes. If I wanted to make a workplace down there I was faced with a long, dirty job.

I blundered about for a while. Opening boxes at random, seemingly endless books and papers filled them. Drawers yielded anything from clothing to cutlery. The former crumbling, the latter black with the years.

I fought my way to the furthest corner. There was an odd little alcove that was invisible from the stairs. On one wall of it were two panels side by side, each about the size of a narrow doorway. They were paler than the surounding stonework. I reached out to touch the surface of one and the scariest thing, my hand went through! I drew the hand back as if I'd been burnt.

I brought the lamp over and hung it on a hook in the beam overhead. I risked another touch with the same result. My hand was unmarked, unharmed. Nerving myself I stepped closer and this time my arm went through to the shoulder. Fear and curiosity, I felt a large measure of both.

I don't know how long I took to get myself right through the 'doorway' but the other side was an anticlimax. Just like standing in a grey fog. No sensation at all except that the floor under my feet was thankfully solid. I simply turned round and stepped back into the basement. Of course I then tried the other 'door' and the result was the same. 'What was this all about?' I wondered, and, 'why two doorways?'

After some pondering the obvious thought occurred and I went out of one portal and moved across a little and tried to pass through the other. It worked! But...

This was a much changed basement. My hanging lamp was gone, now the only light came down the stairs and the whole place seemed empty. Noises too in the house above me! Heart bumping under my ribs I slowly crossed to the stairs and very cautiously crept up them. Peering over the top step I could see into the kitchen. A young woman was at the sink, washing up. On the fridge door was a calendar. 2013! Dear God, ten years in the future! Slowly I backed down the stairs and I reversed my route back to 'my' basement. I stumbled upstairs and got a beer from the fridge and sat down, heavily.

Well, it seemed that the other basement had been cleaned out and presumably I'd sold the place or had I remarried? Who was the girl? Maybe I was dead. Dead in 2013! In the end of course I went back downstairs.

If 'going out' and then 'coming back' took me forward ten years, would two cycles produce a twenty year jump? And of course, would going the other way take me back to 1993? For now maybe the forward trip would be best or maybe I should have another beer? Procrastination comes easy when faced with time travel so I went to get one. I took the rechargeable flashlight off the wall too and headed back downstairs.

I stood for quite a while in front of the two doorways and sipped beer and idly thumbed the switch of the flashlight. The sound was oddly loud in the basement's gloom. Was this how Columbus felt when he yelled for the moorings to be cast off? I moved towards the pale patch in the wall.

Twice out and twice back in, via that first dark empty cellar. This time I arrived in pitch darkness. I clicked on the flashlight. Boxes and furniture this time and a bicycle. The bike and the furniture looked odd to my eyes. What year was this? I crossed to the stairs and crept upwards. The door at the top was closed. I opened it, oh so carefully. The house was deserted I was almost sure. I crossed to the table, there was a newspaper on it. Sure enough 2023!

I headed 'home' and that night slept little ... I had a time machine in the basement! Not easy to sleep with that sort of knowledge for company.

I must have dozed off eventually. My bedroom was bright with sunshine when I awoke. Hungry, and halfway to the kitchen before thoughts of the basement and its secret popped into mind! Well, it was Sunday and I had nothing planned. I made a big breakfast and sat down to eat. I told myself I'd have more coffee and then do the crossword. Who was I kidding? I did manage to dress and brush my teeth but that was all. The basement drew me like a magnet.

I stood under the naked bulb and stared at the wall. I'd half hoped I'd dreamt it but the two portals were still very much there.

By lunchtime I'd spun my way, basement by basement, through to 2083. Eighty years in ten year jumps. The contents changed very noticeably over the years but it never became anything but a storage area come dumping place. I met and befriended a tabby cat in 2053 but that was all in the way of encountering anybody. I was lucky I suppose, hard to explain your presence to a Rottweiller or a startled homeowner when you appear in their basement. I stopped then, hungry and feeling very grubby. I was in no doubt by then how things worked.

I took a long hot shower. I'd go on after lunch until the century's end and then maybe try going the other way. Into the past, if it worked that way. I assumed it would, after all I kept bringing myself back to 'now' OK.

I drove over to the mall, had a sub and a coffee and looked around at my fellow diners. I bet they'd not had a Sunday morning like mine.

Back in the basement I stood and contemplated 2093 and 2103 or at least the doorway to them. I stepped forward ...

The dirty old basement was gone! Well, not gone but completely changed. Furnished now as an office. Even ninety years in the future an office was somehow still an office. Chairs and desk and much that I recognised or at least more or less recognised.

I froze as I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. She was swiveling slowly in her chair. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

I simply stood and stared. Clothing styles had changed!

"I wondered if anyone would ever appear," she gestured at the alcove behind me. Her English was strangely accented but easy enough to understand. She controlled her shock very well.

"Is staring considered complementery wherever ... er... whenever you come from?"

"I'm sorry, yes of course, no ... it's ill-mannered," I was almost stammering, "it's just that fashions have changed in a hundred years."

She stood up, stretched her arms out from her sides and cocked a hip and smiled, "Do you approve?"

I certainly did and tried to tell her so. I doubted I'd ever be able to talk to her unless I closed my eyes.

Her hair, at least the Mohican strip that remained of it, was silver. Like the punk styles of many years ago. She wore nothing but a triangle of brilliant green fabric that looked sprayed on. Its apex disappeared between her thighs. It widened as it rose, to cover her breasts and shoulders. She was lovely! Lovely but very 'different', from her armpits dense tufts of coppery curls sprouted. What little there was of the 'garment' between her legs simply divided another bush of copper. Damn it! I didn't know where to look.

She reached for a robe draped over the chair and slipped it on. I didn't know whether to be glad or sorry. She was tall, she'd match my five eleven if she wore heels. She laughed, a pretty sound, "Does the sight of me disturb you?"

"Given the style of that outfit it would be surprising if it didn't."

"When is your time?"

"2003, just ninety years ago." The words shocked me when I heard myself say them.

She seemed to ponder that for a while and suddenly said, "We could go into business together."

"How?"

"I deal in antiques," she waved at the desk, "supplying demands."

I gestured around me, "The old basement has changed, the one I left is, or was, filled with treasures."

"Really?" her eyes were alight at the thought.

"You should take a look sometime," The craziness of the remark made me smile, asking this lovely creature back to see my etchings ... 'it's only ninety years away,' I thought.

She glanced at the stairs nervously and I asked, "Is there someone you should tell?" Her eyebrow went up and she smiled a strange smile.

"My master controls the house and the house controls me," she sounded both sad and proud. "He's away on business, this is my daytime room," she gestured around her. She glanced at a clock, "I have four hours before I must go to the eating area". She reached for my hand and headed for the wall and 'my place'. I'd looked at the clock when she did, odd somehow to see that the time 'here' matched the time 'there'.

I counted aloud through the decades as we went back, hand in hand. Her trust surprised me. I was achingly aware of her nearness, the wonderful woman scent of her, no hint of perfume, just the lovely presence there in the dark that seemed to subtly say 'I am woman'. We circled doorway to doorway to doorway like childen playing a game. Suddenly, we emerged, squinting, after eight darknesses into 'my' basement with it's painfully bright, hundred watt bulb.

I said "I'm James."

"Cilla," she told me and pulled open a drawer and said "Ooh!"

"I'll make us some coffee," I said and headed for thestairs. Look around all you like".

While the coffee perked I stood, staring out of the kitchen window, lost in thought. The name, Cilla, the feel of her small hand, the incredible travel back and forth, her strange beauty, what to do about it all. For the first time in months, I felt really alive.

Her words startled me, "These figurines are beautiful. Worth a small fortune in my time."

"Do they still have coffee in your time?" I handed her a mug and slid the cream jug across the table.

She leaned her elbows on the table and held the mug between her hands. The robe gaped open and the green fabric shimmered inside. I felt arousal stirring. Her eyes were brown, her skin midway between milk chocolate and honey. A full-lipped, white-toothed smile and that strange silver mane of hair over her naked scalp.

"And you look strange to my eyes," she said softly, close to echoing my thoughts. "My master is very fashionable, no hair at all, not anywhere."

I chuckled, my hair and beard badly needed a trim and I had hair everywhere. She reached out a beautifully kept hand and ran fingertips up my arm. It was like a light electric shock. I broke out in gooseflesh and she gave a little squeal of delight, "Just like an animal!" Her hand flew to her mouth and she went crimson. "I'm so sorry, that was unforgiveable!"

I thought it funny and laughed at her embarrassment. "It doesn't matter, we prehistoric males must look very primitive." I was silent for a moment, "Anyway our females are headed for complete hairlessness at the moment I think; except for the head."

"Even ...?" she began a downward gesture with her hand but stopped.

"Very often, even there."

She looked a little uncomfortable and I tried to put her at ease. "You look very different but very, very attractive."

"Do you have a woman?"

"She died, nearly a year ago." I smiled at the thought of how Peggy would have reacted to 'my having her as a woman.'

"I'm sorry, you must be lonely."

Instead of saying that I was fine I simply said, "yes, I am."

Her hand caressed my arm again and it felt wonderful.

We finished our coffee and went downstairs. She stood and gestured around the basement. "So much treasure. Surely much of it has great sentimental value?"

I laughed, "None of it's mine; well it is but it was here when I bought the house and its contents. Take it all if you like, most of it is probably worthless."

"I would like that, but how would I pay you."

"Let me give it to you."

She glanced at a tiny watch on her wrist and a worried frown crossed her face. "I must be going, perhaps we can meet again."

I didn't like that 'perhaps'. She moved towards the alcove and I followed her.

"I must be out of the office at the proper time," she explained. It made little sense to me. She seemed pleased when I insisted on seeing her home. Travelling ninety years seemed suddenly easy.

Fifteen minutes later I was back at my own place, my own time, staring unseeing at the dimly lit basement trying to convince myself I hadn't dreamt it all. How I missed her presense! I turned and looked at the wall. Yes, the panels were there glowing yet not glowing. I was mere feet from Cilla but nearly a century away. I shook my head. I'd asked her if I could visit her again tomorrow. She'd hesitated and then said, "Come earlier." Then she'd brightened, "Maybe I shall come and see you."

Next morning there was a difference in the air. For the first time in a year I knew I hadn't woken to an empty house. I knew somehow who the company was, sensing her standing by the bed. I'd awoken lying on my stomach and I turned my head, opening one eye.

Not eighteen inches away was that shock of red pubic hair divided today not by green but by brilliant red. "That kitchen of yours is a museum!" said the owner of the curls from above me.

I didn't reply but just studied the prominent swell of her mound. The strange cloth outlined every contour, including the deep divide that disappeared down and back between her thighs. I so much wanted to reach out and touch those curls, feel them with the backs of my fingers. They had to be tinted surely? They were too red to be natural. I needed a leak badly and my cock was advertising the fact in its usual fashion aided, no doubt, by the nearness of Cilla's pussy. "I brought you a coffee, it may not taste correct."

I figured I could roll over AND conceal my masculinity but from the grin and the widening of her eyes I knew I'd not quite managed it. I sat with the sheet over me and looked up at her.

"Males keep all their body hair in this time," she sounded shocked.

"Well, you look very unusual to my eyes," I said, then adding quickly, "but the differences are very attractive." In fact, now that the initial surpise had worn off, I thought she bordered on beautiful.

She turned and left the bedroom, to get her coffee she said. But her departure gave me a look at the sweetest of asses. Effectively naked with just a strip of red coming up out from between those perfect, dimpled buttocks. Up to a silver collar around her neck. God,what an ass! She was barefoot and oh, the wiggle she had!

She returned with her coffee and sat at the foot of the bed. I wondered about the strip of cloth between her legs when she sat down like that. What it was doing to her and where was it getting? My cock hardened a little more, not easy.

I sat and looked at her profile. The house was morning chilly although it was only mid-Autumn and her nipples were very prominent. Hard to guess about her breasts. They seemed big but the fabric was tight and flattened them, perhaps bras had gone the way of male body hair? Oh but she was lovely! Her armpit hair was plain to see, a soft, small cloud of red curls at the front and just a few wisps at the back. Some reflected sunlight caught the silver of her Mohican. 'Let her stay all day!' I begged silently.

"Look, I've got to use the bathroom." I said quietly, figiting.

She turned and smiled, "Good."

"Good?"

"Yes, I've never seen a male with pubic hair before," her voice seemed to bubble with laughter.

I was embarassed and very conscious of my hardness. I decided I could wait a little while longer.

"A year without a woman, it must be lonely," she gestured to my groin area. 'It' was very lonely I thought. I'd got along fine, with my left hand, but... Suddenly, I wanted her very, very much.

Did it show in my eyes I wonder? She said, "I must not be unfaithful to my master but I would be happy to give you a massage." My cock actually twitched when she said the word massage.

She went on to explain that all slaves were obliged to take many courses, including massage.

All this master and slave stuff seemed rather out of place ninety years in the future or so I thought and I said so, rather hesitantly. I was getting to the knee pressing stage with my bladder now but hung on. "Pregnancies have to be government approved," she was saying, "my mother's was illegal and was scheduled for termination. A man with influence can cheat the law and my master bought me as a slave while I was still in the womb, it is a common practice."

"I will get my bag," she said, getting up. I happily watched that ass again and then swung my legs out of bed.

We all but collided in the doorway and I had to juststand while she looked.

"You did that purposely!" I said while my cock waved at her defiantly. It does things like that!

"Perhaps," she murmured, "we both have red hair I see, yours is prettier I think."

Minutes later I was on the bed again, face down.Persuading me had taken no time at all. She had blindfolded me explaining that it would focus my mind on the massage. It seemed to me that she'd planned all this; antique dealers of the future may be a force to be reckoned with!

My heavens but she was good! I lost track of time and place. I forgot perhaps about the lovely creature weaving this magic. My feet and calves then thighs. A delicious interlude while she worked on my ass. The incredible hands and fingers kneading and caressing, finally going between, exploring and teasing. The new erection was every bit as blissfully hard as its predecessor.

When she moved to my back my arousal was slowly forgotten, at one point I fell asleep and she had to waken me. Muscles seemed to unlock in my shoulders and neck and I felt better than I'd felt in many a long month.

She made me turn over then. How shy and vulnerable I felt! Attractive though she was, she was a stranger. Lying there, blindfolded, with my genitals exposed like that required a real effort of will. But there was something about this strange girl that made me trust her. "Well aren't you different?" she said very quietly and I felt the caress of her breath on my thigh. No doubt all the primitive hair, ... but seemingly it was more than that, "I'd heard of the practice of trimming the end of the cock before but ... "

Her gentle fingers touched the head of my cock and of course it began to rear erect. She squealed in surprise and delight. I opened my eyes and realised Icould just see her from under the bottom of the blindfold. My turn to be surprised. She'd unfastened the top of the costume and fastened it somehow around her waist. Her breasts were exquisite. Free of the tight fabric they swung with sweet heaviness at every movement she made.

Her hand closed over my erection and squeezed. I groaned.

contd in Part 2 .................

"age we may - but the lust? - it fadeth not - I pray" .............. Read more of my stories at: http://eroticklyours.blogspot.com/

"All Aboard!" Part 4

2010-01-13T03:12:00.000-08:00

"All Aboard!" Part 4

by Julius
Copyright 2004

Suddenly, it seemed, six months were gone and Art's next railroad club meeting was upon her. The tidying and preparing that had once delighted her, was now irksome.

Six more months of sexless marriage and here she was, catering for his get-together. Dammit! Why bother?

Not that the half year had been sexless for Muriel. She'd bedded his whole group, every last one. If pride was a sin, how about being proudly sinful? Oh but she'd loved it. All seventeen of them had fallen to her charms, or had they jumped? Not once had Art come onto her, not once. And she'd given him ample chance and sometimes, not a little encouragement.

Her last conquest had been that very Saturday morning. Only just in time to complete her collection. Bob, cute Bob, a real old goat but a gentleman too. He'd knelt under the kitchen table and had eaten her for breakfast. God! she could almost come, just thinking about his mouth, like father like son. And of course, her mind skipped to the son, young Mark.

Muriel sometimes wondered about nymphomania. Was there such a thing? Was she becoming a nympho? Muriel the Nymph, hmm, she liked that. She turned back to setting up the buffet. Having all her conquests under one roof together, should be a fun afternoon.

John arrived half an hour early. 'Doctor' John as she thought of him.

"Where's Art?" he asked, glancing around.

"Downstairs, cleaning track. You're the first arrival," she glanced at the clock, "and pretty early at that."

"Missed you," he said and moved close, slipping his arms round her. His hands slid down over her ass and he began working her skirt up over her buttocks, inch by teasing inch.

She moaned and pressed herself against him. He was hard against her belly. "Oh but I need some of this," she murmured, grinding against his erection.

When he'd bared her ass, his fingers found her thong and began to pull it upwards. Tight between her legs, and tight into her pussy, she loved the feeling of invasion. "You're cutting me in half," she said. He pulled harder and she squirmed against the thong's tightness, revelled in the feel of his hardness. God, she was so horny it was like a fever.

Art's footsteps sounded on the stairs and Muriel and John pulled quickly apart. "Hello there John, you're early," Art said and added to Muriel, "any coffee Moo?"

The two men went downstairs together, with mugs of coffee, leaving Muriel with her hungry pussy, and a longing she thought would drive her mad.

Ralph arrived next and they chatted. Muriel was folding napkins at the kitchen counter. She soon found herself with him stood behind her, his erection nudging her ass cleavage, while his hands cupped and squeezed her breasts. She was squirming her ass against him and wondering how she was going to endure much more when the doorbell announced another arrival.

After that they arrived one after another for about ten minutes. No chance for anybody to give her more than a hug or a peck on the cheek. She was almost relieved.

Finally, the rush ended and she wondered about the two new members Art had mentioned, especially the new lady member. Didn't seem the sort of hobby to attract a female. But then she thought, there were females and there were females.

With pretty well everybody there, she left the front door open and fled to the bedroom to change. The early arrivals had upset her schedule.

She undressed and stood in front of the mirror for a few moments. She cupped her breasts and nodded her approval. She half turned and checked the reflection of her ass. Not bad for fifty something, she thought.

The last six months had been wonderful. The next few hours promised to be very interesting. God, she needed some cock. Maybe she could just ..., her hands strayed south. No! There was no time. She crammed her heavy breasts into a white, half-cup bra that produced a spectacular cleavage and followed that with a thin, white cotton blouse. She struggled her usual black leather skirt up over her hips and zipped herself in. It was too short but she knew what it did to the guys. No thong, no panties, would any of them manage to discover that fact? She hoped so. She ran a comb though her black hair, not a trace of grey thanks to Clairol. Finally, glossy strawberry lipstick and she headed downstairs.

In the kitchen stood a woman who smiled and apologised, "Forgive me, but the door was open and nobody answered my knock."

"You must be Sandra, the lady modeller."

Sandra smiled, "Sounds like something out of Playboy," for a small woman she had a deep, rather sexy voice.

Muriel liked her on sight. "You'll be wanting to go downstairs to play," Muriel said, gesturing across the kitchen.

"Not really, my only interest is the pocket money from painting sky and clouds and back-scenes for their layouts."

"Coffee then? Let's go sit in the living room."

Muriel lost track of time as they talked and laughed. She was angered and then amused at how much Art had told Sandra about their relationship.

Coffee drunk, Muriel opened a bottle of wine and this began to loosen tongues a little more.

"Art says you've played around with guys in his group," followed Sandra's third glass of wine.

This confirmed her guess that Art hadn't completely overlooked her activities. "That's right I did," Muriel told her with great satisfaction.

Food and entertaining forgotten, Muriel opened a second bottle and the two women found themselves getting along wonderfully. No interruption from downstairs save the murmur of voices.

"Art and I haven't been lovers for a long time now. A girl needs a little fun."

"You bet," said Sandra enthusiastically.

Sandra was a secretary with Art's law firm and worked much of her time for Art. Muriel sensed more than a professional relationship and felt a pang of jealousy, but then again she couldn't imagine the attraction. Art was too much the workaholic and Sandra seemed too warm and bubbly for a man of Art's cool personality.

"So which ones were your choices?" asked Sandra.

Muriel giggled, "All of 'em."

"All of them!"

"Every last one of them, all seventeen," said Muriel, a note of pride in her voice, "Except you of course," she said and hiccoughed.

"Well, not yet," Sandra shot back.

This made Muriel think. She'd never really been attracted to her own sex. The wine and the intimate nature of the conversation did lend a warmth and a closeness. Sandra was very like herself in proportion but maybe fifteen years younger. Medium height and abit on the heavy side. Full of bosom and wide of hip, all the more reason to wonder at any possible playing around with Art, she was too much like Muriel.

The level in the second bottle dropped and the two women found each other good company. Soon Muriel was telling all about Art's shortcomings.

But when Sandra started telling her about Art's plans for the afternoon she found herself smiling. She was angry, but the idea of enjoying what Art thought of as punishment had a certain sweetness.

"Well," she said, "it would be fun don't you think?"

"If you think so," said Sandra in surprise, "it's your choice now."

Feet sounded on the stairs and Art appeared, "Oh hi Sandy, there you are." Annoyance registered on his face at the sight of the two women sitting together on the couch.

"Will the food be ready soon Moo?" he said.

"Bring the guys up in twenty minutes," she told him. He headed back down to the basement.

"Moo?" queried Sandra.

