Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Girl walks into a bar

I was at one my favorite D.C. watering holes recently, wearing a skirt that just kept riding up on my thighs and a jacket cut specifically to hide my firearm. A man sidles up, sits next to me and starts talking. He's short -- maybe my height -- with tight curly gray hair and a receding hairline. A big open face with black bushy eyebrows. An off-the-rack suit. He's in town on business: A lawyer for an auto-parts maker in Akron.

So we talk. Back in Akron he's got two kids who hate him and a wife who doesn't understand him. They haven't had sex in a year and she only likes the missionary position. People will tell you the damnedest things when they're drunk, needy and want to get laid. Did I tell you that I was wearing sheer black stockings and garters? I like the feel. They make me feel sexy, the lace against my skin, the open space between stockings and panties, the feeling of ever-present naughtiness.

What do you do, he asks? I usually give my standard, "I work for the government," and let people think I'm a secretary at the Agriculture Department...whatever. This time I say, "I'm a dancer." I watch his eyes. I add, "I strip."

His eyes grow wide. "Do you like it?" He gulps his drink. "It's okay," I say.

I have this overriding whimsy to follow up and say, "I fuck for money." I am feeling edgy and horny and ready to get into trouble. He senses it. I wonder what he looks like naked. Short and squat with a paunch and a too-hairy chest and skinny middle-aged-man legs. He turns red and I look down to see his cock bulging down the left leg of his trousers. This one's hung: It looks about nine inches but not thick; all the same circumference as it runs down his leg, not tapering or flaring toward the head.

I want to say, "I fuck for money" and see what he says. He'll ask if I'm a cop and I'll say no, which is technically true, I am not local law enforcement. When he asks about money, I'll say a thousand for an hour, and we'll go back to his hotel room where he's living out of a battered Midwestern suitcase, and I'll see how much of that long dick he can get inside me. I'll do everything his boring little fat wife won't do. These thoughts have be drenched down below. I can smell myself. I know he can, too.

Unfortunately, I can quote the statutes I'll be breaking, so after awhile I finish my drink and leave. Back home, I slowly strip down to everything but my stockings, lie in bed with only the city lights flowing into the room. I come the second I touch my clit. Later, I think: Maybe he was a cop. Wouldn't that have been a hoot...until I was fired.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

And now, his punishment...

As you and I could have predicted, the Lieutenant came back. As we sat on my sofa he confessed that he had a girlfriend. This was no big surprise. He almost fell over when I asked him if she wanted to join us. No, sweet young Amber (her name) doesn't know about me. He wants to keep me stashed. Not that I necessarily mind being stashed under the right circumstances. Hell, just tell me. Don't slink away for days.

I made him lick my pussy for about an hour as penance and then go away without getting off himself. I asked him if he had just fucked her and if her pussy juice was still on his cock and pubic hair -- again, shock! If that had been the case, I would have sucked him off. Much to teach this nice young man. Yes, I was in bitch mode. I'll play with him more later. In the meantime, I had a nice orgasm as I clutched his close-cropped head and ground my pussy into his face. He got into it and is learning to be a fine cunning linguist. Semper Fi.

Then, the other Amber -- my sister. I just let it lie after the first phone call. Told her they needed counseling. She should kick him out if she wants. But she's also hysterically anti-sex, so I don't know what to make of her "rape" statement. Now don't flame me over that -- I take the real charge very seriously and would cut off the testicles of any guy who tried it on me (and have a nice little combat knife to do it). But she started backtracking when I questioned her about it, and it sounds as if this wasn't rape. Fact: Amber and Justin are simply a bad match. He wants sex. She doesn't. Lord, I am glad to be living on the other side of the country.

Wendy is acting weird any time I see her. I know deep down she had fun, though.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Complications

I wish I could give you boys (and curious girls) a porno style ending to the Wendy saga, but real life doesn't work out that way.

After I brought her off, we went in my bedroom and I held her. She really seemed to love that. It's something many men just can't bring themselves to do. At some point, I took her hand and placed it on my breast while I kissed her. Then I put her hand down between my legs. My pussy was sopping wet, and she started to gently finger me while we kissed. I was shaking with arousal, stroking her hair, trying to ease her head in the direction of my crotch.

Suddenly, she jumps up and runs to the bathroom, barely shutting the door. I hear her throwing up, then the flushing of the toilet. We'd each had about one bottle of red wine between us. When she came back out, she looked green around the gills and staggered out to the living room. By the time I got there, she was dressing.