"Goes back a long time to when he seemed to care," shec upped her hands under her heavy breasts and hefted them and said, "Moo, not very flattering but the name stuck, I'm afraid."

"Yes he is a tits man," she caught Muriel's glance and blushed and Muriel wondered again about Art.

Art herded the guys upstairs and they began filling plates with food. Most moved into the living room but some milled around in the kitchen and dining area. Muriel was surprised that all of them seemed to fit in somehow. Half chose coffee or tea and the rest settled for a beer, all drinking happily from bottles.

When everybody was busy, Art called them to order and said, "I've got a movie here for everyone to watch, but first, a present for Moo"

Muriel was standing in the kitchen and knew the 'fun' was about to begin. She exchanged glances with Sandra who gave her a big wink. Art walked through to the kitchen and took Muriel by the elbow and led her through to the solarium. Sandra had walked through behind them. "Here, sit down Moo, close your eyes and hold out your hands."

She sat and closed her eyes. She felt hands moving at her waist and knew it was Art. Something tightened around her waist and Art grunted. More touching and this was at her ankles. She opened her eyes in alarm and looked down. Too late, she was tied to the chair. Rope around her waist and Sandra kneeling on the floor tightening plastic cable ties, securing her ankles to the chair legs.

Some futile struggles and angry questions at Art's retreating back. Some because she knew she had to act surprised but some of the performance was quite real because she was both angry and not a little scared.

Art headed back to the living room but she could hear him plainly enough.

"Gentleman, perhaps five months ago I had cameras installed in every room of this house. I'm sure you all know why," he said and paused, no doubt enjoyingthe drama of the moment.

"I took the films from the cameras from time to time and I've made another delightful film featuring the highlights." Muriel sensed he was really enjoyinghimself.

Art continued. "Copies are in a safe place," he paused to let the threat sink in, "so I'm sure you'll be only too happy to cooperate this afternoon."

She heard a tape being put into the VCR. "As each of you appear on the screen I'd like you to go through to the solarium and Moo will pleasure you for one last time and then you can run along home."

"Sandra!" Art raised his voice, "don't forget our tape will you? You'll help Muriel all you can, I'm sure."

Surprised Muriel looked up at Sandra who went over and closed the door. She said very quietly, "He has a rather compromising tape of me which would end my chances at the university and my job with the law firm. No degree and out of work. I'll help whether I like it or not."

The sun streamed into the room. Sandra went round tilting the horizontal blinds to give Muriel privacy but still letting the sun shine in. A gentle knock at the door. Both girls called, "Come in," almost in unison and then did the same as they said, 'sorry' to each other.

John walked in. "I'm so sorry about this," he said. He glanced at Sandra and back at Muriel and raised an eyebrow, wondering about the younger woman's presence.

"Come here John," she said.

"We don't have to do this you know," he told her.

"I think we do. No doubt one of Art's cameras is watching. Besides, you like the things we do together don't you?"

Another glance at Sandra and he said, "Yes of course I do."

Hormones care nothing about trivial things, they just race through the body when the mood takes them. Muriel reached for his zipper.

She smiled at Sandra's gasp as John's cock reared erect. Apparently his hormones didn't care either. My goodness, he's so big, thought Muriel.

John's cock was a job for mouth and both hands. Mouthful and hands full, God but he was beautiful. She heard his breathing deepen and felt her pussy clench. Quite suddenly Muriel's body took over, and all that mattered was John's cock.

His hands cradled the back of her head and he began to fuck her mouth with a gentle urgency. He too seemed to have forgotten Sandra's presence and the circumstances.

It didn't take very long, he seemed to telegraph his urgency and then he was coming and Muriel drew her head back and directed his cum over her face. She revelled in the feel of the hot jets against her closed eyelids.

John bent over her, "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," she said, "I loved it."

The door closed behind him and Sandra came with some tissues for Muriel to clean herself up.

Muriel reached a hand under her skirt and felt the wetness there. She glanced up at Sandra, "This is crazy. I'm so horny. How can I be when ... " she gestured around her helplessly.

"You looked like you were having fun."

"Fun? The world's most beautiful cock just went out of that door, and all I have is a cum-wet face and blouse. My pussy wanted some of that," said Muriel.

"Yes and the owner of that cock never gave me so much as a glance," said Sandra and began to unbutton her blouse, making the excuse, "it's warm in here or maybe the floor show is hot."

Another knock and this time Sandra went to open the door.

"Hello Ernest," Muriel said. Her mind went back six months to when he'd taken her while she perched on the vanity in the bathroom. Ernest was the founding member of Muriel's little railroad group.

He said hello to Sandra, his gaze lingering on her opened blouse, before returning to Muriel. "Seems Art has outsmarted us, my dear."

"Well, come and give me a goodbye present," said Muriel, beginning to unbutton her own blouse.
To Muriel's surprise, Sandra went and knelt in front of Ernest and unzipped him. Her clever fingers had his cock out in moments and she gently brought him to full erection with her fingers. He didn't resist, although he did look a little surprised. "Two maidens, just for me." She brought him to stand in front of Muriel and picked up a bottle of lubricant from a little table. Art seemed to have thought of everything.

Muriel took the bottle from her and squeezed a generous amount into her cleavage. She eased her breasts out of her bra cups and held them for him.

Ernest slid his cock into her slick cleavage with a groan and fucked her breasts while she squeezed them hard together. The pressure of her hands and the thrusting penetrations of Ernest's cock felt exquisite. She stared down and watched the swollen cock-head appear disappear at the top of her deep cleavage.

Sandra watched delightedly.

Ernest, despite his years, soon came between Muriel's tight-squeezed breasts and up over her throat. He sat in a chair breathing hard and loud and allowed Sandra to put his cock away for him and carefully zip him up. When he'd thanked them both and gone out,they looked at each other.

"Isn't he a dear?" said Sandra.

"Mmmm," sighed Muriel kneading her slick breasts. She thought wistfully about Ernest's cock on that far off Saturday, wishing. Her pussy spasmed, perhaps it was wishing too.

"Now you have a come-filled cleavage; life gets better by the minute," Sandra told her, in a voice that said they both were having fun.

And so her railroad lovers came, one after the other and she helped them come, one after another.

Sandra had kept undressing slowly, a garment, it seemed, for each visitor. Now she wore just panties. As each man had come in, his eyes had lingered on Sandra's exposure. There was no doubt she was aroused, the way she moved and the jut of her nipples proclaimed it very plainly. But she always steered them to Muriel. Even so, Muriel just knew the younger woman was just as aroused as herself.

When yet another happy lover had closed the door behind him Sandra announced, "He was number eight, you've made it to half way down the list." Muriel was secretly pleased. She was enjoying this. Her arousal had somehow become a manageable, steady state. She squirmed her ass on the wooden seat, very aware that the wetness under her was all of her own making. She ran her finger tips over her face and then her breasts and wondered if male ejaculate was really good for the complexion. Sandra laughed delightedly when Muriel suggested it to her.

Muriel needed a pee very badly. Sandra found a pair ofscissors and freed her to visit the bathroom just outside the solarium. She squatted there and experienced a near ecstasy of another sort. As she was leaving she glanced in the mirror, her breasts, out of her bra, glistened and her nipples poked out proudly. Had they stopped their poking since this day had started?

She opened the door and Sandra was standing there. She escorted her back to the chair and they stood facing each other.

"Watching you perform is driving me wild you know," said the girl. Her eyes flicked down to Muriel's bare breasts.

Muriel gave a nervous little laugh and, quite on impulse, took Sandra's hand and placed it on her right breast. "I know what you mean. I've been horny as a mink since I found out about all this." She gestured around the room with her free hand. She remembered Bob's efforts under the breakfast table and realised she'd been horny all day.

Sandra squeezed her breast and Muriel growled softly in her throat. Sandra bent her head and kissed the big nipple. Muriel started to melt and felt her legs begin to buckle. She clung to Sandra as that wonderful mouth just went on loving her nipple.

Sandra came up for air, "You smell all yummy and cummy," she told Muriel.

Muriel stood very still. The air between them seemed charged. She cupped her breasts with her hands and made her nipples touch Sandra's. She moved her breasts gently from side to side and two pairs of nipples teased their owners. "I've never done anything like this before with a woman," she confessed.

"Nice isn't it?" said Sandra, her own eyes closed, her tongue playing over her lips.

Sandra dropped to her knees and slid Muriel's skirt up her thighs. "Oh God, you're not wearing any panties."

Just kiss me, Muriel begged silently, thrusting her hips forward, yearning. Sandra's nose brushed Muriel's curls and she squirmed.

Knuckles rapped softly on the door. "Just a minute,"called Sandra. Muriel cried out softly as she felt Sandra move away and stand. The need, between her thighs was suddenly awful.

But she went to the chair and, flicking up her skirt at the back, sat on the chair's wet seat. She squirmed feeling her ass slide on the wet, polished wood. She sat quietly and let Sandra tie her to the chair. There was enough cord to secure her ankles too and Muriel wondered vaguely where Sandra had learnt her knots.

When Sandra opened the door, Muriel's heart leaped. It was Mark. Mark the young man she'd brought from shy youth to wonderful lover, in a few short months. But he looked very uncertain now. She knew he cared very much for her and she for him. He crossed the room and stood in front of her. "I'm sorry you're having to do this."

Muriel bit back the urge to say that she was enjoying every minute. He was so obviously sincere. "It's OK Mark," she smiled up at him, suddenly aware and almost shy, as his gaze passed over her bared breasts and hiked up skirt. Muriel wondered what he'd like her to do for him.

Mark reached out and touched her hair and said a very quiet, "See you," and he was gone. The door to the side of the house closed and Muriel and Sandra exchanged looks and Muriel started crying.

"Wow," said Sandra. Muriel thought that summed Mark up very nicely.

"Wow's right," she said. She beckoned Sandra over and whispered, "Can you believe he just apologised and walked out? Sweet young guy and the most beautiful cock and a tongue that never quits!"

Seven to go thought Muriel. The aching want between her legs had returned with a vengeance when Mark had appeared. She dropped a hand between her thighs, not caring that Sandra or a camera could see. She was wet, so very wet and she found her clit and sobbed at the sweet delight of her own touch. If only they'd leave her alone, for just a little while.

But no, here was randy old Bill, who thought himself such a lover. He stood proudly in front of her and unzipped himself before she could reach for him. She took him out and told him how big he was. He looked so proud when she said that. He was a sweet guy and crazy about Muriel. He thought Muriel the best thing that had ever happened. Sandra came round to stand behind Muriel. Sweet old Bill, Muriel watched with delight as his eyes flicked up and down between the two pairs of heavy breasts. This was almost too much for him. Sandra handed her the lubricant and Muriel took his cock and pulled him towards her, to stand between her parted knees.

He came almost before she could pleasure him at all, all over her hand. She squealed with mock delight and he glowed with pride. When Sandra stepped forward and cleaned him off with a handful of Kleenex Muriel thought he'd die of joy.

Still the guys came, and came, then, "Just one more I think," said Sandra.

"I don't think I've ever been so cock hungry in mylife," said Muriel.

"You!" said Sandra, "at least you're getting to touch the lovely things." She slid a hand down to cup her crotch. "I'm soaking, my pussy's starving for some loving."

It was hot, with the sunshine streaming into the room and Sandra's bare skin glistened with sweat. Muriel thought she looked utterly beautiful in just the little panties. Muriel had never felt like this about another woman. My God, she thought, disbelieving; I want her.

Sandra came and stood in front of her and leaned over. Her breasts swung in front of Muriel's face. As if it were the most natural thing to do, Muriel kissed Sandra's left nipple and then drew it into her mouth. Sandra moaned and murmured, "Yes baby, oh yes." Muriel suckled hungrily and she felt as she could come, just from the sensations inside her.

The door opened and neither woman moved. A polite male cough beside them and Muriel released Sandra's nipple with a loud kiss. "Quite a turn on," Bob told them.

Muriel's jaws ached and her lips felt swollen. Even her wrists and hands were aching. Tendonitis from jerking guys off, she wondered what Doctor John would say about that.

"Hello Bob, last, but not least I trust," she said, "Sandra, Bob's Mark's dad."

"And Art's boss and my boss. Good afternoon," said Sandra with mock formality.

Bob didn't have his son's sensitivity it seemed. He stood in front of Muriel and said, "Maybe I can pay you for breakfast my dear?"

Muriel sighed. This was her last one. She clamped her thighs tight on her own needs and reached for Bob's zipper. Well endowed for a small man, the sight of his erection brought an appreciative murmur from Sandra. He glanced at her and grinned, "Plenty for two, young lady."

Sandra sidestepped this by saying, "Too much for me I'm afraid, sir."

Knowing this man was sending Art to the West Coast to open the new offices there, made Muriel only too eager to please him.

She took her time satisfying Bob. Hands and mouth and tongue taking him repeatedly to the edge. She'd learnt a lot in six months and Bob was near collapse when she bent his cock cruelly down, and used it to tease her nipples. He was begging for release by then and she took him in her mouth again. This time there was no stopping. He grabbed handfuls of her hair.

Sandra put one hand to her pussy and one to her mouth as she watched in delight. Bob thrust time and again.Then she saw Muriel's throat swallowing. Muriel dropped her hands from Bob's cock and caught her nipples between thumbs and forefingers and squeezed and pulled cruelly. Finally, finally, oh bless'ed moment, she came too.

Bob slowly withdrew his cock from between her lips. Tears of relief coursed down Muriel's cheeks and she teetered on the brink of blacking out.

The only sound in the room for minutes it seemed was that of the heavy breathing of Bob and Muriel. Finally Bob said, "Dear God! That was incredible."

"You liked that did you?" said Muriel who'd needed release so badly. She licked her lips and squirmed in the puddle she'd made. Bob's cock softened and drooled onto her thigh.
Sandra emerged from her own dream state, her hand was down inside her panties. Bob moved over to her and slipped something into her hand. They exchanged murmured words.

A change seemed to come over Sandra and she looked over at Muriel, "I've got things to do."

To Bob she said, "I'll be in for work on Monday."

Bob said he was looking forward to having her work for him. To Muriel he said, "Thank you my dear, it's been wonderful." Then he too was gone.

Sandra came over and untied Muriel. "Follow me, you may enjoy the next little while," she headed for the door. "Keep out of sight," she added over her shoulder.

Muriel moved after Sandra, a little unsteady on her feet. She felt sorely in need of a shower. Her thighs were slick against each other as she walked, her skirt was wet against her ass. I must have leaked a gallon she thought. She'd never been so aroused so long. She wondered about dehydration and smiled to herself. Her bra was still round her waist, her blouse lay on thefloor.

Ahead of her Sandra called, "Where's my slave?" She disappeared into the main part of the house and Muriel could hear muted conversation.

She dropped to her knees and peeked around the corner,very conscious of her breasts swinging free. Sandra stood with her feet apart, her back to Muriel. "Strip slave!" she ordered, "face the other way. I don't want to see your sorry face."

She reached for her purse beside the couch and produced a cat o' nine tails, short-handled, long-tailed. She swung it and Muriel heard the hiss. She crept a little further out. There was Art bent over, struggling out of his pants.

When he was naked save for his socks Sandra said, "Socks too. You look kind of silly like that." As he pushed off the second sock and straightened Sandra moved forward and dealt him a blow across his white buttocks. He yelped.

"On your knees and we'll go find a bed, I need to use that miserable body of yours."

It was too sweet to bear. Watching Sandra drive Art ahead of her, out of the living room and up the stairs. She whipped him every inch of the way, turning his ass into two hemispheres of red welts.

Muriel wanted to follow and to watch but she also wanted to rest, and rest won out. The sounds of Sandra screaming her satisfaction made Muriel clutch at herself as she lay on the couch. She needed some of that but not from Art.

"Well," said Muriel aloud to herself, "so that's what he needed." She giggled. "Why didn't he just ask me?" She'd have been only to happy to have bought a whip and obliged.

She pictured the scene upstairs and somehow imagined Sandra astride Art, impaled and bouncing frantically. Then she realised with a shock that she wanted Sandra to come down and hold her. Suddenly, helplessly tired, she fell asleep.

"Wake up, sleepy head," said Sandra's voice and Muriel opened her eyes. God but she needed a shower and a pee.

"Well, Art's sleeping the sleep of the soundly punished and the thoroughly fucked," Sandra told her. She held out three video tapes. "The solarium and us, the bedroom and me with that no good husband of yours and the masterpiece he was showing the guys. The other four cameras are empty."

An hour later they were in Sandra's apartment. Sandra showed Muriel around and then, waving a bunch of keys she said, "Bob lent me his keys, now I've got a little more business to attend to."

Muriel unpacked her bag and headed for the shower.

When Sandra returned an hour later she had a bag which she handed to Muriel. "Six more tapes. Now we've got them all. These were in his desk at the office," she announced. "There aren't any more. He talked his head off while we fucked, God but he's so pleased with himself." She took one out and turned it over thoughtfully, "Even this one of me."

All of Art's tapes. Everybody off the hook. "Sandy, how do I thank you?" asked Muriel.

"Well maybe we could sit and watch the movies you've starred in," Sandra said. "I'm hungry, thirsty and need to sit a while. How does pizza and wine sound?"

"Wonderful," said Muriel.

They waited for the pizza delivery and Sandra raised her glass, "Here's to a happy Art on the West Coast."

"To Art," echoed Muriel and broke into giggles.

With the pizza eaten and the bottle empty they sat sprawled on the couch and Muriel felt more at peace than in a long time.

She sat up suddenly and reached for her purse. "I've got something to do."

"What's that?" asked Sandra dreamily.

"Phone seventeen guys," she said, "tell them the good news."

"Sixteen," said Sandra, "I dropped the keys off at Bob's house, so he knows."

Muriel started phoning. When she got to Mark, Sandra nudged her. Muriel put her hand over the mouth piece.

"Ask him if he's busy this evening," whispered Sandra.

Muriel asked Sandra the address of the apartment and told Mark.

She put down the phone. "He sounded like a happy puppy, says he'll be round in an hour."

"Why don't you tell the rest of them the good news in the morning?" Sandra squirmed off the couch and moved round to kneel in front of Muriel. She began to pull Muriel's borrowed robe open. "May I?" she asked.

In answer, Muriel wriggled herself to the sofa's edge."So long as we get to change places soon."

Sandra gently pushed Muriel's knees apart and kissed the inside of her thigh and whispered, "Oh you bet."

Two Muriel orgasms later, Sandra came up for air. She got up and sat on the couch again and spread her legs in invitation. She looked at the clock. "Twenty minutes honey, my turn now."

Muriel nuzzled between Sandra's legs and the girl sobbed, tendons standing out on her thighs.

"Muriel?" she said, "what was that you said about Mark, 'a lovely cock and a tireless tongue'?"

"All Aboard!" Part 3

2010-01-11T14:51:00.000-08:00

"All Aboard!" Part 3

by Julius
Copyright 2004

Muriel didn't realise she had a splinter in her ass until the next morning when she was wriggling into her panties. Something snagged at the flimsy fabric. She felt the skin of her right buttock and sure enough she could just feel it with her finger tip.

She peered at her reflection in the full length mirror behind the bathroom door. Craning her neck she couldn't see a thing. She pulled the panties up carefully again, yes, there it was, damn!

By mid-morning the spot was sore. She had a childhood memory of a splinter in a finger getting badly infected. Remembering the time in hospital that followed, prompted her to phone the doctor's surgery. They gave her a late afternoon appointment, leaving her with a few hours to kill.

Muriel went to the computer and found Art's list of his Model Railroad buddies and copied them onto her own address book. She put an 'X' against Ernest and Mark, a query beside Bob, and sat sipping her coffee, wondering about the other fourteen. Her mind drifted to Mark and the attic the day before. The next thing she knew she was rubbing her knees together, as she remembered the previous afternoon's sweet happenings.

Four-thirty found her sitting in the waiting room. Her own doctor was out on an emergency call but, "Dr.Robertson should be able to see you after his last patient, he's not running late for a change," the receptionist told Muriel.

Twenty minutes later her name was called. The girl gestured down the hallway. "Second on the left."

The doctor looked up, smiled and said hello. He recognised her.

She in turn recognised him and said, "Well I am surprised." She'd never realised he was a doctor. To her he was just 'the quiet one' and she was sure his name was John.

"It's Muriel, the railroad hostess!" he said, getting up, looking surprised.

They exchanged pleasantries, him saying how marvellous her catering was and her saying she'd not realised he was a doctor.

Finally he asked her what the problem was and Muriel explained about the splinter. "Would you like a nurse present?" he asked her.

"I'm sure you'll behave," she said.

"Well, get up on the table and pull the jeans down enough for me to take a look." He turned and picked up her file and flicked through it.

Muriel liked the quiet John and thought, well he is one of the group, who knows? She unzipped her jeans and let them fall to the floor and climbed onto the table with its crackling new layer of paper. She lay face down and said, "Okay, you can look now."

He turned and moved across to her. She had her head to one side facing the wall. Nice legs, he thought, and a very nice ass too! John had always thought her a most attractive woman and one of the bonuses of Art's meetings was seeing Muriel. He was very shy around women, an odd trait in a doctor, he knew. She was always so delightfully dressed and her full figure never failed to draw his eyes. The urge to grab and cuddle Muriel at the meetings was all but overwhelming sometimes. As a result, he almost unconsciously avoided her.

Muriel waited for his touch, and realised her stomach had gone all aflutter. A strange coincidence, meeting him like this. She jumped when he touched her.

"Is that sore?"

"No," she said, "I was miles away, made me jump that's all."

"Well there are at least three tiny splinters here. Shouldn't be a problem." He dabbed with an alchohol swab and picked up a pair of tweezers.

John found himself taking longer than he needed, rather enjoying himself. He was erect as soon as his fingers touched her. She did have the most exquisite ass! Her panties, pink, brief and decorated with fluffy lace crossed each buttock diagonally. She smelled of lavender and he wanted to caress her derriere forever.

Oh God! The touch of his hands, the feel of his breath on her skin. She wished she had a thousand splinters in her backside. Muriel squirmed as he probed with the tips of the tweezers. His fingers dug gently into her flesh as he worked.

Poor John! His pressing fingers opened her buttocks slightly and he found himself staring at the spot where the pink panty-fabric disappeared between her thighs. He wanted to open her further. He wanted to kiss this ass, to sink his teeth gently into her flesh and bite her, nibble and taste. He wanted, he wanted -he wanted her.

Muriel was in sweet agony, needing to squeeze her thighs together, needing to grind her mound against the firm padding of the table. Muriel was sure she was wet. And still he touched and probed. Oh heavens! Let him do this to her forever she thought, but knew she couldn't lie still much longer.

She heard herself say almost dreamily, "That's nice," and wanted to bite her tongue because he stopped.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding shocked. John was embarassed and not a little concerned and wished suddenly that the nurse was there.

She heard the worry in his voice and turned her head to look back at him, "It's alright doctor, I'm not complaining. Your hands felt nice that's all." It wasn't all by any means, she wanted more doctoring, lots more doctoring.

John had never experienced this flood of emotions with a patient before. He bent again, anxious to get the last and smallest of the three splinters out and get her out of his office. He was very aware of his insistant erection. A sudden knock at the door and through it, a female voice.

"I'm off home now doctor, will you lock up?"

John started to reply but his first word came out as a croak, he coughed and managed, "Alright Pat, thank you, goodnight."

The surprise had brought him back to reality and he told Muriel, "Well, that's it, the last one."

She didn't move and he said, "Any other problems?"

"Well doctor, since you ask, yes there is," she said, still facing the wall.

"Yes?" he prompted.

"It's embarassing really. I've not been having orgasms now for the longest time. I wonder if there's anything you could do to help me."

John was caught offguard by her question.

He wasn't married, had no current girlfriend. A shy young man whose sex life was pretty well zero. Most of his relief was self-administered. No! he thought, make that all my relief. He gazed down at the cute ass, at the pretty pink panties pulled high to get at the splinter, the backs of the soft thighs. Moments before he'd had his hands on that ass, his cock straining in his pants. Now this stunning woman was asking if he could help her with her orgasm deficiency. Dear Lord, he thought, how I'd love to try!

She spoke, bringing him back from dreamland, "It's Art," and he realised she meant her husband who had the glorious model railroad, "that damned law practice of his. When he's not buried in work he plays with his trains, can't remember the last time he lit my fires."

"Have you considered counselling? Perhaps the two of you should go together. I have a couple of addresses,"John said, going to his desk.

Muriel wriggled over onto her back, the paper crackling and rustling. She saw him turn, his mouth opened, his gaze fixed on her crotch. He blushed. She suddenly thought him very sweet. John could be barely past thirty she thought. She drew up her knees and let them fall wide apart.

Poor John. All his professional poise fell away, the naked thighs, the pink panties. He opened his mouth to protest, to tell her this was inappropriate behaviour but she spoke before he could.

"I don't really have an orgasm problem," she said and her hand slid down over her belly, over her mound and cupped it, "I'm just so bored with doing it myself."

His instincts were all at war now. Here, now? Doctor, patient? His arousal was so great and oh those little panties, that sweet ass.

"The office is closed, you're off duty and my splinters are gone. You did ask if I had any other problems. Perhaps I should ask you if you have any?"

When she spoke that last sentence her eyes went to his crotch and John knew his erection was plain to see. He almost groaned aloud. He tried to fight back and said, "I'm not sure about this, the doctor patient thing. You're married. I'm ..." his voice trailed off.

"I can come with just nipple stimulation you know, "Muriel's hands went to her breasts, "Is that common with women in your experience?"

She started unbuttoning her blouse and at that point John knew his struggle was lost.

Muriel had had no thoughts about having sex with anyone when she'd left the house. The days since therailroad club meeting had left her more than satisfied. But the chance meeting with this good-looking young doctor had got her feeling warm and wanting again. Now she wanted him with what was almost desperation. And, she reminded herself, he was on the list, one of the seventeen.

Her blouse undone, she asked, "Would you like to try? Just in the interests of medical science of course."

John moved to the end of the table. He stood looking down at her face. She looked up at him wide eyed, smiling and slipped one bra strap off, then the other. She peeled the cups down and her breasts flowed apart, widespread with their heaviness. His soft groan delighted her. Reaching up she pressed the heavy breasts together with the heels of her hand.

The air was cool and John marvelled at the size of her jutting nipples. Fascinated, he watched as she took them between forefingers and thumbs and squeezed them, pulling on them. She pulled her breasts into sharp points and he thought it must surely hurt. Her eyes closed and her knees clamped together. He could see the tendons of her thighs tighten. She groaned. John's cock swelled, his erection was almost painful.

"Want to try?" she murmured.

Somewhere in his head a little voice told him this was his last chance to come to his senses. His hands ignored the voice, reached out and cupped the sides of her breasts.

How soft she is, he thought.

How warm his hands are, she thought.

She reached over her head for his zipper, found the tag and slid it down.

His hands stilled on her breasts and his eyes closed in blissful anticipation.

Muriel pushed herself towards him with her heels, the paper tore and she pushed again and her head slid off the end of the table. Now she could see what she was doing. She undid his belt and the hook at his waistband. His pants slid to the floor. His briefs were more difficult. "Oh my!" she exclaimed as his erection appeared.

"Oh God!" exclaimed John as her hands took hold of his cock.

He was big, very big and Muriel felt a glorious thrill run through her body knowing this lovely thing was almost hers. But, she was a strong-willed girl and asked, "Now doctor, what about those nipple induced orgasms we were talking about?"

Her gentle hands left his cock and John realised he might have to pleasure her first.

Muriel hadn't wanted to let go of his cock but she knew that a girl has to be in control. She gasped as his fingers tweaked her nipples, the jolts of energy going due south, straight between her legs.

John's arousal had become wickedly intense and just touching those nipples of hers added to the sense of pressure in his cock.

Muriel was in heaven. Her whole being seemed to focus on her nipples. She rolled onto her side and said, "Come here John and use your cock on them."

He moved back around the table, his cock inches from her breasts. She grabbed it and rubbed its head across her left nipple. Pre-cum made her nipple slick and he moaned at the tight grip of her hand and the sensation of being rubbed against her breast. "Here, you do it,"she said hoarsely.

Muriel grabbed her breast with her hand and squeezed, making it hard and round.

The nipple jutted and John grabbed his cock and rubbed the head back and forth across it.

She didn't know what to do, she couldn't keep still. The walls of her vagina began their clenching as an orgasm's first sweet notes sang in her body.

John began to swing his cock and hit her nipple with it. He was climbing his slope too and that glorious tightening of his scrotum signalled his climax's approach.

She sobbed and clutched both hands to her groin. Some clinical quirk from John's training froze him for themoment and he watched, his own climax pausing just short of eruption as he watched Muriel.

She was very vocal and he just stood, his hand gripping his still erect cock, as Muriel fought through her orgasm, from foetal ball to tendon stretching staightness and back again.

When finally she was done her body glistened with perspiration. She looked up at him and smiled. She reached out a small hand and took hold of his cock."Let me make his day for him," she drew John close, pulling gently on the hot rigid handle that was his erection.

He watched as her tongue and lips made slow gentle love to his cock. Her orgasm had washed away her desperation and now she took her time. He watched soft, tormenting lips draw him in. She sucked, hollow cheeked. The sight aroused him beyond belief. Her face had a wonderfully contented look as she suckled on him. Muriel's eyes never left his. Wide and green they seemed to draw him, every bit as much as her suckling mouth did.

Muriel took him to the brink and paused. She reached out her other hand and gently played with his balls. How she loved this big, heavy cock of his. She longed for it between her legs. God but she knew she was wetenough to take his size easily. She pumped gently at him, her saliva slick fist making love to him.

Twice, three times she sucked him to near-climax with that lovely mouth of hers. He was practically sobbing for release when it finally happened. He suddenly bent, crouching over her, his cock almost escaping from her lips. Then he straightened again and sobbed along "Yesssss!" He was coming. She took it all, swallowing greedily, milking frantically with her hand as if to drain him totally. He spasmed and writhed as his body tried and tried to come and come. Finally he sobbed, "Please stop, stop, oh stop, I can't come anymore."

"Shouldn't you check my ass again soon, to make surethere's no infection?" She was struggling into her jeans.

John's legs would barely support him, "I'd like to do that."

The weeks became months and suddenly it was the Thursday before the next meeting of the Railroad Group. Muriel had hunted down all but one of the seventeen. It had been a wonderful six months. Even Art had noticed her high spirits. The phone rang, it was Art, "Wonderful news Moo, they've made me a full partner," he sounded almost boyish.

"That's wonderful Art," she said, pleased for him.

"Maybe now we can spend more time together," he bubbled.

Muriel wondered if it would be her or the railroad that would benefit but told him, "I might be able to fit you in on Sundays." He laughed but Muriel was serious. Golf now took Art's Saturdays and she tended to be busy Mondays to Fridays with her group.

On Friday Art rang again, barely an hour after he'd left for the office. "Forgot to mention," he said, "we have two new members, so you'll get to meet them tomorrow."

Under the table, between her legs, Bob, twenty five weeks late was claiming his belated breakfast. And he was very good! Muriel gripped the phone tightly and wriggled to the very edge of the chair. Art was still talking.

She did hear one sentence with incredible clarity, "Sandra will be our first female member."

Bob was sooo goood! Her pussy felt about to turn inside out.

Art again, "I think she prefers girls."

"Sandra, a pretty name," she said, heart pounding, legs straight and wide and straining. A dam about to burst.

She hung up on Art before she started screaming.

Her orgasm hit her.

Slumped in the chair Muriel was very happy and very, very wet.

She'd see all her guys tomorrow, all together.

Bob kissed her left thigh and then the right. She squirmed. Her wetness felt cool as he moved under her skirt. Railroad work is tough she thought, but someone has to do it.

Cont'd in Part 4

"All Aboard!" Part 2

2010-01-11T08:05:00.000-08:00

"All Aboard!" Part 2

by Julius
Copyright 2003

Sunday, by half past ten it was obvious Bob wasn't coming. She'd really been looking forward to him. Readying everything for breakfast and even dressing herself as a maid. 'Robert,' she thought, 'you'd better have a damned good excuse.'

She ate a lonely breakfast and tried to let herself down gently.

By one o'clock she'd wondered if Mark too had decided not to come.

To her delight he did arrive, just before two. Tall and young and shy. He looked more man than boy now, with blonde good looks and a smile that made her heart pitter patter. When she asked, he told her he could stay as long as she needed him and Muriel wondered wistfully if he would last that long. She really had work for him but nothing she couldn't have nagged Art into doing or done quite easily herself.

She'd showered around noon and still wore her pink, terry-cloth bathrobe when she answered the door. Muriel showed him through into the kitchen and made them coffee. She explained that there was a ton of boxed papers in the attic that Art wanted thrown out and there was another pile of stuff in the basement to haul up to the attic. Mark sat sipping his coffee and said he'd be happy to help. Muriel thought he looked good enough to eat.

She led the way upstairs and made him stand at the turn in the stairs while she brought the ladder down out of the attic. "There's a trick to this thing or it tries to kill you!" Muriel reached up and caught the ring and pulled. A click and the door dropped down. She caught the ladder and steadied it as it unfolded. "Art ended up with three stitches in his head the first time we used this."

Mark started up the stairs again but she motioned to him to wait. "What do you think of the outfit?" she asked, fumbling the belt of her robe undone. "I wore it specially for you."

Poor Mark gaped at her as she opened the robe. Just black bra and panties, nothing else. She stood a couple of steps above him, he just looked, lips slightly parted. His few years of necking and fumbling hadn't prepared him for this. Mark wasn't quite a virgin but so far sex had been all haste and stolen moments with young creatures who knew little more than he. Beyond that, just his left hand and his imagination. Now this! This was what his wildest dreams had been like.

The panties were barely three feet from his face. Silky things, edged in black lace. They clung to her soft contours. Brown curls escaped from the sides, some glistening coppery gold in the bright light from the small window. So much bare skin! Thighs and belly, her navel, a tiny, beckoning cave. His erection strained and swelled inside his jeans. A soft, awed "Oh!!" escaped him.

She loved his reaction. After all she was old enough to ... 'No Muriel, don't go there!' she told herself.

She turned her back to him and slipped the robe off her shoulders and let it slither to the floor. Mark swallowed and shifted his feet nervously. Her spare pounds showed on her ass and the panties were too small to cover her. But she looked good and she knew it. The panties crossed her buttocks diagonally and disappeared between them. Mark thought her unutterably sexy and beautiful. His cock ached and his heart hammered. Oh how his cock ached! Mark was suddenly lost and didn't know what he wanted ... he just knew he wanted, desperately.

Muriel moved away and said "Let's see what needs moving up there." She started up the ladder. Mark moved to follow, his hand down his jeans getting his rigid cock more comfortable. His foot tangled in her bathrobe and he almost fell.

Muriel stood halfway up the ladder peering around the attic while Mark gazed up at her. Free of her gaze he feasted his eyes on her thighs and the wonderful mixof tight, black fabric and bare skin that was her ass. He wanted to kiss the backs of her knees but somehow couldn't get up the nerve.

She peeked down at him. He seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. Muriel rejoiced in her own arousal, she was going deliciously mad inside. That intense happiness that seems to bubble in the chest suddenly washed over her. Mark's youth and innocence struck her too and at that moment she realised there was more to this than satisfying her own needs. This had to be good for him too, she had to make it magic for Mark. Perhaps change him from callow youth into a gentle and skilled lover. What a sweet challenge!

Mark moved back as Muriel came down and turned and stood on the ladder's bottom step. Now he was treated to a close up of her bosom. The bra dated from a Muriel thirty pounds younger and it really wasn't adequate for the job any more. Her big breasts threatened to spill out over the tops of the cups. Mark could actually feel the heat of her on his face. The soft swells and the sweet, deep cleavage between were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

"My dressing like this doesn't bother you does it Mark?" she asked him, knowing very well how it was affecting him. The shape of the front of his jeans told her that.

"No of course not," he lied. By now Mark was very much bothered by Muriel's clothing or rather her lack of it. He was desperately aroused. He wanted to just grab her and do things but his awful shyness and lack of experience left him helpless to move.

Muriel of course had been enjoying the effect she was having on him, his very obvious arousal. It was so very flattering, so very, very flattering. Frightening too, a tiger by the tail! Her arousal was mounting. She felt the pulse of her heart all through her, the heat of her own need glowing hotly betwixt throat and nipples. She found herself gently rubbing one knee against the other, she was actually trembling.

Mark rubbed his palms on his jeans. She saw him shake his head and swallow hard. He seemed almost close to tears.

"Hey, Mark, take it easy." she said softly.

His eyes met hers. He started to speak but no sound came. He gestured at her with his hands and his eyes swept down over her and back up. "I, oh God! I want..."

"We both want Mark, I'm feeling what you're feeling," she told him quietly.

She moved away from the ladder and took his elbow and turned him to lean his back on the steps. Muriel reached out and unsnapped his jeans and caught the tag of his zipper with a finger nail. She whispered, "Let me help, just be still, just relax baby." As she began to ease the zipper down his body went rigid. She froze too, he was about going to come.

'Not now, not like this ... not just yet!' she begged silently. They both stood like statues. Slowly, slowly Mark relaxed, the crisis had passed ... for the moment.

Again she began working the zipper down, virtually one tooth at a time. When she had it open all the way she slid his jeans down his long legs. He wore white boxer shorts and now his erect cock had become, to Muriel's hungry eyes, a huge ridge. A wet patch at the top of this ridge glistened, proclaiming his arousal. She licked her lips and with hands that trembled, reached for the elastic waistband. As she hooked her fingers into his shorts his hands moved to stop her but then he stopped half-way and relaxed. Muriel gave a little smile, he was hers! Slowly, carefully , she worked them off his hips and finally slid them down his thighs.

"Oh God! It's beautiful!" she breathed.

"Really?" croaked a disbelieving Mark.

"Oh yes, beautiful."

Muriel had never studied a cock this close up but she did now. She wanted to touch but didn't dare, Mark was balanced on the edge, she knew. The almost shiny look of the tight stretched skin. Veins, small and large following their random courses up and down the lovely column. The swollen head, dark red, with its perfect, leaking little slit! She licked her lips and felt a sudden, very real hunger. Her whole body seemed to strain towards this thing. She wanted it, needed it. Her hands itched to touch, her lips swollen and lovely, begged to kiss and suck.

A little of the tension seemed to ebb away from Mark and she finally dared to touch him. She closed her small hand around him. Her fingers didn't go all the way! His heat and his hardness amazed her. He was so big and she felt suddenly so small and a little quiver of fear hit her. Her thighs pressed together defensively.

He moaned at her touch and she looked up at him. His gaze was on her. She released him for a moment and drooled saliva into her palm and grabbed his cock. Squeezing him tightly, began to stroke him. He sobbed, "No! God no! You'll make me come!"

"Yes Mark I will," she told him, "on purpose ... you're too close now, too aroused for us to play."

"But...!" That one word as all he managed before he did come. His helpless need had overwhelmed him.

With his teeth gritted and his body quaking he jetted his come at Muriel. She grabbed his cock with her other hand too and just crouched happily over him, letting him come ... how could she stop him?

She milked him urgently, happily. It was on her face, in her hair, under her chin and still he came. Over her throat and breasts. She was laughing and telling him it was alright, it was wonderful.

Poor Mark couldn't believe what was happening! Trying to say 'sorry!' while coming uncontrollably isn't easy but he tried. Finally her words reached him. She wasn't angry with him at all! In fact she seemed delighted! When he was finally finished he reached awkwardly for his shorts to try and wipe away some of the mess. But she stopped him.

"Don't you even think of it! I love it. I love it all over me," then she added seriously, "besides it's good for my complexion."

"Really?" he asked in surprise.

She fought back the smile, "Really," she told him and gently rubbed his come over her breasts with her fingertips, making her skin shine with his wetness.

Muriel's arousal was now frightening and she glanced down at Mark's softening cock with longing. It was her turn to not know what to do. She motioned Mark to move aside and went up the ladder and sat on the edge of the hole looking down at him between her knees.

He looked up. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Sorry, why?" her voice gentle.

"For losing control just now."

"Don't be sorry Mark. What we just did was beautiful and natural. I loved doing it to you, loved watching you come. Besides, it felt good didn't it?"

He gazed up at her for a long time and finally said, "It was wonderful!"

She thought for a while. Her body was crying out for loving and before she could stop herself, asked him, "Would you like to come up here and do the same thing to me Mark?"

Surprise, and maybe panic, seemed to flicker across his face. "You mean ...?"

"That's just what I mean Mark," she said smiling down at him.

He moved towards the ladder.

There were fifteen boxes to be thrown out and she grabbed the first and struggled it onto her thighs. When his face appeared above the box she slid it towards him.

Confused he murmured, "I thought you wanted to, wanted me to ..."

"I'm teasing me," she explained, "sometimes the waiting is fun, waiting and waiting until you think you'll go mad."

"I guess," he murmured and took the box. She had to open her legs wide to let him struggle the cardboardbox down past her. Six boxes later and she was sweating, it was hot up in the attic.

She called down to him to bring them a couple of beers from the fridge. While he was gone she lay back and lifted her legs and struggled out of the panties. She glanced down between her opened legs. The bulb hanging above her head lit her perfectly. She fought the urge to touch herself and wished he'd hurry. Her longing wasn't going away.

Mark struggled awkwardly up the steps with a beer in either hand. He handed one to Muriel and then tipped his own bottle. He caught sight of her exposed pussy in mid swallow, choked and fought for a moment then turned enough to miss her and sprayed beer across the attic.

She ran her fingertips down over her belly and into her curls. "Would you like to stroke her?"

To Muriel's delight his cock swelled and lifted in one slow steady movement to stand rigid and perfect. It was superb and she yearned to do everything to it, to have it do everything to her. Now Muriel's control was slipping. Her body seemed to vibrate, every nerve focused between her legs, she'd melt soon and simply run hot and wet out of herself.

Mark reached out cautiously and ran the backs of his fingers over her curls. "Oh wow!" he said softly.

She wriggled her buttocks to the edge of the hole, not caring about splinters and simply lay back on the rough dusty boards that floored the attic. "Now would you like to kiss her?"

'Please God, let him know what to do!' she begged silently. All she felt was a desperate want, a want centered between her legs and up inside. An itch that wasn't an itch but oh, she had to have it scratched.

To her blissful amazement the next thing she felt was his face, his mouth between her legs. He was licking her, slowly, wonderfully. She cried out so loudly that he stopped and raised his head asking what was wrong,

"Nothing, nothing at all, don't stop, don't ever stop!"

He was not too rough, not too gentle and she wondered if he was more experienced than she'd guessed. She struggled her legs up and let them rest on his shoulders, her thighs hugging his head.

Any thoughts she'd had of teaching him, guiding him vanished. Teaching could wait for another time. His tongue on her, in her was enough magic at her level of arousal. Her body took over as Muriel began her climb and she forgot everything but the heaven she was in. She clung and thrust, bouncing her ass on the boards using him, losing herself.

Her coming was an incredible thing. She bucked and humped and struggled. Poor Mark thought he'd drown or suffocate as she held him with her legs, ground herself against his mouth and climaxed.

She sobbed and squirmed on the rough boards. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she forced his mouth against her. Then she was done, it was over and she was begging him to stop. He lifted his mouth from herand she fell back bonelessly limp. A beautiful silence with only her sobbing breath at its centre.

His disbelieving voice reached her from far away, "I love the way you smell and taste."

She smiled, "I love the way you lick!"

Mark stood on the ladder, his left hand gently stroking his cock and wanting more. He gazed at her wet-curled centre. Her legs spread wide, her pinkness open, glistening.

Finally Muriel struggled up onto her elbows and looked at him. She saw his hand moving, the need in his eyes. His cock was so beautiful, so ready. Her brain asked her pussy and her pussy answered with a subtle contraction. She wanted more of him, more of that!

Mark watched as she struggled to sit up and then she got over onto her hands and knees. She bent her elbows and her breasts, still just in their bra, were flattened against the dusty planks. Her ass was high in the air as she signalled her readiness with the timeless pose and added the word "Please!".

He scrambled up behind her and, holding her hips with his hands slid himself in.

'She's so tight!' thought Mark.

'He's so big!' thought Muriel.

It was an almost gentle coupling. Mark pumped slowly. Her tightness, her milking spasms so exquisite. She was like nothing he'd ever imagined.

Muriel made love to him with her pussy, revelling in the way he filled her, opened her, plumbed her depths.There was a gentleness in his beautiful hunger. He filled her completely, length and thickness. She'd never felt so complete. He'd withdraw until just the head remained in her and then thrust, long and slow, deep, deep, deep. Utterly perfect, she wanted to scream, to cry, wanted it to never end, never.

They seemed to bring each other to climax. Perfect harmony, prefect lovers. 'Impossible' her mind told her. His first spasm triggered her. He shuddered and she felt his first gush inside her and her pussy answered, milking his cock. As he jetted and pulsed she ground her ass back against his thrusts, sobbing and begging through an endless orgasm.

They collapsed onto the rough boards of the attic, him heavy on top of her. Still he thrust and squirmed against her soft, sweet ass. Her buttocks clenched and writhed under him working on the softening cock still buried in her. He nuzzled his face into her neck, into her hair and told her she was beautiful.

Muriel stood and watched as he dressed. How small, how cute his cock was now. She was naked and filthy andhis eyes never left her. She felt his juices oozing down between her nearly-closed thighs. He thought her the most lovely creature in the world. Her breasts had somehow failed to escape the bra completely but the overflow was dust-smudged from the attic boards, a nipple peeped shyly, like a rising sun. He wanted very much to get his hands on those breasts, to see, to touch, to suckle her nipples. He saw the glisten between her thighs and knew it was from him.

"Can we ...?" a pleading question from him.

"Oh yes we can! Phone me Mark." She wanted more of this too!

She kissed him goodbye at the door.

The mirror by the door showed her a woman whose hair was a mess, whose body was dirt streaked. But the woman smiled at her and looked wonderfully happy. She had cobwebs in her hair and maybe even a little splinter or two in her ample ass. Was this really theMuriel she knew?

"Oh yes!" her reflection said.

Cont'd in Part 3

"All Aboard!" Part 1

2010-01-11T06:41:00.000-08:00

"All Aboard!" Part 1

by Julius
Copyright 2003

Muriel had certainly never intended to screw Art's entire Model Railroad Club membership! In fact she still hasn't, hasn't screwed them all that is. But she's a game girl and this is how it all got started.

Things conspired against Muriel, (or was that for Muriel?), as things sometimes do. Three things really; Ernest was a widower, Ernest brought wine to the meeting and the bathroom had two doors. All that sounds a little confusing I suppose, maybe I should back up a little.

Oh yes, there was another factor, so really it was four events or things which did the conspiring ...Muriel had bought herself a vibrator. Anyway, let me set the scene.

Muriel was, is, plump and cute and nearer fifty than she'd ever admit. She suits her plumpness and often dresses to display herself to the best advantage, that is, flaunts her assets. Muriel would be truly stunning if she shed maybe thirty pounds. But, packed into something tight or short or brief or all three she's a real head turner just the way she is.

Art, her husband, was okay, visually at least. Performance-wise Art left much to be desired which left Muriel desiring much. He was a lawyer, desperately trying to get himself on the company letterhead. He worked awe-inspiring hours both at his office at work and his other office at home. Any spare time went into his model railroad. That just left sleep, nothing left for poor Muriel.

So Art was why she'd bought the vibrator the previous Wednesday. Her friend Julie had talked her into it and they had spent a delicious hour at the Triple Exxx Sexxx Store across town. It was purple and silicone and longer than Art and thicker than Art. The batteries lasted longer than Art. It made Muriel very happy and Art was suddenly, unknowingly, totally redundant ... well, except for his money of course.

Railroad Meeting Saturday followed Vibrator Buying Wednesday. Muriel was puzzled to find herself wonderfully satiated yet oddly horny on Wednesday and Thursday and Friday and Saturday. The vibrator was satisfying her needs but it had awakened something else. Itches that double A batteries somehow couldn't scratch even though she was on the fourth pair.

Noon saw the house ready for the meeting. Art's Railroad Meetings were the best of the group. He had a sizeable and complicated layout in a warm and comfortable room in the basement, everyone agreed. But the catering by Muriel was what really drew the guys. Muriel's coffee was wonderful, her hot snacks to die for, her cakes and cookies disappeared like morning mist on a sunny day.

They liked her sweet, flirty personality. They liked her cleavage too and the tight skirts she always wore. They tended to spend more time Muriel watching than train watching. Art had two meetings per year and if canvassed, no doubt the membership would have voted for ten more. Muriel wouldn't have minded, she loved the cooking and found the flattering attentions of the men very heady stuff. But she did sometimes wish Art would notice her efforts and direct more of his enthusiasm towards her.

But this Saturday Muriel was going to start her own Railroad Group. She didn't realise it at the time of course. It would be Ernest and Ernest's wine that would set things in motion.

Ernest was the last to arrive. Everyone was downstairs, leaving her alone in the kitchen. Apologising for his lateness he handed her the wine and gave her quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

She liked Ernest. He'd been a widower for about sixmonths and she sensed his loneliness. They flirted mildly at the meetings. Nearly all the members flirted with her but Ernest was her favourite. They were both lonely in their different ways. She rummaged in a drawer and handed him the corckscrew. "Let's have a glass."

They stood in the kitchen and talked and sipped their wine. Second glasses followed. No one came up from downstairs. A buzz of conversation and occasional laughter with the ever present sound of the trains running were the only reminders that they weren't alone.

Ernest poured the last of the wine into their glasses. "I should have brought another bottle," he said with a chuckle.

"Maybe not," murmured Murial. She pushed away from the counter and found herself swaying just a little. There was a warm glow in her and when she glanced at Ernest she felt that warmth begin to focus somehere below her belly button. Muriel had been horny for three days now, time to do something more about it! She reached for Ernest's hand. Too surprised to resist, he let himself be led. Oh but her ass! Wiggling divinely in the short and deliciously tight, black, leather skirt; Ernest badly wanted to touch.

In the bathroom she locked both doors and stood looking up at him. Ernest was tall and slim. He was balding and grey. She guessed him at sixty-one or two and thought him very handsome. She wanted him, she wanted him very badly.

Ernest was nervous. He wanted her. The wine had loosened him up nicely but this was Art's wife in Art's bathroom. But Art's wife wore a white blouse sheer enough to show her white bra and unbuttoned enough to reveal the swells of her breasts. As he looked down into that cleavage he saw her fingers come up and undo another button. Ernest's erection grew happily!

Part of Muriel's mind was asking her what the hell she thought she was doing. But her body was running things. The heat that seemed focussed between her legs and the delicious glow in her chest seemed to explain the phrase 'bitch in heat'.

She slowly unbuttoned the blouse and tugged it out of her waistband. It hung open and Ernest just stared at her breasts which threatened to spill from her bra. He heard himself say "They're beautiful."

She wanted to lift them out, to have him touch her, fondle her but this had to be quick. Her arousal seemed to grow by the second. She wriggled her skirt high up her thighs and struggled up and sat on the vanity. She reached out and grabbed the top of his pants and pulled him towards her.

Ernest's caution was gone. He couldn't believe how aroused he'd become. Her overflowing breasts, her nyloned legs, the heat of her, her perfume. Without a second thought he unbuckled and unzipped. Pants and underwear around his ankles he stood with his erection proclaiming his need.

Muriel almost cried out at the sight of it. A real cock, a big real cock and it was for her. She strained to open her thighs wider against the hem of the skirt. She wore no panties and a shock of dark brown curls marked the junction of her thighs.

Ernest moved closer, Muriel wriggled her ass nearer the edge to meet him. She was wet and ready, how could she not be? He was big, she was tight and exquisitely hot. Oh the joy as he felt himself slide into her heat. She hooked her legs around him and drew herself onto him. She clung to him with her arms, her heels digging, bruising into the backs of his thighs. His hunger was intense and he fought for release. Muriel matched his eagerness and struggled on his impaling cock, squirming her ass on the vanity. She writhed and humped, utterly lost in the joy of having a hungry cock ramming into her.

Their loving was strangely silent, both aware of the people in the basement below them. But there was no way to silence their breathing. Breathing? Both were fighting for breath, gasping, all but sobbing. Sweating too, it was running down their faces. The bathroom small and warm seemed like an oven.

Ernest was all but certain he'd never make it, never reach orgasm, never come. He pumped desperately into Muriel, wanting, wanting, wanting.

Muriel was in heaven as this man's wonderful cock drove endlessly into her. How she'd missed the joy of a full pussy, a man between her thighs, someone hungry for her, somebody just plain, gloriously fucking her. She wanted to shout, scream, yell dirty things. She did hiss the words in his ear, begging him never to stop, to just keep on and on and on.

Ernest tried, God how he tried! Sweat streamed down his face, he knew his heart must burst soon. His thighs ached. He couldn't, he couldn't, he just couldn't make it. And then Muriel came, her pussy rippling and clenching at his cock.

She sobbed and whispered "Oh God yes!" over and over in his ear. Ernest lowered his head in defeat and saw her breasts heaving and sweat slick. The deep cleavage between them so utterly beautiful. Some wonderful hormonal flicker made the connection and the contractions started. He was coming!

"Oh God, I'm coming!" he moaned in her ear. And he did, he came and came and came and Muriel felt every sweet spasm as his cock swelled and spurted inside her.

"Yes baby yes!" She sighed, cuddling him to her, aware of the glorious completeness she felt. Surely nothing had ever felt so good! They clung together hearts beating furiously.

Finally they parted. He stood back on trembling legs and smiled at her. His cock, small and limp now, drooled down his thigh. Muriel's breasts, seeming to overflow the bra cups, shone with perpiration. They wanted to laugh aloud but dared not.

"I've got to go, they'll be wanting their food." She unlocked the door to the bedroom and paused. "That was wonderful!"

The look on his face told how it had been for him and both knew they'd do this again. She slipped away into the bedroom. When she looked in the mirror she couldn't believe her eyes. She looked as if she'd jus tbeen ... well, she had!

Ten minutes later a glowing, happy Muriel called, "Food's ready you guys!" from the top of the basement stairs.

Art led his guests up to the kitchen and found Ernest with a mouthful of sausage roll. "Hi Ernest! You're looking well these days."

Ernest swallowed and greeted his host, "Can't complain Art, can't complain."

Five o'clock and the goodbyes and thank yous were being said and Art was explaining to everyone that he was flying out west on a week's business that evening. Ernest and Muriel exchanged glances. She gave him a little nod.

Something had happened to Muriel that Saturday. Not just the glorious release she'd found with Ernest but some restraint seemed to have slipped undone deep inside her. She heard a quiet voice stammering thanks beside her. It was Mark. Mark, barely twenty, usually came with his father but, for some reason, he was here today on his own. Slim and shy and deliciously well mannered. Muriel was fond of the boy who was becoming a man. He'd been coming to these meetings for maybe five years now.

"Are you busy tomorrow afternoon Mark?" she asked him.

Mark shook his head and Muriel said, "I need a strong young man for a few jobs."

When Muriel got back from the airport she went to the computer and sure enough, Art had the Railroad Group's addresses and phone numbers listed.

"Oh my!" she murmured, "seventeen of them, who shall I have for breakfast?"

She licked her lips and reached for the phone.

Cont'd in Part 2

"Inevitability"

2009-12-01T12:38:00.000-08:00

“Inevitability”
by Julius
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.

“Ready?”

“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.”

“No John.”

“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.”

"The Pussyholic"

2009-11-19T07:54:00.000-08:00

“The Pussyholic”

by Julius
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.

“Sorry?”

“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.”

“What?”

“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.

“Another beer?”

“Beer’s fine.”

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 book-signings.”

“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?”

“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?”

“Now?”

“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 rhthreadxxx@yahoo.caAll rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

"Needing" Part 3

2009-06-01T08:56:00.000-07:00

by Julius
copyright 2005

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.

They slept.

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.

"Ron!"

"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."

"Needing" Part 2

2009-05-31T11:03:00.001-07:00

by Julius
copyright 2005

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.

She stopped.

"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.

Cont'd ...............

"Needing" Part 1

2009-05-24T12:35:00.000-07:00

by Julius
copyright 2004

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.

cont'd ................

"Born Again"

2009-05-24T12:19:00.000-07:00

by Julius
copyright April 2009

200 words

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.

She squealed.

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.”

"Oh The Pain!"

2009-05-18T03:39:00.000-07:00

Dedicated to that wondrous male-morning-phenomenon, the piss-proud-penis.

by Julius
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.”

"Her Fuck Was Coming"

2009-05-18T03:23:00.000-07:00

by Julius
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.

"Wet My Pet"

2009-05-15T03:14:00.000-07:00

One of my favourite stories. Kinky yes, but who cares, we'd all like to be kinkier, or we should.

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"

by Julius

Copyright 2005

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."

"Aditional Benefits"

2009-03-18T15:57:00.000-07:00

A Flasher by Julius
Copyright 2004

Emerging from anaesthetic is magic.

"Welcome back," said the blur.

I mumbled.

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)

"Why Don't We Have a Fetish?"

2009-03-15T18:03:00.000-07:00

Well, this little tale has it's origins in real life, which is nice.

by Julius
copyright 2004

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.”

“Really?”

“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.

“Which colour?”

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.

"He's Come! For me!"

2009-03-11T14:41:00.000-07:00

by HIM (a silly flasher dedicated to a long time ERWA member)
copyright 2004

On the dais he stood.

A thousand hearts fluttered in a thousand heaving bosoms.

"It's him!" they sobbed, "it's Julius!"

"That cute ass!"

"That bulge!" breathed many, "is he ...?"

"Those pants would not contain him if he were."

He smiled. A thousand hands plucked a thousand necklines to cool those sweat-glazed cleavages.

Six hundred thongs seemed to tighten, a hundred pairs of panties moistened. The summer breeze strove to fan the rest.

Two thousand thighs tensed, as many nipples seemed to reach.

He gestured, they quieted, scarce dared to breathe.

"Is there one among you who calls herself Iris?"

"Coming Out"

2009-03-11T14:35:00.000-07:00

a 100 word flasher by Julius
copyright 2004

I wear them when we walk around the lake. They're cooler, kind of convenient.

There's a bench we sit at.

"Why the sunscreen? We already did that."

"Special treatment," she says deftly working my cock out. The handling has me erect.

She squeezes a long worm of sunscreen, "Gotta look after this guy."

The cream is too thick and her hand drags my cock's tight skin. It feels wonderful, pussylike but tighter, wickedly tighter.

In moments I come, out of her fist, over her knee. A buttercup droops, come-blobbed.

"Perfect fertiliser," she murmurs.

God, I love these pocketless shorts.

"The Happy Fondler"

2009-03-11T14:24:00.000-07:00

a 100 word flasher by Julius
copyright March 2006

Gloria supposed they felt right, despite being so cold.

Certainly, Bill seemed to think so whenever he took a fresh one from the fridge.

She'd see him weighing it, letting it flip-flop in his hands, a dreamy look in his eye.

Likely, soon after, he'd grab her from behind and heft her tits.

She'd lift her skirt, bend over the sink and let his cock skewer her eager, pantyless pussy.

Then she'd bless whoever'd thought of packaging their one-percent in floppity plastic bags.

No matter how busy he was fucking her, he’d keep boob-jiggling; comparing no doubt.

*********************

[Footnote: Two kind souls read this over for me, before submission and it seems that much of the 3rd world outside Canada doesn't have milk sold in sealed plastic bags and may not also realise that 1% refers to fat content. Oh hell, now I know how aliens in their spaceship must feel as they circle the earth wondering if the beings below will comprehend.]

"Forty Plus & Freckled" Part 4

2009-02-26T14:44:00.000-08:00

Subtitled: "The Impossible Day"
by Julius
copyright 2004
(Quite a jump from the setting of the first three parts. I'm not happy with this last part of the story, it doesn't "belong" somehow. I'm inclined to delete it but .... what the heck, I'll leave it in. What do you think dear reader?)

Dave wasn't sure he'd make it.

He and Angie had been together now for just eight weeks. Theirs seemed a pairing made in heaven, no matter the age difference. They were insatiable. Endless play and endless discovery, seemed to stem from their innocent curiosity. When they weren't loving, they seemed to find each other perfect company.

The job which had landed them in this luxury suite, had come about in the strangest way. A friend of Angie's on the library staff, had handed her a magazine during a morning coffee break. "FamilyGuidance Clinic Seeks Couples," read the ad.

"Just the thing for you and Dave," Maureen had said. Maureen had been following Angie's new relationship closely. She tried not to be jealous of her friend's bright eyed happiness. But she did envy her this sudden joy.

"Doesn't Dave have any brothers or an available father perhaps," she'd joked one day.

Angie took the magazine and read.

"Sounds a bit too good to be true. It's a paid honeymoon, an outrageously overpaid honeymoon. But wouldn't it be a hoot. Pity Dave's so shy," Angie had rambled as her imagination raced.

"Why not phone them? There's a toll free number." Maureen wasn't serious of course, neither was Angie. But she'd phoned anyway.

There'd been endless questionnaires and interviews followed by medical examinations and screen tests. Incredibly, they'd been the ones chosen.

A five star Miami hotel overlooking the Atlantic was their home for nearly week. A penthouse suite; neither had really known what a penthouse suite was until then. Nothing to do but have sex and plan what to do with the money. Money! Money already in the bank, money to come when/if they completed the assignment. And more money, if the movie sold as well as promised.

After the required three sexless days they were hungry for each other, very hungry. Minutes ago Angie had appeared in his room and slipped into bed beside him.

This was to be the pre-breakfast 'quickie' the schedule called for. There was no script, the sound engineers would handle that. Editing and dubbing would all come later.

Angie wore a pink baby-doll outfit. Dave wore nothing, his rigid erection would have looked ridiculous any way but naked.

Dave's problem would be controlling his appetite for Angie. Knowing that this was the point of the exercise, helped him not at all.

All they had to do was play for a day. It all sounded easy enough. The film was to be used by marriage councillors. The point of the exercise was to educate couples. To show that a woman's enjoyment of sex could also be a source of intense pleasure for the man.

Dave had been surprised to find how much he agreed with the concept. It had been that obviously sincere agreement that had probably decided the selection panel.

The message was all about unselfishness, male unselfishness. Angie and Dave were to make love for a day and show that such unselfishness could be pleasurable for the man.

It promised to be a delight for Angie, and a trial for Dave. Dave's only climax was to be the film's climax. As he felt Angie's warmth beside him, he was no longer sure he could manage it.

They lay facing each other, each wore a mask. The lenses of six remote cameras stared at them from around the room. Dave thought her mask rather attractive. It was gold, with up-swept corners that gave her a catlike air. His was a simple black thing. Angie suggested he looked like the Lone Ranger, or maybe Zorro. At least the library staff wouldn't recognise her. Anonymity, surely nobody would perform like this without it?

Angie undid the bow at her throat and bared her left breast. It lay heavy against her arm, its nipple pale pink and almost flat. He moved his face nearer to her, smelling the newness of the fabric and the familiar scent of her favourite talc. His cock couldn't get any harder surely?

She sighed as his lips kissed, then sucked at her nipple. How Dave loved Angie's nipples, the way they swelled at his touch. His teeth closed slowly, nipping her to the brink of pain. He moved his head back, pulling at her, pulling her breast from soft globe to sharp point. She gasped. He groaned, wanting desperately to press his cock against her knee, to hump against something.

He released the the nipple, it was now a plump raspberry that seemed to glow with its own inner light. He knew she'd be moistening now, buttery slick if he touched her. She moved slightly towards him, offering the other breast.

He took it in his hands, cupping, moulding it into a perfect sphere. The nipple, already swelling, begged for suckling but he lingered, fondling her breast. The skin was the softest on her body. Sometimes Dave thought he could happily drown in the softness of her breasts. He still hadn't counted her freckles.

His arousal was awful now. His cock seemed to strain in its skin. All he wanted was to get it between her breasts and just blissfully, desperately, fuck them. Her words cut into his thoughts. "Make me come Dave, suckle at me."

He kissed the nipple and drew it into his mouth and Angie moaned. Her whole body seemed to sigh and her hands went behind his head.Dave strove for the impossible, to cram her whole breast into his mouth. He opened his jaws wide and sucked in nipple and areola and as much breast flesh as he could. Sucking and swallowing he worked her nipple with his tongue and she began to writhe on the bed.

Dave moved his head away, allowing breast and nipple to be drawn from his mouth. The nipple slipped out with a loud kissing sound. It was engorged now, swollen and long, wet with his saliva and gone from pale pink to rich red. He took it between his teeth and bit her gently. She gasped and thrust her hips at him.

He suckled her, hungrily, drawing her on and on. She made little purring noises in her throat as he made love to her breast. Then her orgasm began and she shuddered helplessly as it swept through her. He clungto her with his mouth as she squirmed and writhed against him.

Her climax passed its peak and she moved, offering her other nipple. "More?" he asked knowing she'd say yes, she always did.

"Yes, again, again," she teased the nipple against his mouth and he took it hungrily and began nursing. Dave's hands moved too, fingers and thumbs working, massaging her wonderful softness.

She was so very aroused. His mouth at her nipple, his strong hands tormenting her breasts soon had her climbing again.

They were both breathing hard, their hearts racing. Angie's head was thrown back, one white-knuckled fist gripped the pillow, her other hand had gone down to comfort her pussy. She was making nearly-silent screams as her body took over.

She came and so very, very nearly did Dave. Can a man come without being touched? He'd always thought not, but now? His face was against a freckled dream. His mouth was full of her nipple. His brain was sending messages to him and his cock, telling him to put it in somewhere, against something and to just fuck.

He wanted that cock anywhere but twitching and waving inches above the bed sheet. In her hand, between the lovely breasts or plunged in the heat between her thighs. Oh God, he screamed in silence, let me put it in her.

She flung herself over on her back, chest heaving, nipples jutting, the left one glistening wet, from his mouth.

Then she spoke, "Dave?"

He looked at her, she'd pushed her breasts together and rolled them inwards, bringing the nipples almost touching. "Dave, kiss them both, suck them both."

He couldn't. His cock ached and throbbed. He looked down, it had a tight skinned shine to it. It must surely split if it were teased any more.

He tried to tell her. She seemed to understood, as she always did. Her hand reached out and touched his cheek. "It's OK, just being greedy," she smiled, and gazed longingly at his erection.

They lay for a while, close together and silent.

Finally she sighed, "How about we go find the dining room and get some breakfast?"

Angie slipped away to her room. Dave's cock finally softened and he got up for a pee. After he'd finished, he stood looking in the mirror, not really believing what had happened to them, to him.

Having finished their breast play they were required to make an appearance in the dining room. "A photo-op," the director had explained.

Dave wandered into the bedroom and looked at the rumpled bed. Glancing at a camera he grinned and said, "We're doing pretty good so far, I think."

The schedule on the clipboard gave him dressing instructions. His stomach rumbled.

They breakfasted in the hotel dining room. Dave spotted two more cameras. They were discretely placed with their cables leading off to the recording room where the miles of film were being produced. He pointed to the one focused on Angie. She picked up a sausage and did a wonderful mime of fellating it for the camera's benefit.

A walk on the beach was required. Somehow they had seemingly miles of deserted sands. They had a camera man for company, actually a camerawoman, who gave Dave's pouched genitals a lot of footage. Angie wore a thong bikini. The bra made her wonderful breasts look even more impressive. The thong? Dave thought her ass the loveliest in the world.

"You look exquisite," he told her quietly.

"Thank you. I feel naked and very,very self conscious," she said. "I've never worn a thong before in public."

The cameragirl called, "Would you guys kiss for the camera?"

They did and Angie's tongue speared into his mouth. His cock reared erect and he looked at the camera. Sure enough it was capturing his arousal.

"I want to go home to play," murmured Angie.

"I badly need to fuck you," Dave told her.

She moved away and looked down at his cock's big outline up the front of his thong. "I need you too. Do you think we can manage to get through today?"

"I don't know. Back there in bed this morning I thought I was going to lose my mind, I wanted you so much."

"It's not fair is it? I can just keep coming," she grinned, "it's lovely for me but, oh poor you. My poor sweet Dave."

They walked on, hand in hand, small waves playing around their ankles. He kept looking across at the freckled spill of her breasts. His erection showed no signs of subsiding. The girl with the camera coughed and looked at her watch.

"Time to head back, I guess," said Angie.

Back in their suite things had been moved around in anticipation of their next scene.

They sat side by side on the sofa. On the floor was a camera, which pointed up at them. Two more were sited on either side of the sofa. Angie blew kisses to all three. "I can't wait to see the end product of all this," she said to Dave.

They were dressed just as they had been on the beach and Angie was aware of the sexual tension between them. She was looking forward to this. She'd been looking forward to every aspect of this day.

Angie took Dave's hand and rested it on her belly and guided it down until it cupped her mound. She gave ita squeeze and Dave massaged her slowly, gently. She tensed her buttocks lifting her hips under Dave hand, her message to him.

She closed her eyes, loving his touch. He slowly worked the edges of the thong's small triangle closer together, working it between her lips. Soon, it was all but invisible, seeming to plunge into her, into the centre of her bush. Angie loved the feeling of invasion. She slid her ass towards the edge of the leather sofa, dragging the thong ever tighter, deeper. She was being cut in half and she loved it. "Yessss!"she ground out through clenched teeth.

Dave began slowly dragging the nail of his index finger up from her perineum, up to the waist band of her thong. "Scratch your itch baby?" he whispered. She looked down, watching his finger as he drew it up a second time. The scrape of nail on fabric buzzed inside her. Every time he did it she growled,and got more turned on. Was he scratching her itch, or causing it? Whatever, she loved it.

Dave squirmed off the sofa and knelt in front ofAngie. He hooked his fingers under the sides of the thong and peeled it slowly down. Angie wanted to be free of its torture and wanted it still its invasion. She wanted both. Dave kept pulling it down and Angie moaned as it came out her. She squealed as she lost a few pussy hairs. He slipped the thong down her legs and off. He got up and sat beside her again.

Dave put a finger under her chin and made to turn her face towards him to kiss her. Angie grabbed the hand and forced it down, down to her crotch. Angie, was on fire again.

His fingers found slippery wetness down the centre of her bush. He cupped his hand and pressed it over her mound. Angie spread her legs wide and Dave slipped his fingers down to lie in the wet length of her cleft. She closed her thighs over his hand and gave a long sigh.

It seemed the most natural thing. His finger slipped into her. He loved this moment, the first feel of her heat. She was cream and butter. She was honey and syrup. She was molten. She was softness.

He was lost.

Her hips lifted and Dave felt her vagina's walls give that sweet, welcoming clench that always met his fingers or his cock. He didn't have the same screaminglonging of the earlier session yet. But that squeeze from her pussy had him wanting her desperately, again.

Angie's head had gone back against the sofa's back and her hands were brushing over her breasts. Through the bra Dave could see her eager nipples quite plainly.

His finger came out of her and traced her labia, seeking, seeking. She sobbed as he found her clit. The juice-slick tip of his finger began exploring her, circling the little swollen button that was her centre. Suddenly it pulsed like a heart beat andsomething deep inside him seemed to respond. The feel of that slow throb against his fingertip sent some special message deep into him. At that moment, pleasuring her was all that mattered. He wanted fingers and tongue and lips and cock to be there, all at once. Impossible and the impossibility hurt.

Love and lust fused at that moment and he was her slave. He slid three fingers into her. It was so easy, she seemed to be flooding. Angie writhed on the fingers, impaled. Her own fingers dug into her breasts and she gave a long sobbing sigh and sweetly, almost easily, she came. Thighs clamped around his fingers, keeping him inside.

Slowly he slid his fingers out of her. Half his cock was out over the top of his thong. His arousal had risen with hers. Precum glistened, and again Dave was desperate for her. His eye caught the glint of thecamera lens and he almost sobbed at the realisation that he couldn't have her, not yet, not yet.

He took his hand away from her and her eyes opened. She watched him bring his hand to his mouth and suck the three fingers in, tasting her sweetness. She grabbed at his hand yet again and led it to her pussy. He knew just what she wanted, and let his finger find her pretty clit again.

"Yes," she whispered, "again, again."

He brought her to her brink again, teasing, listening to the music of her voice as she mouthed little cries. Her heartbeat seemed to echo in her clit as he caressed it. No matter how gentle he was, she seemed to respond. Her sensitivity amazed him. This was the centre of the universe and he was there.

He took her over the edge twice more. She was fighting for breath and glistening with sweat when finally she begged him to stop. She curled up on the sofa beside him. Suddenly his erection didn't seem to matter. She was crying with joy, and when Angie reached thismoment, there was enough happiness for both of them..... fucking could wait a little longer.

Fucking would have to wait a lot longer ....... he would wait.

"Forty Plus & Freckled" Part 3

2009-02-18T14:50:00.000-08:00

by Julius
copyright 2004

With their passions cooled a little, Dave picked up her list. "I'll take a look at some of these."

"Okay, but first the little girl's room for me," Angie said.

Dave watched her walk away and wondered what she saw wrong with putting that ass in a bikini. He grinned and reached for his coveralls.

When she came back Angie said, "Know anything about spin driers?" She was disappointed to see him covered up again.

"A little," he said.

"Mine doesn't spin."

"Let's take a look then."

In the basement he opened the drier and reached in, spun the drum and said, "Belt's likely broken. Nowhere open today to get a new one. Five bucks'll fix that I imagine."

He cocked his head and said, "What's dripping?"

Round the corner, beside the furnace, stood a bucket, almost full. Water dripped from a pipe above. "Damn, it's got worse, used to take a week to fill the bucket."

"Well it isn't going to get any better, maybe I should fix that today."

"Today? You're sure?" she asked, thinking more about leaking cocks than a leaking pipe.

"A little heat and a drop of solder should do it. Guess I'll have to drain the pipe though."

"Can I help?" she asked, wanting to stay around him.

"Spare coveralls in the truck," he said, "you can pass me stuff. Besides I'll likely need a third hand."

He came back with an overloaded tool tray and a pair of coveralls. He passed them to her and said, "Forgot the flashlight." He headed back up the stairs.

Angie stripped off the bikini and struggled naked into the coveralls. She popped the bikini into the drier, out of sight. The coveralls were far, far too big and she was rolling up the legs when he returned.

"You look the perfect workman," he said with a grin.

She wasn't sure. They fit like a sack and she began rolling up the sleeves to free her hands. Another slight problem; every move she made had her nipples rubbing against the rough fabric. The more they rubbed the more sensitive they became. Too much of this and she'd go mad. It was an almost cruel torment. Her arousal fed off it.

Dave found the stop valve and asked her to turn on all the taps upstairs. "Need to get the water out of the system." He started rummaging through his tools.

By the time Angie returned to the basement she was carefully holding the coveralls away from her breasts. She longed to unzip the front and stop the delicious torture of her nipples. She looked at Dave's back and was actually reaching for the zipper, when he turned.

"Could you hold this up there for me while I cut the pipe?" He handed her a plastic bucket.

Angie crossed to the stairs and came back with a plastic two-step stool. She climbed up, and held up the bucket.

Dave slipped the tube cutter over the pipe and began turning. They were very close, his face level with her breasts. "You suit dark blue," he told her quietly.

She giggled, "Just something casual I slipped into. "Their intimacy had returned.

Water began dribbling into the bucket, and then became a stream. He moved and stood behind her, and rested his hands on her hips. "I like coveralls in the summer, loose and roomy. Cooler than they look." His hands moved. "Big slits here so you can reach into your pants' pockets." His hands slid in and up, onto her bare hips. "Ah!" he said finding her naked.

Angie tipped her head back and closed her eyes. His hands slid up the soft flesh over her ribs. Her bralessness produced another "Ah!" from Dave.

His fingertips were in the soft moistness of her armpits. She shivered; glad she'd shaved them the night before. When Dave's fingers slid over the sides of her breasts, she thought her legs would fold. Her mouth opened and she began panting gently. He granted her silent wish, and moved his fingertips to her nipples.

It was his turn to gasp as he found them, big and hard and begging for attention. His forefingers and thumbs took them. He rolled them, twisted them gently. Her thighs tensed, the muscles trembling.

When he released them, she gave a little sob at the loss. His big hands cupped her breasts then, lifting, weighing. How she'd longed for gentle touching like this, by hands other than her own.

Angie sighed as his hands moved down to her waist.

There was a glugging sound, somewhere above them. Water poured from the open pipe, missing the bucket, down over her front. Seemingly freezing cold, it ran over the coveralls, soaking into the cotton, from her throat, down over her belly.

She half gasped, half squealed, "Oh God! It's cold!"

"Well, you must have let the bucket move," he was laughing.

"You grabbed my tits."

"You have grabable tits."

A further trickle of water came, but she caught this with the bucket.

"My arms ache, this is like a scene from one of those bondage movies."

"Fancy being tied up in a dark basement, do you?" he asked her.

There was more in his voice than just banter. she thought.

"I think I might like that," she said, knowing she would indeed like it. A cold trickle of fear stirred in her belly at the thought. There was heat there too, and suddenly, it was exactly what she wanted.

"Well, I could staple you to the beams," he said, and added hurriedly, "staple the sleeves, not you."

Dave reached into the tool tray and rummaged about. He held up a staple gun, big and shiny. "Well?" Just the one questioning word.

She swallowed and looked into his eyes, and nodded.

He took the bucket from her and hung it over the pipe. The staples going in sounded as loud as gunshots, as he fired maybe half a dozen through each of the rolled cuffs, into the beam over her head.

Dave moved around to stand in front of her. He reachedfor her zipper and slowly eased it down. So very slowly, little more than a tooth at a time. The coveralls opened, and the swells of her breasts appeared. He kept sliding the zipper down, until he was just past her belly button.

Angie was trembling. Was it cool basement air on her bare skin or her helplessness? She didn't know. The tendons of her thighs kept tensing and there was a wonderful, scary heat writhing through her insides. And she felt horny. Above all else, she felt horny.

"Do you have a hair drier?" he asked.

"In the bathroom. Why?"

Alone for the moment, listening to him move around upstairs, she wondered. She glanced down and felt a chill. The propane torch with its blue cylinder and heat discoloured nozzle, stood on the concrete. She was suddenly too vulnerable. She gave a tug at her left wrist, nothing yielded. She tugged again and the staples held, no sign of loosening. Panic coiled in her belly.

Dave came down the stairs. He crossed the basement and plugged the drier into the socket above the washer. He came to stand in front of her, "Reaches just fine."

Angie swallowed and waited. Dave hung the drier on a nail. "Wonder if all the water's gone?" He took thebucket from the pipe and tapped the end. As if he controlled such things, a little gulp sounded, and a sudden stream poured out.

Angie squealed as the cold water flooded across her chest, into the coveralls, down over her belly, over her pussy and down her legs. God but it was cold. She called him a bastard, and he laughed. "That's what the hair drier's for."

He reached out and gently peeled open the right side of the coveralls. Her breast, heavy and full, was tipped by its swollen red nipple. Her skin was cold to his touch. He reached for the drier, switched it on and began playing warm air over her breast.

Angie crooned softly. The rush of warmth over her cold breast was heaven. Then he touched her. Gentle fingers caressing, following the soft curves of her flesh. The flow of warm air followed his hand. Oh Lord, she could take this forever.

She was at the perfect height. Her nipple, his mouth. She begged silently for him to kiss her, suck her. He did! She gasped as his lips took the nipple and pulled. He lost his grip and she smiled at the loud kiss his mouth made. Then he was back, his teeth this time, nipping and nibbling just shy of pain. She brought her legs together, trying and failing to satisfy her pussy's need to be touched. Angie moaned and thrust forward with her hips, trying to touch him, needing to touch him.

The drier clicked off. She felt him open the coveralls wide. Now both her breasts were exposed. "They are beautiful," he said.

"They're too big and they sag and I don't think they're beautiful at all," she said.

He looked at her and smiled. His palms playing over her breasts, barely touching the skin, maddeningly avoiding her nipples. "Oh they're big, but they're beautiful and I love them." With that he put his face between them, and, with his hands, pressed a breast against each cheek.

Angie loved it. He said the right things, did the right things. Her arousal had taken away any fears she'd felt earlier. She didn't care what he did, just so long as he did more.

He turned the drier on again. A bliss-filled interlude followed, as warm hand and warm air made love to her breasts. She couldn't believe the sensitivity of her breasts, her out thrusting nipples. Oh, this man was wonderful; she wanted him to go on forever.

But her helplessness was a torment, despite her boobs being in heaven. She needed to get a hand to her pussy; she needed to squirm her ass, to press against something. She knew she was wet and getting wetter. She wanted, needed, to touch herself.

Her breasts were incredible. The softness of her defied belief. Her skin was warm now, and he ran his hand over her nipple, dragging it with his skin, side to side, round and round. It tickled his palm incredibly, and she squirmed under his teasing. She made little sobbing noises.

Poor Dave, he was wondering what to do with this lovely creature. He knew she was loving the teasing and pleasing, but his own arousal was becoming an awful thing. He moved lower and began running his hand and the warm air over her belly.

The cloth of the coveralls was coarse against his cockhead. He hung the drier up on the nail, unzipped his coveralls and struggled to get them off his shoulders.

She opened her eyes at the sound of his zipper and he saw her watching him. As the coveralls fell and his briefs slid down his legs, the expression on her face shocked him. She looked hungry. She licked her lips and he saw her lift a foot and begin rubbing one thigh with the other. He looked down. His cock stood erect, pointing straight up at her. "I think he likes you," he said.

"I love him," she said softly, her voice husky.

He slid the zipper of her coveralls all the way down this time. No yellow bikini hiding her delights now. The bush he'd trimmed earlier was a dark mass of curls that glistened with water droplets. He reached out and stroked her fur with his fingertips. She drew her breath in through her teeth. She thrust out with her hips, the gesture almost lewd. The firmness of her mound surprised him.

Another spell of drying followed as he fluffed her curls with his fingers and dried her. His touch and the warmth of the blown air were too delicious to bear. Every nerve in her body longed for him.

Dave switched off, and hung up the drier.

He cupped her sex in his hand, and gently massaged her. His fingers opened her. Almost by accident it seemed, a finger slipped into her and she gasped, a sudden intake of breath.

She was hot inside. She felt like melted butter. Her thighs tensed and squeezed his hand so tight, that it almost hurt.

Dave moved his other hand inside the gaping coveralls and slid it around her to grip her buttock. He rested his cheek between her breasts and stood silentlyclinging to her. She clenched his finger with her pussy, and she felt his body stiffen at the movement. She did it again, and he looked up at her. "She likes you." Again she made herself grip him, to let him know what she meant. He slid a second finger into her, and something inside Angie let go.

Suddenly she was struggling like a fish on a hook. Desperate to get free, she pulled and jerked with her hands. Her left hand came free, and then her right.

She seemed to have gone mad in his arms. He looked up, almost scared by her agitation. He tried to ask her what was the matter.

Then his arms were empty and Angie was fighting herway out of the coveralls.

She grabbed his hand. "Come on you, fuck me, before I lose my mind!"

Somehow, Dave got one foot free and moved in her wake, still trailing briefs and coveralls from the other ankle. At the bottom of the stairs she stopped and leaned forward, hands resting on a step, her ass outhrust. "Just fuck me, goddammit ... we can play more later."

Dave moved close behind her, his hands went to her hips. She wiggled her ass at him. Her back was hollowed, feet spread apart. This was a wordless plea, an unmistakable demand by her body.

Dave plunged his cock into her. He had to. She actually screamed and Dave froze, afraid he'd hurt her but Angie thrust herself back at him and said, "Keep fucking lover!"

She came twenty heartbeats later, her vagina walls clenching, trying to milk Dave's cock. Knowing he'd not come, she begged him to be still, desperate for more; terrified he'd spend himself too soon.

Dave was almost happy to pause, to crouch over her. He'd never had a girl from behind and the sensations were too incredible. The hand job she given him earlier, left him with some control and he let his arms go around her. Her jostling breasts more than filled his hands, soft and heavy, the nipples seeming even bigger and harder.

She squirmed her ass against him, moving his rigidity deep inside her. She didn't speak, she didn't need to. Dave knew. He straightened and grabbed her hips again and withdrew from the slick tightness of her tunnel. When just the head remained in her, he thrust hard. His thigh tops slapped loudly against her ass and Angie said, "Yessssss!" Just the one word.

He looked down, watching as he fucked her. Saw the cute brown pucker of her anus. Watched her pussy seemingly turning inside out as he withdrew, then the pink of her lining pulling back in as his cock reentered.

Then he stopped looking, and closed his eyes and fell into that blissful rhythm.

She came twice more, while Dave fought for breath, fought for climax. In the warm damp of the basement, they sweated. Sweat dripped from Dave's face onto Angie's back and buttocks. Sweat ran from Angie'sarmpits, down her breasts and her swirling nipples flung droplets onto the steps.

She sensed his orgasm's approach and her body readied its own reponses. Angie was no longer in control of herself.

Dave could have sworn she was trying to escape his cock, as she bucked and twisted. He clung to her and followed her every squirm and struggle, with his own desperate thrusting.

They came, sobbing, moaning, saying wicked and beautiful things, making no sense at all. Dave seemed to come forever and Angie's pussy clenched and spasmed, suckling him insatiably.

Finally, finally she dropped to her knees on the bottom step, pulling herself off Dave's cock. She hadn't the strength to hold herself up any longer. Dave half knelt, half squatted on the cold concrete, his arms wrapped around her thighs. He sobbed for breath.

Angie rested her head on her forearms, nipples almost touching the step, as her chest heaved and her heart hammered in her ears. Cool air rolled down from upstairs and she could feel the wet trickle down the inside of her left thigh, as her pussy gently wept the mingle of their juices.

"David?"

"Yes."

"Stay with me tonight."

"Forty-plus & Freckled" Part 2

2009-02-17T14:52:00.000-08:00

by Julius
copyright 2004

The house seemed suddenly very empty. God, but she did like the guy. Why was he so young, why hadn’t she just come on to him when he was leaving? Because she’d been terrified of scaring him off, that’s why. But oh! Standing at the sink with him gazing up her skirt, and she knew he’d been gazing up her skirt. That lovely erection plain to see under his coveralls. She’d wanted him so badly then. Damn, damn, damn.

Dave drove off and the rest of his day was spent cleaning the truck, sorting his tools, ordering materials, and doing paperwork. But images of Angie seemed to intrude all the time. Angie stirring her coffee, Angie’s dress tight across her breasts, the view up Angie’s skirt, her hand on his arm when she opened the door for him. She’d really got to him.

Eight o’clock on the dot, the doorbell rang. This man doesn’t lie abed in the morning, Angie thought as she went to the door, still in her bathrobe.

Coveralls again, but they were clean and oh, that wonderful grin. She wondered if he had any idea what that grin did to her.

“I thought I’d unblock the eaves troughs and maybe replace the missing shingles before the sun gets too hot.” he announced.

“Didn’t know any were missing,” she said. “So I can’t offer you breakfast?”

“Noticed ’em yesterday and no thanks to breakfast, but coffee would be fine.”

Angie made the coffee. She climbed the ladder in her bathrobe with his coffee in one hand. She peered over the eaves troughing, there he was up on the ridge, hammer in hand. She called to him. Smiling he got to his feet and walked easily down the roof to her. “Thank you ma’am.”

He squatted above her, sipping. They agreed it was a glorious day. She gazed at the contours of his cotton-covered crotch while he looked down into the gaping terrycloth, at the swells of her breasts.

Angie felt her body heat beginning to notch up. The fucked-up hormonal fifties she wondered, or the hots for this young man? The latter she was sure, she felt her pussy purring.

“Be careful climbing down,” he cautioned, wishing he was on the ladder below her to help. He wondered how she’d feel through the robe. His cock stiffened painfully in his coveralls.

Her decision to wear a bikini was a brave one. Was she too old for bikinis? Would she ever get into it? It was a couple of summers at least since she wiggled and squirmed into it. Why not wear it? Sit in the sun and read while the workman fixed this and that? Drink a cool drink and, and, get herself laid? The last was her real reason she knew. She was unashamedly after this young guy. If he turned her down all she had to do was sulk a little. She picked the bra up off the bed. If he didn’t scratch her itch for her there was always her electric lover. She pulled open the drawer in the bedside table and looked at it and her pussy gave a little clench. Oh Dave! Don’t turn me down.

She got her breasts into the top with only a modest struggle. The cleavage and the freckles looked just fine. She stood in front of the mirror and postured a little. Angie, you look great. Next the bottom piece.Well, she got into that but there was an inch or two more of Angie in the ass department than she remembered. She turned and looked in the mirror. Oh no! It was forever since she'd trimmed her bush and it looked awful, fluffing out on either side. Hell! She glanced at the clock, no time to give herself a haircut. Shrugging she fished her old cut-off denim shorts out of the drawer and wriggled into them. They were indecently brief too, but at least they covered the fur.

She set up the lounger and stretched herself out in the sun. Not too hot yet, she needed to rub suntan lotion on but that could wait. Maybe … yes, maybe Dave would do it for her.

She must have dozed. She woke to find him looking down at her, his shadow across her face. “You’re going to burn if you stay out here too long.”

“What time is?” she asked him, barely awake.

“Midday, maybe ten after twelve.”

“Oh dear, must have slipped away. Would you like some lunch?” she asked.

“I certainly would if that’s okay.”

“Why don’t you have a shower while I make us some food?”

He wished more jobs were like this. Coffee break and lunch and a shower. She’d slept while he worked and he’d looked at her often. She had the loveliest breasts and red hair and good legs. Hard to guess her age. Forties? Fifties? Who cared, she was something else to look at. His cock stiffened and he wished it wouldn’t. He’d love to fuck her but had a feeling she’d tell him to get lost if he made a move. But she was being pretty friendly, and the sunbathing like that had surprised him. His trouble, Dave knew, was his lack of experience.

They ate in the kitchen. French bread, strong cheese and pickled onions. She said it was called a ploughman’s lunch. She got two beers from the fridge. They drank from the bottles, Dave couldn’t remember enjoying a meal so much, not ever.

She pushed her chair back, “Let’s go drink our beer in the sun.”

He looked at her reddened breasts and arms, “If you’re going out in the sun maybe you should put something on, you’re going to be sore tomorrow.”

“I’ll get some lotion.”

Out on the deck she handed him the bottle. “Would you,” she asked, “and you’re right, us redheads do burn easily.”

Poor Dave. He clumsily applied the lotion to her arms but then paused. She cupped her hands under her breasts and lifted them slightly, the message couldn’t be plainer. Dave gulped audibly and squeezed lotion onto his fingertips and touched them to her breast. Her softness was incredible! His cock reared erect inside his coveralls. God she was so soft.

Angie watched his face. His expression delighted her. His surprise at being able to touch her and the look of wonderment as his fingertips caressed her softness. Her delight turned to hunger as his touch made her nipples move in the bra, against the fabric. Her thighs tensed and she closed her eyes. She’d done it, she'd made the first move and she thought that maybe he was hers.

“How does it feel?” she asked him. Her heart seemed to be hammering in her throat.

“Soft, wonderfully soft, like a bird’s feathers,” he blushed furiously.

“What a beautiful thing to say.” Her eyes came up and captured his. The hunger in his eyes was wonderful. She turned over so he could do her shoulders and back.

The shorts were a treat, frayed and patched and faded and ridiculously short. Her ass cheeks peeped out from under the fabric. He loved that ass.

He moved closer, his trapped erection inches from the curves of her buttocks. His cock ached, Dave wanted her very badly. He began applying lotion to her shoulders.

When he’d done her back she took the suntan oil from him and said, “Why don’t you get out of those heavy coveralls for a while?”

Embarrassed he said, “I can’t, I’ve nothing much on underneath, just underwear.”

“Don’t worry none of the neighbors can see us on the deck.”

“No, but you …” he made a helpless gesture with his hands.

“How about I promise not to look?” she feigned surprise that he might think anything else.

He shrugged and slid the long zip all the way down and struggled the coveralls off his shoulders. He glared at her and she turned her back, not letting him see her smile.

When she turned back she gave a little gasp. He wore askimpy pair of black briefs - she’d expected boxers. If he’d had an erection it was gone but the bulge looked pretty impressive anyway.

“You promised not to look,” he said quietly.

“I lied,” she gestured at his crotch, “I’m glad I did.”

She went and got two more beers from the fridge. She handed him one and said, “You look wonderful in those briefs.”

He looked down at her shorts, “You’d look good in the rest of your bikini,” he said, and then added clumsily, “sorry, that‘s not for me to say.”

She sighed, “There’s a bit too much of Angie for bikinis I’m afraid.“

“I don’t think so, you look marvelous in those shorts.”

“Well there’s another small problem,” she paused,wondering how to word it, “it’s a long time since I trimmed my maidenly bush,” she paused again, “I wasn’t expecting to be sunbathing with company, and the curls rather overflow the bikini,” she finished lamely.

To his amazed embarrassment he heard himself say, “I trim lawns.”

She turned and went indoors and returned a minute later. He’d sat down and was drinking his beer. She stood in front of him and handed him a small pair of scissors.

She undid the stud at the waistband of her shorts, “Perhaps you could help, they’re a bit tight.”

He helped her work the shorts off her hips and down her thighs, “Oh yes,” he said quietly, “I see what you mean.”

She looked down, the sun lit the copper curls sprouting from under the bikini panties.

She moved back to her chair and sat down.

Dave got up and stood in front of her. His erection was by now a full-grown thing forming a big ridge up the front of his briefs. It’s head looked about to burrow out into the sunlight from under the waistband. How fast it recovered. Angie thought it the sexiest sight she’d ever seen; well for a long, long time anyway.

It was all she could do to keep from reaching out to touch him. Angie was feeling something she’d not felt in far too long. Arousal, extreme arousal in the presence of a man. Oh Lord, but she wanted him.

He knelt in front of her and she parted her legs and he walked forward a little on his knees. He reached for her waistband and said, “Are you sure about this?”

“As sure as you are,” and she looked down at his erection outlined so obviously in those suddenly brief briefs.

Together they gazed at her crotch. The skimpy panties of her bikini covered her prominent mound but not the profusion of pubic curls that had escaped on either side. She felt suddenly embarrassed but Dave said, “It’s a beautiful colour.”

“I can hardly walk about like this, with my pubic hair on display!” and handed him the scissors.

“Seems such a shame to cut this off,” he said softlyand brushed the backs of his curled fingers over her curls. He combed his fingertips into the hair and drew it out straight. He repeated the action and Angie bit her lip as the hair pulled, oh so gently, on the skin where thigh and mound met. How aroused could she get and not burst?

The trimming took forever it seemed. Dave gathered the hair each time he snipped and slowly formed a fluffy pile below her navel. Time and again his knuckles brushed and caressed the tight yellow fabric over her mound. He seemed to do it by chance but somehow she knew he was teasing her. She was breathing fast through parted lips and trying not to squirm her ass on the chair.

When he was finally done he said, “There, all neat and trim but it still seems a crime.” He gathered thefluffy ball of copper curls off her stomach and held it in his palm, it glistened red-gold, in the sun. An errant breeze rolled it off his hand and it scattered across the deck.

He sat back on his heels and admired his work Reaching out he placed his index fingers at her hips and traced the edges of the bikini slowly down over the tops of her thighs. When his fingers came together where the fabric disappeared between her legs, she squirmed.

They were playing now, teasing and waiting for the sparks to flash into flame. He stood and move a little closer between her thighs. Dave put his fingers on her again this time at the tops of her shoulders; again he followed the edge of the bikini. Trailing a fingertip down onto each breast. How full and soft they were. The swells of them all but spilling from the cups. He let his fingers dive slowly down in the sweat-wet moistness of her cleavage.

Angie’s breasts were always sensitive but by then their arousal seemed to exclude almost everything else. Dave’s fingers on the skin of them was almost more than she could endure.

“I love your freckles,” he whispered. “I’d love to count them.” He ran his fingertips over the softness, seeming fascinated by the hundreds of little brown speckles.

“Your breasts are so soft,” he told her. He marveled at the feel of her. “Like two warm clouds. Have you any idea how lovely they are?”

He slipped his fingers into the top of the left cup of her bra and with the flattened fingers of his other hand he eased her breast out. “Oh my!“ he exclaimed as the nipple popped into sight. Nearer red than pink, it was wonderfully engorged. It seemed to glow in the sunshine. Unable to resist, Dave lowered his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

Angie moaned. Her wickedly sensitive nipples seemed wired directly to her pussy. Her legs tried to close but his were in the way. “Oh yes, do that, don’t ever stop,” she begged him.

Maybe the impossible had happened and his cock had grown. More or more likely it had escaped when he’d stood. But when Angie opened her eyes an inch of beautiful penis was poking above the waistband of his briefs. She reached for him.

Her nipple was in his mouth and her small hand was wrapped around his cock head. A hungry mouth, a trembling hand, she squeezed his cock and she felt his groan with her nipple.

Given the levels of their arousal it was a race for who’d come first. Angie’s free hand slipped down to cup her pussy. Her whole body convulsed as, to her utter surprise, she came. She gripped his cock cruelly robbing him for the moment of his climax.

She sobbed and squirmed and he released her nipple and watched her in awed delight.

Finally Angie came down off her cloud and her eyes opened. “Oh God, I don’t think I’ve ever come so quickly,” she told him.

She still held his erection. Her grip had eased. None of his hardness had gone. “You have a very beautiful cock,” she said very softly and reached for the suntan oil.

Dave watched fascinated as she opened the hand that held his cock and squeezed lotion into it. Then she began to pump him slowly, gently, her eyes on face. It felt so good, so incredibly good, a strong, hard cock in her hand. Her upper arm moved her breast at every stroke, the nipple still glistened with his saliva. The other breast was still cupped in the bikini bra, but only just, the areola’s edge peeped out like a rising sun.

Angie loved his cock and desperately needed it inside her but she thought this eager young man might need a little of his pressure relieving. She tightened her grip on his cock until he gasped. She moved her other hand and then slid it down inside her panties, watching as his eyes followed the move.

He groaned and his hands became fists at his side. Not long sweet Dave, she thought.

“I’m horny too,” she said to him, pleasuring her pussy steadily. She was teasing herself as much to turn him on as to please herself.

“Oh God! Stop, stop, stop,” he begged her, but stop she didn’t and with a sob he bent over and his cock spurted.

“No, no, no, no!” he repeated as if the words could hold him back.

She watched in delight as he came and came over her breasts, over her belly. “Yes, yes, yes, Dave,” and she kept pumping him until he was utterly spent and begging her to stop.

He dropped, trembling, to his knees in front of her.

“Let me clean that up,” he said. He looked guilty somehow, his come all over her body.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, pulling her hand away from her pussy and slowly rubbing his come over herself.

“Here’s you next job,” she said running one finger up and down the front of the panties. Her cleft was clearly defined through the oh-so-tight panties, the fabric showed wet where her finger stroked.

“When?” surprise very obvious in his voice.

“Just as soon as you have your breath back David.”

cont'd ...............

"Forty Plus & Freckled" Part 1

2009-02-11T11:09:00.000-08:00

by Julius
copyright 2004

Romances need two people of course, and a where, and a when. The two people were Angie and Dave. The where was a coffee shop. The when was when they were sat at adjacent tables.

Angie claimed to be a forty plus, in fact she was forty plus eleven. She also possessed a forty plus chest. Both facts frustrated her a little; she wished both figures were in the thirties. But time is time and genes are genes. At five eight she was tall and not really too overweight. Her once naturally red hair was still red but owed much to Clairol’s chemical magic. But she still had her freckles, across her nose and across the tops of her breasts. Angie liked her freckles.

She was a librarian but didn’t look the way librarians are supposed to look. She wore glasses and she worked in a library but aside from those two clues, you’d never have guessed. She dressed female, very; she looked female, very. Married and childless, then widowed, Angie needed a male in her life.

Her doctor was helping her to drag her ass through menopause. A bedside-drawer-full of marital aids kept her from attempting assaults on healthy males. The meno' seemed to be having a rather long pause and the toys weren’t as helpful as she’d have liked.

Dave was sat at the next table to Angie and alternately reading and sipping. He’d be thirty next week. His degree hadn’t won him fame or fortune andright then he was a self-employed odd-job-man. A skill with tools and word of mouth kept the jobs coming and his bank account was well into the black. He was tall; five eleven at last count and slim. A well-trimmed beard balanced his receding hairline.

His single status was a mystery to him. Not a social animal, he wasn’t unfriendly either but somehow he had trouble meeting girls and the ones he met … well, it never seemed to last. The job brought much temptation and hausfraus were a hazard but he’d only fallen victim twice. But, it had been nice. Dave dreamed of what might be and worried that the wait seemed a long one. The day’s last job finished, he was just sitting, miles away, a captive of Stephen King’s storytelling.

The introduction was to be sudden.

Dave pushed his chair back a little and steel leg dragged on tile with an awful little scream. Daydreaming Angie jumped and knocked over her coffee. Her bag of purchases fell to the floor and trickling coffee began spilling onto the floor.

“Damn, damn, damn!” said Angie.

Dave said he was sorry and bent to pick up her bag. Frilly fabric was spilling out and as he lifted the bag to hand it to Angie a lacy pair of panties fell into the spreading pool of coffee. Angie’s annoyance turned to embarrassment as the primrose lace began soaking up the coffee. He picked them up and, grinning, handed them to her. “It’s not funny,” she exclaimed.

“Go rinse them in the washroom and I’ll get us two more coffees.”

She managed to bite back a snappy response. He seemed genuinely sorry and really, it wasn’t his fault. She balled up the coffee soaked panties and headed for the ladies’ restroom.

Dave picked up her shopping bag, placed it on thewindow sill and sat in the seat opposite hers. A waitress mopped up the spill and when she was done, he asked for two more coffees.

"Well, I guess it wasn’t quite the end of the world,” she said, sitting down opposite him.

“I put them safe,” he said, gesturing at the windowsill where her purchases rested.

“One pair of wet panties is enough I guess,” she said and they both laughed.

The coffees arrived and she thanked him. Conversation came easily.

Although neither probably realized it then, they were mutually attracted. She to his youthfulness and he to her maturity. Perhaps each was something of what the other needed.

Dave guessed her to be a bit past forty, which would have pleased Angie enormously. He thought her very attractive. A self-confessed tits man, he loved the way hers filled her blouse. They drew his eyes. It was obvious to Angie, even if Dave thought he was being discreet.

Seeing his eyes flick repeatedly to her cleavage amused and delighted her. She was the proverbial “few extra pounds” overweight but she rather thought her fullness of figure suited her.

Dave loved her red hair and cared not a fig that it might be quite the real thing. “I like freckles,” he said.

Angie glanced down and her hand moved towards her chest, “Well I’m glad about that," she said looking up at him.

“I didn’t mean … ” he stopped and looked at her and blushed. “I’m sorry," he added.

“Don’t be," she said softly and reached out, placing her hand over his.

Surprised, he felt his cock stiffen at her touch.

“So what do you do for a living?” she asked him.

“ A sort of free lance odd job man I suppose.”

“Heavens, just what I need. That house of mine could keep you busy for a year. I don’t suppose you work for free?”

“Not if I want to eat and pay my landlord,” he told her.

“Seriously, it does need a lot of work if I ever expect to sell it.”

“Why are you selling?” He paused, “Sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“That’s okay, I’m just an old widow rattling around in the house like the proverbial pea in a drum.” She looked out of the window. “Time to move on, get an apartment or a small condo.”

“Seems a shame, houses let you do your own thing somehow.” Dave fished in his pocket and produced a creased business card. “If you want me to have a look give me a call, my cell phone number’s on the back.”

He got to his feet and held out a hand. She took it and gave it a squeeze. "I’ll have to think about it."

Dave glanced down into her cleavage and hoped she would. Angie looked up into grey eyes and knew she was going to call him.

She watched him through the window. He gave her a quick wave and a white-toothed grin. Why, she wondered, were all the yummy ones so young?

Angie put Sunday’s leftovers in the microwave and plugged in the kettle. She was tired of eating alone, tired of sleeping alone. She fished Dave’s card from her purse and wondered about all the things that needed doing about the house. I wonder what doesn’t need doing she thought. She’d to make a list after she’d eaten and showered.

She sprawled naked in a plastic lawn chair just inside the French windows, letting the evening sun dry her off. She looked down between her breasts at the shock of copper pubic hair.

Needs trimming, she thought, maybe that should go at the top of the list of ‘to-dos’ for Dave. At that thought there was a sort of muscular squirm somewhere south of her belly button. She moved her feet wide apart and tried to imagine him kneeling there, with a small pair of scissors, trimming her front lawn. She liked the idea.

He’d eyed her breasts a lot. She brought her arms up from her sides, pushing her breasts together. Why couldn’t they behave and sit together on her chest like good titties instead of trying to hide in her armpits? She closed her eyes and cupped her breasts, amazed, as always, at the weight of them. She remembered his words, ‘I like freckles’ and smiled. She did have freckly breasts but Dave would like young, hard pointy ones. Forty-plus is no fun at all, she thought.

She got up and headed for the fridge. A glass of German white would be nice. As she passed the kitchen table her eye fell on Dave’s card. Why not make the list?

When made, it was impressive. Was there such a word as depressive she wondered? She reached for the phone.

“Hi! Mr. Fixit, I can’t come to the ph …,” said his recorded voice.

“Hello!” said his real voice as he interrupted the message.

“Hi, it’s Angie, I’ve come up with a pretty awesome list of what needs doing, would you be interested?”

They talked for a while about the list and what needed attention soonest and what would cost the most, take the longest and so on. In the end he offered to work for four hours on Saturday morning and, if she was satisfied, pay him a eighty dollars. He said he knew she would be. Then, maybe they could talk some more when he had a better idea what was needed.

“Saturday then, bright and early,” he said cheerfully and hung up.

Just like that, she thought. Well it was only eighty bucks and damn, the place needed work if she was to even think of putting it on the market. By Saturday lunchtime she’d know one way or the other.

Dave put down his cell phone and slid back down into the bath. While he knew Angie was a good few years his senior he found her very attractive. He wondered about those apparently big breasts, what would they look like out of captivity? The lacy panties, were they for her? She’d suit yellow he thought. That red hair, he supposed she tinted it but oh, it did go so well with those freckles. Those freckles across those tits! His cock slowly came up for air.

Saturday came slowly round, too slowly for Angie. She was looking forward to Dave’s arrival. Looking forward for all the wrong reasons. Wrong, what was wrong with having a young workman around the house all morning AND looking forward to it?

Stupid woman Angie, she thought. He’s hardly likely to fancy an overweight woman in her early fifties. But what if he did, fancy her? What if he made a pass at her? What if …?

What to wear?

Showered and dressed, make-up on, hair brushed until it shone like spun copper, as the romance novels liked to describe it. She’d chosen a simple yellow cotton dress. On impulse Angie had worn the panties from the coffee shop incident. No breakfast, maybe she could tempt him, a long time since she’d cooked breakfast for a man.

The doorbell chimed and she had to resist the urge to run to the front door.

Dave wore clean blue coveralls and a rather boyish grin, “Not too early I hope?”

“No,” she said, “come on in, coffee’s on.”

They went through to the kitchen and she gestured him to a chair, “There’s my list so far.” He read through it while she poured them coffee.

“Nothing too major there except perhaps the leaking windowsill. I’ll work through the list as far as I can this morning. If you’re satisfied perhaps we can talk about what else is needed and what you’d like fixing. I can give you an estimate or you can pay by the hour.”

He worked quietly and cleanly. Amazing how fast and easy everything seemed to be for him. He’d declined breakfast saying a snack mid-morning would be fine.

“Snack’s ready when you are,” she told him from the kitchen table.

“Fine,” he said, “I’m almost done here. Would you like to turn on the taps and I’ll see if this leak’s fixed.”

He was on his back with his head and arms inside the cupboard under the kitchen sinks. She crossed the kitchen and stood to one side of his legs to turn on the water.

The morning sun on the white of the kitchen floor lit her perfectly. Knees, thighs, everything was visible as he gazed happily up her skirt. He wanted to ask if the panties were the ones from earlier in the week.

“Seems okay, maybe you could put the plugs in and fill the sinks with cold water then I can be sure.” As luck would have it the plugs were in the drawer on the other side of him and she stepped across.

Quite deliberately she remained with her legs astride him while she fumbled with the plugs. She even held the pose while she turned on the water. Then finally she resumed her position beside him. chin in hands watching the sinks fill.

Dave had lain silent through the little interlude as Angie displayed herself. Thighs and crotch and ass, all divided by the yellow panties. His cock lay rigid against his belly under the fabric of his coveralls. This job did have its perks.

Angie stared unseeing and pondered dropping to her knees astride Dave and unzipping him and grabbing his cock.

Dave lay looking up Angie’s legs, crossed now, and imagined her kneeling, opening his coveralls and giving his very erect cock a hearty sucking.

The left sink overflowed and Angie squealed and swung the tap to the other sink and began mopping up the water on the counter-top with a cloth.

Roast beef sandwiches with horse-radish sauce suited breakfast-less Angie very well. Dave claimed they were the best sandwiches he’d ever eaten, and seemed to mean it. They took their tea out onto the sundeck. “I could get used to working here,” he said stretching out his long legs and closing his eyes.

Lunchtime came and at one o’clock Dave declared himself finished. She agreed, he’d worked for well over four hours and better that half the smaller jobs on the list had been done. She gestured around her, “I’m impressed, would you like to do the rest sometime,” she nodded at the list on the table.

“I’d like that. Could I have the run of the house tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow’s Sunday,” she said, surprised.

“I’ve got nothing better to do, but if it’s not convenient … .”

“No, if you’re happy to work on Sunday I’d be delighted. I’ll even feed you if that’s okay.”

He gathered up his tools, not wanting to leave. She watched him, trying to think of some subtle way to stop him going.

cont'd......

"Point of View"

2009-02-09T05:57:00.000-08:00

A 100 word flasher by Julius
copyright 2003

The Jeweller's drew all sorts. This young thing shopping for hoop ear-rings for instance. Skirt short, legs long, lovely he thought.

The mirrored shelf below the glass counter was angled just so. Donna spotted it right away. Barry gazed happily up her skirt and she let him.

"Be back, gotta get some cash"

Returning, cash in hand, panties in purse, she stood, straddle-legged before the counter. "Sweet old guy," she thought.

Barry stared down, she smiled, hearing him gasp.

The death certificate would say heart failure. Donna called it sensory overload, and cried herself to sleep that night.

"Per Ardua"

2009-02-08T11:37:00.000-08:00

My dad was a fitter on Lancasters during WW2. We never met, he and I, but I hope this happened to him .... he deserved it!

"Per Ardua ad Astra" the Royal Air Force motto: 'Through difficulties to the stars.'

"Per Ardua"
by Julius
copyright 2003

Wars do funny things to a society. WW2 was no exception. The early forties saw women flooding into the Royal Air Force. And to the lowly 'erk' these soft creatures in light blue had more impact than mere Junkers and Messerschmitts.

We airmen outnumbered them, so supply never seemed to meet demand. My first sampling of a WAAF was a longtime coming. When it happened it was not as I'd expected ... what ever is?

To keep control of these flighty airwomen, WAAF officers were invented. Like their male counter partsthey were commissioned officers of The King's Air Force and were supposedly ladies and far, far out of reach of a lowly flight mechanic.

September, the sun gone and the light beginning to fade, I was alone at the dispersal. Just finish cowling up 'F' for Freddie's starboard inner and I'd be off, down the village for a pie and a pint. The squadron was stood down. We'd earned it, given recent losses.

I all but fell off the ladder when she spoke, "Airman?"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!"

"No, Flight Officer Smythe."

"Yes ma'am?" says I, struggling to collect my wits.

She was out for a stroll and had wandered along the peri-track to our squadron. I suggested she was lucky not to have been shot by a sentry but she pointed out that they'd not shot me. Waste of time arguing with officers!

She was tall and had a nice voice. She wore a greatcoat. My greatcoat didn't bulge like that. Her blonde hair showed between cap and coat collar. F/O Smythe was quite dishy and quite untouchable.

Untouchable? Seemingly not. She unbuttoned the greatcoat and draped it over Freddie's big main-wheel tyre and then draped herself over the greatcoat. I watched, speechless, as she reached behind her and worked her skirt up the backs of her legs.

"Well?" it was a question and an order. What was an L.A.C. to do? I unbuttoned my pants and prepared to obey.

Her knickers were very white and very frilly and, I guessed, silk. They came down very easily too. She kicked free of them and they fluttered away across the black tarmac.

Her thighs and her arse were very white and very inviting in the soft evening light. She moved her feet apart and arched her back, the message couldn't have been plainer! My cock and I were nineteen years old and the former throbbed fit to explode.

F/O Smythe's nether regions were as soft and warm as her mouth was foul. The things she said, as I slammed at her against the tyre! Lucky Freddie was chocked or we'd have rolled the 'plane off onto the grass.

And she wanted second helpings, wiggling those buttocks and issuing orders. I obliged, God the heat inside her! Her language, her squirming arse! I made it again and she writhed and yowled through hers three heartbeats later.

She let me help her into the greatcoat and off she walked with not a word. My cock and I watched her go.

The following Monday my gunnery course came through.

Six weeks later I was back on the squadron with my Air Gunner's brevet stitched on my jacket.

Twenty-six sorties before a piece of Hitler's flak ended my flying career. Not many arse-end Charlies lasted that long.

As for F/O Smythe, she went through a series of Wing Commanders and Group Captains at Bomber Command HQ. Or rather, they went through her. She snagged an Air Vice Marshall in the end. He got knighted in due course and she got Lady'd.

And F/O Smythe's knickers? I'd found them caught on the barbed wire of the perimeter fence. I tucked them in my flight jacket before every trip, my lucky charm.They'd have seen even more action if they stayed with her!

"Trams"

2009-02-04T14:40:00.000-08:00

This is part three of Veronica and Arthur's story. The tale began with the 100 word flasher "Veronica's Knickers" and continued with "Panties Red, Panties White"

The trams of Blackpool? Said by some, to be the oldest tram system in England and now, the only surviving one. Once more extensive than now, it still follows the sea front from Squire's Gate to Fleetwood, a journey of some 12 miles........ I could wax eloquent about the trams but won't do it here. The story's built on memories of a town I've known for many, many years.

"Trams"

by Julius
copyright 2002

They got off the train and started the walk down the length of the platform. Fingers touched and linked. He glanced at her and squeezed her hand. "Funny how natural that feels."

She agreed silently and smiled back at him. She felt a bubbling joy inside her and forced their hands into an exaggerated swing. Then they both turned to face each other and kissed for the first time. Someone whistled at them in the distance and they broke the kiss, laughing.

She touched the back of her skirt and felt the dampness there. The memory of her arousal, its awful intensity flooded into her mind and she knew it would be back. She glowed with happiness and knew, with a beautiful certainty, that they must end up frantically fucking somewhere, somehow today. How she loved just thinking the 'eff' word. The day was like a beautiful gift; they'd only just started unwrapping it.

They strolled to the ticket barrier, and then parted, heading for the washrooms. He was waiting when she came out.

Next stop was a little coffee shop, just outside the station. They sat in happy silence, "What're you thinking?" she asked.

"About you on the train, about your skirt pulled up and the sun shining on you," he paused, a shy grin on his face, "so beautiful."

She put down her empty cup and said, "Shall we go look at Blackpool?"

"Squire's Gate please," she told the taxi driver, "drop us where the trams turn round." She asked him to drive along the sea-front. From the station the street led downhill to the Promenade and the view out acrossthe Irish Sea. The drive was a string of very English sights, holiday makers, couples and families, people, people of all sorts. Strings of light bulbs seemed to adorn everything. This was the time of the Blackpool Illuminations she explained. The tide was out and the sandy beach seemed to stretch forever to the glisten of the distant sea. Donkeys on the sands, carrying small children, people sitting in deck chairs, the piers jutting out, waiting for the sea. On the side away from the sea endless souvenir shops and restaurants and every conceivable trap for the visitor. "The Golden Mile" she told him. A huge amusement park was next with the biggest roller coaster he'd ever seen, with its racing train and screaming passengers. The entertainments finally gave way to small hotels and houses. She'd kept up an amusing commentary. A frequent visitor as a child, she looked as happy as if she were that child again.

Finally the taxi stopped and they got out. He reached for his wallet but she was paying already, "Today is my treat."

A tram had just left and they wandered over to an ice cream stall. He asked what she'd like but she just said she'd share his, if that was alright.

A tram approached and stopped letting its passenger off. Then it went round the turning loop, flanges squealing, protesting at the tight radius. It was a double-decker with the top deck open. She bought their tickets and led the way upstairs. Suddenly he was aware of her femininity again. Her skirt hem brushed his head and he was treated to the pale flashes of her thighs as she climbed.

She knew where his eyes were looking and was happy with the thought.

They sat at the back, side by side.The view opened up with the few feet gained. Sand dunes and the sea beyond the beach, a small aircraft climbing away from the airport in the distance. The sun was hot but there was a cooling breeze, simple pleasures. He offered her the ice cream and she licked with a pointed pink tongue. Then they kissed vanilla flavoured kisses. The tram set off, back the way they had come. The town of Blackpool now perhaps five miles away. They were alone on the top of the tram. The pickup hissed along the wire above their heads. The breeze fluttered her mane of silvered copper. He noticed the faint freckles across her nose for thefirst time.

She unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse and eased it open. She put her arms along the back of the seat and let her head loll back. "Need to work on the tan," she said by way of explanation.

The swell of her breasts held his gaze, she had a dusting of freckles too across her cleavage. When he raised his eyes he found her smiling at him. He smiled back and said softly, "You're very beautiful."

Ice cream ran over his knuckles and she reached for the cone while he licked his hand. The fast melting ice cream dripped into her cleavage. Did she do it deliberately? Did it matter? "My tongue won't reach," she laughed, with the emphasis on the 'my'. She slipped her hand behind his head and urged him gently down. He licked the ice cream from between her breasts and in an instant he was hard again. She released him and he sat up. She undid another button and now peeled the bra cup down, off her left breast. She was big, bigger than he'd realised. Her nipple was a deep pink with a large pale areola. The nipple had a deep dimple in its centre. She held the ice cream over her breast and angled it slightly, one drip and then another landed on the pink tip of her breast, she gasped as the chill struck her nipple. She took a noisy slurp of the ice cream and wiped the ice cream off with her fingertip. She stuck the finger in her mouth and sucked and smiled at him, eyes half closed. Another drip and another wipe, this time she offered him the finger, he sucked it clean.

She slipped her hand into her bra and, eased her breast out into the sunshine. She lowered the ice cream and smeared her nipple with it, giving a small cry at the cold. She glanced at him and then down at the nipple. He lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth, gently sucking the off the ice cream.

A flash of sweet pleasure seemed to jump from nipple to vagina and she cried out softly. They played like this as the ice cream kept melting. She dripping itonto her breast and nipple, him licking and sucking it off, taking turns to lick the ice cream as the melting became faster. With each suckling her arousal mounted. His cock was rigid now. They had both forgotten their surroundings until a family of four came noisly up the stairs. She quickly covered her breast and they pretended to just sit and look at the sea. The new passengers went to sit at the front but the children kept running up and down the aisle.

They finished the ice cream. The mother at the front finally made the children sit.

He gasped as her hand suddenly slid down over his groin. She felt him through his pants, every bit as big as he'd been on the train. "You too," she said.

"Me too?"

"You're as worked up as I am aren't you?" she persisted.

"I don't know, maybe I am." he said, squirming under her hand.

Veronica knew she'd taken control of their day so far, but she knew she was losing control of herself. It was too many long months since she'd had a man make love to her and now, here she was, half undressed under her clothes with her hand on a man's cock. She bit her bottom lip and clamped her thighs together. She took his hand and spreading her knees guided it up under her skirt. "Touch me, make love to me with your fingers. Please!"

He gasped at the heat of her. She was so wet, it was like dipping his fingers into melted butter.

She moaned softly as his finger tips played in the top of her cleft. He dipped a finger down and hooking it, gently slid it into her and then brought it, teasing, upwards, bringing her slick honey with it. He let himself be guided by her movements, her sighs and the little sobs in her throat. He wanted to take this slowly, gently for her, but she was beyond slow, beyond gentle. She was fast losing a battle with herself and clamped both her hands over his ... squeezing them into her crotch, thrusting up against the pressure of the three hands and, just like that, she came. No apparent build up, just a few frantic thrusts of her hips and she came. Sobbing and struggling, writhing and bucking as the orgasm raced and pulsed through her.

This had been coming since the moment he'd handed her those panties yesterday! Her struggles, their intensity were almost frightening. She sobbed and rolled her head from side to side. She seemed to go from orgasm to orgasm or was it one endless climax? Finally she subsided and began to relax. She smiled at him, shyly. "Oh God! I'm sorry. I really lost it."

She took her hands off his and put her arms round him and began to cry gently. He kept his hand cupped over her mound, she was soaked. He put his other arm around her and held her and let her cry.

She sniffled in his ear, sending shivers through his neck and shoulder. "God!" she whispered, "it seems an eternity since a man did that, made me come."

"I think I know what you mean," he told her. The other passengers were getting off. He slid his hand slowly out from under her skirt. The children giggled and he guessed they were giggling about the old couple necking on the back seat, but then they were gone and the tram jerked back into motion. He rubbed thumb across fingertips marvelling at the slipperiness of her juices. He wanted to lick his fingertips, to taste her but wondered how she'd react. His cock throbbed in his pants.

Did she sense his need? "You poor thing!" he heard her say and the next moment she was un-zipping him, pulling his eager erection out. He gazed down,watching her small hand pumping him, slowly up and down. With her free hand she passed him her handbag, "There's some hand cream in there somewhere, find it for me."

After some searching he found it. 'Not easy while her hand makes love to your cock,' he thought happily to himself. She released him for a moment and held outher hand, palm up. He fumbled the cap open and squeezed some cream into her hand. She wrapped her fingers around him again. She smiled at his gasp as the the chill of the cream hit his cock.

Other trams had passed them, going the other way but were all single deckers or empty on the top deck. It seemed the world had made this day for lovers. Apart from the family there'd been no one to see them.

She gripped him tightly and slowly pulled on his cock until it started to slide out through her fingers and she gripped him tighter still until it actually began to hurt. When its head was in her fingers she released him. "Isn't he beautiful?" she said, half to herself.

She took his penis again and repeated the tight gripped pull. A bead of precum oozed from the slit and slid down to meet her rising hand. This time as soon as his cock head was in her grasp she began to slide her hand down. Her tight grip was an exquisite mix of pleasure and near pain. He squirmed on the seat, wanting, needing more.

She continued this wonderful teasing. Slow and steady until, with sweet inevitability, his body took over and he knew he must come soon. She sensed it too and stilled her hand. She bent and licked across the tip of his cock, he all but cried out as her wet tongue teased across that tenderest skin. The sight of her head in his lap, her hand gripping his cock, her tongue lapping its head. He groaned in sweet torment.

Her arousal was building steadily again but she waited patiently for him to draw back from the brink. The realisation of what she was doing struck her. Nobody could see them but ... she was a widow of forty-three sucking a man's cock in public. Her hand and mouth were doing wicked and wonderful things to that cock! She was come-wet and pantyless and in dire need of fucking! She almost burst out laughing in that moment but that beautiful cock was moving between her lips. She plunged her mouth down on it hungrily. It was her cock now and she loved it!

With hand and tongue and lips she brought him helplessly back to the edge and over it. He cried out as the scalding first rush escaped along his cock and into her mouth. She swallowed greedily, raised her head and then bobbed down again meeting the next thrust, the next gush. His legs were rigid, his ass up off the seat, his back straight, head back as he emptied, shuddering and bucking. He fought for breath and kept saying "Oh yes, oh God yes!" over and over.

She'd come too, her free left hand had gone burrowing up between her thighs, under her skirt, in search of herself and her knowing fingers had brought her off amoment after his first thrust. Her vagina clenching in exquisite time with the spasming cock in her mouth.

The tram stopped and feet clattered on the stair. He managed to zip himself without injury and Veronica smoothed her skirt. She looked at him and slowly licked first her top lip and then her lower. He watched her tongue, knowing it was tasting him, knowing what she was thinking. She said, very quietly, "I've never taken anybody all the way like that. Never, ..." she paused, coughed gently, "never actually ... " She put a hand over her mouth, blushing. She wanted to tell him she'd loved it, loved feeling him gushing into her mouth, the taste of him but couldn't find the words and she looked out over the sands to the sea, desperately embarrassed.

He put a finger tip under her chin and turned her face towards him. He kissed her lips, tasting himself, tasting what she was tasting. "Would you let me do the same to you?" he asked her.

She nodded vigorously. Guessing he'd said it perhaps to reassure her but wishing he would do it, right now. She was falling for this man, this Arthur, this gentle man called Arthur.

At each stop more people got on until almost everyseat upstairs was filled. The tram passed The Tower, Blackpool's famous landmark, heading ever northward along the seafront. Their passion spent for now, they simply sat close, as lovers sit. They held hands, they talked and laughed. He kissed her, and she kissed him back. They were measuring each other. She telling anecdotes from her life, he from his. They were different enough to be fun but seemed somehow to fit together so very well.

"Not long now," she said, "I need a pee desperately."

He laughed, "Me too," and he wished she'd not reminded him of his need but pleased by this new silly little intimacy. 'What a difference a day makes,' he thought,wondering where the phrase came from.

She surprised herself by saying, "Makes me horny sometimes." She blushed then, feeling the heat in her face but she looked at him and realised for the first time that she could tell this man anything.

"I'll try to remember," he said, smiling.

The tram arrived at the terminus in Fleetwood and they got off. The back of her skirt was soaked with her juices. The breeze chilled the wetness at the tops of her legs adding to her need. She waited to cross the road fidgeting like a little girl. She was sure everybody was staring at her botoms, seeing the wet patch. 'But you people don't know why I'm wet,' she thought happily. They went into a hotel that overlooked the waterfront. She squeezed his hand and gestured at the 'Ladies' sign and said she'd be back.

She emerged from the stall feeling a lot better. She got her breasts comfy in her bra. It seemed a little tighter somehow, she smiled at the thought. She worked her skirt around back to front and stood in front of the hand drier and let the hot air dry the fabric hoping it wouldn't show a stain.

The hotel's restaurant was open to the public and they found a table by a window. The waitress brought menus.

They lingered over the meal, chatting, swapping small intimacies, learning each other. She'd kicked off a shoe and kept caressing his calf with her foot. Once she'd leaned back and slid that foot up between his thighs, wiggling her toes in his crotch.

Dessert, then coffee, then refills, just enjoying each other and waiting, unconsciously, for the fires to rekindle.

Finally it was she who asked the question for them both, "What would you like to do now?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly," she'd said softly, praying he'd give her answer she wanted to hear.

"Take you to bed, right now," he'd smiled, answering her prayer.

"Your place or mine?"

"Oh definitely yours. I've seen your laundry remember and I've often wondered about the wearer."

So they'd left the hotel, found a taxi and they were homeward bound after the sweetest day he could remember, with the best still to come.

It was early to be leaving the seaside and there weren't many passengers. As the train started moving she got up and headed for the toilet. She locked the door and just stood and looked in the mirror and smiled at herself. She ran her hands over her breasts, she'd no doubt her nipples were still sticky from ice cream.

Veronica had never gone without panties before, how strange and bare she felt. She remembered those wonderful orgasms. Leaning against the sink, checking her face in the mirror, she realised she'd done the unthinkable, she'd left her handbag on the seat. The train rattled over a crossing and her mound pressed hard against the edge of the vanity. She thought of his hand cupped there, holding her, exploring her. She remembered his rigid cock in her hand, remembered it exploding in her mouth and suddenly she wanted him, wanted him inside her.

She opened the door and peered out. She caught his eye and asked him to bring her bag. He brought it. She held the door open, "Come inside a minute."

She turned and faced the mirror again and leaned her hands on the vainty. "Be a darling and lift my skirt up at the back and make love to me."

He moved behind her and took the hem of her skirt, raised it and tucked it into the waistband. "Oh my!" he said very softly. Her bottom was beautiful, her skin flawless. The stockings, with their dark tops, and the garters down the side of her legs made her beauty very sexy. He un-zipped his pants and eased out his hardening cock.

She lowered herself onto her elbows and stuck her bottom up and out, inviting him. His cock was erect now and he was somehow thankfully surprised at at this response. He bent his cock down and eased it between her legs. She was wet already. She reached down between her legs to guide him. With a gentle push he was inside her. He thrust slowly deeper, filling her. 'Oh the heat of her!'

In and into her tightness, in until his thigh tops pressed against the softness of her buttocks.

She had him! That beautiful cock was inside her! Filling her, expanding her. The cock of a man she was losing her heart to. She squirmed her bottom back against him, moving that beautiful, beautiful cock inside her. A scream was forming in her throat.

He looked down at the cleft of her buttocks. He could see the base of his cock when he withdrew. She suddenly brought herself upright and squirmed away off him.

She turned round and she began unbuttoning her blouse, fingers clumsy with her excitement. Then, reaching behind her she struggled with the hooks of her bra.

He stood restless and fidgeting like a boy. His cockjutted out and up, showing no sign of softening. He couldn't understand this cruel delay; he wanted her so badly.

"I want you to see me, to see all of me while you fuck me," she told him by way of explanation. Then clothing seemed to rain down as she unhooked her skirt and shrugged out of blouse and bra. Just the garterbelt and stockings remained to make her hips and legs look perfect. He had a sudden urge to drop to his knees and bury his face in her. He wanted to worship her!

She was beautiful, wide hipped and heavy breasted. Those breasts jiggled and bounced delightfully as she wriggled her bottom up onto the vanity. He was suddenly glad she had paused to show herself to him. She leaned back against the mirror and opened her knees wide. For the second time that day her pussy peeled open in welcome.

She followed his gaze. Her pussy fur looked tangledand wet, 'Had there been a moment,' she wondered, 'when she'd not been wet today.' A silly thought popped into her mind, 'maybe I should have combed it.'

He moved towards her. He had to, that pussy and his cock needed to get together and soon, they knew it and their silly owners ought to know it too!

She was at the perfect height and his cock simply slid into her. She raised her knees and hooked her ankles together behind him, below his ass. She drew him into her. He thrust in answer. His hands reached behind her o hold her ass and they were still for a short eternity with him buried deep, deep inside her.

The train's motion, as it swayed at speed, made him move gently within her. Still he made no move to start thrusting. They both seemed to have a need to capture this moment. She reached down and caught his wrists and guided his hands up to her breasts. He caressed them, they were more than handfuls, they were beautiful he thought. He felt her looking at him and raised his eyes. Almost silently she breathed the words, "Now, do it, fuck me."

The words surprised him, galvanised him. He withdrew until just the head of his cock was inside her then thrust back slowly, full stroke, into her. She sighed out a long breathed "Yesss!"

And fuck her he did. Really they fucked each other. A raw hunger that was animal in its passion. They needed each other and each was the other's means of satisfaction. Love had come and would come later but this was just beautiful, pure, driving lust. The motion of the train and his struggle towards release were beautiful rhythms for them both. Her aching, straining thighs and calves trying to pull him in further, harder. They were silent save for their breathing. Well, almost silent, she whispered and hissed demands and needs into his ear. Begging for 'harder' and 'more', telling him 'yes!' a thousand times. He fought to come and his struggle brought them to the edge and over. She breathed a sweet, long 'yesssss' she orgasmed first. A dozen heartbeats later hecame too and felt the clenching of her vagina as it milked him.

They clung together, sweat-slick and crazily happy. Hearts hammering, lungs striving for air. He croaked, "That was wonderful."

She answered in a husky whisper. "Oh but I needed that, needed you."

She put her clothes on the toilet seat and sat, elbows on knees crying quietly with happiness and fulfilment, her head shrouded in the grey and copper of her hair. He leaned against the door, his cock limp and leaking its last drops into his leg hair.

She wanted to be in bed with him now, cuddled and safe. "Take me home Arthur. Will you stay with me tonight?"

He reached out and touched her hair, "Just tonight?"

"Panties Red, Panties White"

2009-01-30T13:06:00.000-08:00

Well folks, this follows as a natural sequel to my flasher called "Veronica's Knickers." It's set, as becomes obvious, in England. I've let the English wording stay mostly in much the way I'd speak it. I refuse though, to use "arse" when "ass" is, to me, such a pretty word ... my 'native' Nova Scotian lady seems to have taught me to say it quite well.

These two people are almost real to me now and writing the tale was quite a labour of love. So please enjoy their mutual discovery.

"Panties Red, Panties White"

by Julius
copyright 2002

The panties on his back lawn weren't wind blown this time, they had half a dozen clothes pegs clipped to them.

What choice did he have? He took them, dew-wet and delightful, round to her door.

From that moment it seemed that the control of his day passed to her.

She answered the door almost before his finger left the bell push. She looked beautiful he thought. Her hair, as much grey as copper, was almost to her shoulders. Her smile was radiant. She appeared dressed and ready to leave for somewhere.

"Thought I'd go out for the day," she said, as if reading his thoughts, "please say you'll spend it with me."

"Well I ..." he began, taken by surprise.

"Come as you are." She chuckled. "Let it be my treat, I rang for a taxi the moment you left your house. It should be here in a minute or two."

Twenty minutes later they were on a station platform, just like that. She was quite something he thought. Tall, almost as tall as he. She was too big by the standards of the day. The wide shoulders of a girl who'd swum a lot; the kind of figure he'd loved on film stars of a generation ago. She was a picture in the warm autumn sunshine. A white cotton blouse with short sleeves that left her freckled arms bare. Her blue skirt flared from hips to her knees. A broad leather belt, buckled and studded. She wore hose, he'd noticed in the taxi, he liked that. White shoes with just little heels. She carried a too-big handbag over her shoulder. Arthur was very proud to be the man stood next to her.

Veronica had shamelessly planned this. His appearance yesterday, panties in hand, had made her realise how attractive her neighbour was. She was lonely, mentally and physically and Arthur's (what a wickedlyold-fashioned name it was) presence in her kitchen had started throwing switches in her mind. The phrase "a day at the seaside" had popped into her thoughts and that was exactly what she'd decided on. A day at the seaside with Arthur, perfect.

Her liking for him had spiralled upwards from the moment they'd met. She sensed a gentleman, a gentleman. She'd buried one of the other sort last year. A tearless, almost happy day for her. Arthur was perhaps an inch taller than she. Bespectacled. Not much overweight, certainly no paunch. He carried his yearswell. More hair on top lip and chin than on his head, not all of it grey. She loved beards and hated hair-pieces. He was soft spoken and when he laughed, his eyes joined in.

She'd not slept well that night. At three in the morning the panties had fluttered into his garden and she'd thought a lot about what to do on the morrow.

The train arrived. She grabbed his hand and said, in little girl fashion, "Off to the seaside."

Her mood was infectious, he helped her in and then climbed aboard. The train seemed almost empty. She led the way through one coach after another, to the back of the train. They had the whole coach to themselves. She sat in the seat facing the front of the train and he took the seat facing her. The seats were singles on their side of the aisle with paired seats on the other side. She kicked off her shoes and rested her feet on his seat cushion between his thigh and the coach side. He felt her wiggle her toes, it was oddly intimate, he liked having her touch him. The train jolted and they were off. "This," she said, "is a very civilised way to travel." She smiled at him. A full lipped, dimpling smile that made him want to kiss her mouth.

Fifteen minutes later they were stopped in the countryside. A crackly announcement over the PA toldof problems with signalling and a short delay. The delay didn't seem to matter. A girl appeared pushing a snack trolley and they bought cheese and onion crisps and two tall, very cold, cans of lager. "I never drink before midday except when out with strange men," she told him in a serious tone.

The time slipped by, the cans emptied and they talked. Music and books, movies and food and they found that they had much in common. So much in fact that it all seemed a little uncanny. They spoke a little about their unhappy and empty marriages but seemed, by common consent, to be happy to skip the grey side of their lives.

The train jolted and began to accelerate.

He suggested a second beer and she happily agreed. He set off for the restaurant car. She leaned to watch him walk away down the aisle. She thought him perfect and wondered if this might work out. She was lonely, her bed was too big, the nights too long. He had a nice ass too and moved with grace. Just the one can had given life a pleasant buzz. This day could go on forever she decided.

When he appeared again at the far end of the coach her heart seemed to speed up and she realised with a shock how happy the sight of him made her. He grinned at her as he approached, a boyish grin that suited him. He popped one can and handed it to her. She declined the paper cup. She realised that she was just a little bit drunk. He opened his beer. They touched cans and he said, "To us and the day."

"Us and the day," she echoed, taking too long with the 'ess' of 'us' and giggling.

They sipped in silence for a while, watching the countryside race past. He sighed and sat forward with his elbows on his knees and looked up into her eyes. "I'm happy for the first time in a long time. This was a wonderful idea."

She felt her throat constrict. Her stomach seemed to flutter. That glow, so long missed, seemed to light between her legs. She knew then that she wanted him, wanted him very badly. A little bit of control snapped, it felt like shackles coming off. She wanted to laugh. Or did she want to cry? She wanted him to kiss her, touch her. He was so nice! A voice somewhere in her head said this man needed a nudge.

Then she heard a voice, hers, say aloud, "I'll show you mine if you show me yours," and she giggled and handed him her can, then dropped her hands to her skirt.

Watching the hem of her skirt creep up was a sweet delight. She did it slowly, casting the occasional glance down the aisleway. The edge of the material moved upwards slowly. Her hose gave her legs an almost metallic glint in the bright sunshine that streamed in through the window. It seemed inevitable that someone would come, would oblige her to lower the skirt again. It reached mid thigh and to his delight darker fabric appeared. 'Let her be wearing stockings!' he prayed. Arthur was a stocking man. He shifted uncomfortably as his cock began to swell. Higher went the hem. She glanced down the aisle again, then at him. She smiled and walked her fingers down to the the hem and moved the skirt up again. Yes! A garter tip appeared on her left thigh, then on her right. A strip of skin, so white after the dark of the stocking top. Then a strip on the other thigh. The pain from his trapped cock was bothering him but he could hardly reach into his pants and ease things.

As more and more of her thighs showed he wondered if her legs went on for ever. She froze for a moment and he was terrified that the show was over. Somebody had moved into the coach or she was teasing him. Up went the skirt a little more, then a deeper shadow betweenher thighs, then a glint of white. She must have seen his expression change and realised he could see her panties.

"Recognise them?" she asked, her voice sounding deeper,"These are the ones you brought me yesterday."

He swallowed, his mouth was dry. The skirt moved again. More and more of the triangle of her panties appeared. The swell of her mound showed now and in the bright light a few errant, dark copper curls glistened. She let her knees fall slowly open, thigh skin peeling deliciously apart. He could feel his heart bumping in his throat as thighs, panties and skirt framed a small square of sweet, dark shadow. A cave that begged for exploration. Its roof was the narrowing, disappearing undercurve of her panties.

He squirmed in his seat. He saw her eyes flick to his groin. He knew she knew of his discomfort. Discomfort! God! How he needed to straighten and ease his poor cock.

She pulled her skirt down again. He almost protested. She smiled softly at him. "Your turn. Now you show me yours."

She propped an elbow on the armrest. "It's OK. I can see all the way down the aisle, lots of warning." She crossed her legs, calf on knee, the lifted foot moving slightly with the motion of the train. He let his eyes slide down the back of a nyloned thigh. It widened to the swell of her buttock and the merest white hint of those panties again. Did this woman have any idea what this was doing to him? Oh yes, she knew, one look into those eyes told him she did.

"Well?" she said. Just an edge of firmness to the word.

He stood slowly, very aware of the press and hurt of his erection against the front of his pants. He was very aware too of how that erection must show. He knew this would have been beyond him without the effect of the beer. She split her eye-time between the aisle and his crotch. Her tongue slid out and slowly licked her upper lip. It glistened and the gesture was oddly suggestive. He found himself unbuckling his belt.

To his great surprise he suddenly wanted to do it. This woman had bewitched him! He was about to drop his pants on a train, in front of a woman he'd not spoken to before yesterday. He undid the hook, caught the tag of the zip and slid it slowly down. He held his pants open and lowered them slightly.

She fought back a cry of delight. She needed a cock so badly and here was one just a couple of feet away. In full working order too, leaking splendidly and wetting the dark blue cotton with a beautiful round, dark patch. She felt a desperate urge to reach out and ease it free, to let it lie up his belly. She almost had to sit on her hands.

He groaned and reached inside the waistband and did the job for her. Oh but he was big. And it was so proud, a wonderful thick ridge pointing upwards and almost burrowing out from under that waistband. She knew her breathing had speeded up. She wanted to touch him, to feel that beautiful ridge with fingers, with lips. She'd not known a need like this for so long. It was almost a pain.

A small, fresh patch of wetness had begun to form at the new place where his cockhead rested. The door at the end of the coach slid open. She saw it, he heard it. He sat down suddenly, bouncing on the cushion. He frantically zipped up and they found themselves both laughing.

The ticket inspector looked down at them and said "Tickets Please." She produced them from her bag and he checked them. "We're making good time now, shouldn't be more than a half hour late."

They drank the last of their now warm and flat beer. She looked at him, "This stuff always makes me silly."

"I'm very glad it did, you looked very beautiful." he said softly.

"You looked rather splendid yourself." She told him. He blushed and she realised she could easily come to love this man.

She knew that she'd started something with her little display and wondered if she should follow her train of thought any further. Then she wondered if she could resist. Her head felt light and there seemed to be a giggle in her throat all the time.

Then she was on her feet. She leaned towards him and reached her hands up under the back of her skirt and wiggled and peeled her panties down off her ass, down her thighs. God! The sensation as they peeled away from her pussy, down between her upper thighs! She slid them down her legs and stepped out of them, first one foot then the other. She felt the chill of the air between her legs and realised just how wet she was.

She dropped them in his lap and said, "There, my panties, now give me yours."

She knew he'd blush, and he did. He picked up the panties and she watched him handle them. He stared at them. She wondered if he saw how wet they were, if he realised that it was because he was with her. He balled them up and slipped them in his pocket. "OK, but I'm not taking off my trousers out here."

He went into the toilet that was in the vestibule at their end of the coach.

He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. What a wonderful woman she was, what a wonderful day. He slipped her panties out of his pocket. They were very wet at the crotch. He pressed them to his nose and mouth enjoying the scent of her, a heady mix of perfume and her essence. They were still warm from her body. He realised she'd worn these panties outside her garters, she must have done it so they would come off easily. Was he shocked or flattered? Both, but he was too aroused, too happy to care. She'd done it for him.

She was teasing him he knew but teasing herself as well. Taking them both down a road that he wanted desperately to follow. He wondered what her breasts were like. He'd glimpsed inside her blouse when she'd bent to take off her panties. A crowded bra, a deep, beckoning cleavage ... she was lovely!

He put her panties back in his pocket and unfastened his pants.

She waited impatiently for him. She pulled her skirt up round her waist and revelled in the sun's warmth on her legs. She glanced down the aisle and spread her thighs, opening herself to the sun. God, she wanted this man. She could feel her heart's pulse in every part of her body. She ached for him. She was almost frightened by the intensity.

She heard the door lock rattle and covered herself. He came out of the toilet and handed her his briefs. She felt a crazy desire to jam them up between her legs. She took his hand and looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Why?"

"The way I'm behaving. I'm afraid I'll frighten you off," she told him, suddenly aware that tears were close.

He squeezed her hand and smiled down at her, "You couldn't get rid of me now if you tried. I've never had so much fun, never met anyone like you." He paused, "I'm only afraid this might be a dream."

Veronica's next move didn't really surprise either of them. She simply pulled her skirt up. He just stood and stared.

"It's rude to stare," she said quietly.

"It's rude to hike your skirt up on a train," he said in a rather shaky voice.

"I don't care." she said and opened her legs wide, hooking one over the arm of the seat, dangling her foot in the aisle. She looked wickedly exquisite. A strip of hair stretched up almost to her navel. He found the thought of her shaving herself oddly sad and realised how much he'd like to do it for her. The hair she'd left was long and curled and shone like polished copper in the sun. Her vagina was open, a sweet puzzle in a dozen shades of pink. It glistened with her wetness. His erection fought for its freedom in his pants. She silently begged him to drop to his knees and do something about the chaos that was surging inside her.

Instead he sank onto his seat and breathed out thewords, "God but you're beautiful!"

'Beautifully horny,' she thought. She moved her leg and lowered her foot to the floor. She dropped hers kirt back over her thighs and realised she was trembling. She'd needed him so very badly at that moment and was a little angry at her weakness. She took a deep breath and said softly, "Now, show me yours."

To her surprise he stood and slid his zipper down. She'd expected him to protest. He opened his pants and his cock was suddenly out for her to see. It was beautiful, every bit as big as it had seemed in his briefs. She heard herself say, "May I touch it?"

He stepped closer and she reached out and ran the tip of her finger down the underside, all the way from the tip to his balls. He gasped at the moment of her first touch. He shuddered, "Do be careful."

"He's not fragile is he?" she laughed.

"No, but I'm afraid I might, might ..., well might come if you touch me too much!"

She sighed, "How can I not touch him? He's so beautiful."

A bead of precum had appeared from the little slit and it glistened beautifully in the bright light. She touched her finger tip to it and drew it away. A gossamer thread connected finger to cock, a tiny bead half way along it, like a jewel. She thought her heart would burst. The strand stretched, thinner and thinner and then broke. She felt the tiniest chill at her wrist as it touched her. She put her finger to her lips, her tongue flicked out, quick and pink. She was tasting him! He groaned. His cock drooled.

She sat upright and leaned forward. She took the tip of his cock between her lips, a tiny, sucking kiss. She prayed he wouldn't come, she prayed he would.

He was in an agony of wanting. He looked down. Her eyes, open wide, peered up at him, the whites large. Her lips forming that beautiful kiss. The veins stood out on his cock, its skin so tight. His balls squirmed in their sac, he was a heartbeat from coming. She took her mouth away. His body went rigid. Another thread hung between his cock and her still pursed lips.

He breathed out the words, "I want you!" His knees failed him and he sat down heavily, his cock jutting from his open fly.

She stared at it and said, "I want you too."

She thought of getting up and straddling him, dropping herself onto him. Knew she had to. Her vagina was a silent, needing scream.

She didn't get the chance. The train started slowing, the PA announced that they were arriving at Blackpool and asked that they take their personal belongings with them.

The mood broke, they said nothing for a moment. She glanced down and giggled, "We'd better take him with us."

(cont'd)

*** *** *** *** *** **

Blackpool is a famous seaside town, north west of Manchester, where their journey starts from. My lady wonders if 'mature' people would behave thus on a train. Well, a railway carriage or coach is nearly 65 feet long, nearly twice the length of our house. At the end of a train in an empty coach he/she'd have plenty of time from the end door opening to make themselves "proper" before anyone would reach them. .... And these are two pretty horny folk I'd say.

"Veronica's Knickers"

2009-01-30T12:48:00.000-08:00

a 100 word flasher by Julius
copyright 2002

This was "just a flasher" but I felt compelled to carry on with the story. So; I wrote two more full length parts with these characters. They will follow. Being a blog, the parts end up in a sort of reverse order.

The white panties had blown from Veronica's laundry line. He took them next door, knocked and asked, "Yours?"

She was an exquisite forty something widow, he a divorcee of fifty three.

She smiled, took the panties and offered him coffee.

The kitchen table was glass topped, her housecoat casually worn. He longed for what he saw and she saw in him what she needed.

Never a bed-on-first-date lady, she escorted him to the door fifteen minutes later. Neither wanted the parting, neither quite knew how to prevent it.

Briefer, red panties were on his lawn next morning.

"Daisy, Daisy, You Look Sweet"

2009-01-20T09:39:00.000-08:00

a 100 word flasher
by Julius
copyright 2002

Reincarnation happens!

He remembers those long ago words: "I'd like to come back as a girl's bicycle saddle."

Now he is one. Today is their first ride. Her skirt betwixt him and her until the traffic light. Then a flicked hem brings them together. Her squirming weight is on him, the soft slip-slide of her thighs. Her warmth, she is so softly, silky warm!

At the next light she straddles him, both feet down, her dampening panties brushing him as she rolls the bike, backwards and forwards, moistening his vinyl, enjoying him.

At seventy-five there are worse fates!