"I just can't, Linda," she said. "It's just not me. We can't ever do this again."

"Okay." I felt pussy juice running down my thigh. In a few minutes, the door closed and Wendy was gone. Another lover who will deny something ever happened between us. Sigh...I loved bringing her off and giving her some sensual lovemaking. She seemed like she needed it. I went back to bed, used my imagination and got myself off. Definitely not as much fun when you're flying solo. But I had Wendy's wonderful scent still on my face.

The next morning my headache was added to by a call from my sister, Amber.

"Justin raped me last night," she said. I wanted to say, How long has it been since you've fucked your husband? But I didn't. I just responded sympathetically and waited.

"He made me do things," Amber said. "He sodomized me!"

My headache was going away in a hurry. There's always been a bit of the voyeur in me. Did he fuck her in the ass or just make her suck him off -- with Amber one wouldn't know. Until she said, "I can barely walk. I don't know if I should go to the doctor..."

I asked her if she was bleeding. She said no. Ah, that neighborhood of Sodom.

"I think you'll be fine," I said. "But you and Justin need to get counseling."

"I've asked him to talk to Pastor Bob."

Great. Pastor Bob sounds like the name of a pedophile hiding inside a judgmental little prick who would tell Justin sex is only justified for making babies, but I'm a cynic. I asked where she was, and she said at home. Where was Justin? In the next room.

"Maybe you need to take (I named my nephews) and go be with mom and dad until things call down."

"I don't want to do that," Amber said. "I just don't know why he's always after me for, you know... It makes me feel so dirty. I just don't want to...I just don't know why he can't keep his hands off me, act like an adult and not an animal?"

I think: Well, maybe because he's a normal horny guy and you're a beautiful young woman -- definitely prettier than me, and with big boobs. It's not that I'm totally unsympathetic -- Justin's dick would definitely hurt getting sis's anal cherry.

Then, "When he...you know...as he was finishing with me...when he..."

"When he came?"

"When he came," she said. "When he came, he called our your name. He screamed and called out your name!"

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Girl love

My colleague Wendy is a braino analyst, while I continue to do the Jennifer Garner stuff, even at my advanced age. She's ten years older than me, and at 5'8" about my height and build, with permed brown hair down to her shoulders. She's an attractive woman. Wendy has been married for 25 years and tells me she and her husband haven't had sex in at least 10 years. So Wendy has affairs. Her most recent one, with an older married man, ended suddenly last night. Wendy came over for wine and whine. The guy had met her at a D.C. hotel after work, fucked her, and told her he couldn't see her anymore.

I had Frank Sinatra on the stereo, lights were low, and we were about halfway through the second bottle of fine pinot, when I opened up a little about me. The titillating and the tragic. We were sitting on the soft, but turned inward to each other, and I could see Wendy's expression change. I wasn't feeling predatory -- more protective, if anything. I leaned over and gave her the most tentative kiss on the cheek. Then on the lips. Just a little brush on the lips, with the slightest muscle tension in my mouth.

She fell into my arms and whispered "just hold me" over and over. So I did. After a few minutes, she raised herself up and kissed me passionately, running one hand down my cheek to me breast. "I've never done that before," she said.

"Feels good, no?" I pulled her to me and kissed her hard, slipping my tongue into her mouth. After a few seconds, her tongue found mine and things went from there. She had a wonderfully pungent pussy and I could smell her arousal. We were both in skirts, and along with about an hour of slow kissing, hands eventually found their ways to knees, thighs, damp panty hose.

I undressed her on the sofa, kissing and licking down her shoulders to her breastbone to her nipples. I ran circles around them with my tongue and gently sucked as she stroked my hair and breathed heavily, making little noises. My fingers worked under the elastic of her skirt and panty hose, reaching a very wet pussy. By this time she was helping me slip all this off. We made a big pile of clothes in the living room. I got down on my knees.

She has a beautiful pussy, with one lip more prominent than the other. I told her she was beautiful...something I love to hear from men...and I licked and nibbled on the inside of each thigh. Then I lightly licked across her clit, causing her to moan and shudder as she clenched my shoulders, then my head. I reached up and held her hands as she arched her back so I could get better access.

I gave her a long tongue-lashing, the way I like it, and it didn't seem to disappoint. I loved her scent, her very wet, growing wetter, wow...ran my tongue around her labia, flicked it against her clit. I could sense her lips getting engorged. Then I tongue-fucked her so deep that my nose was rubbing her clit.

"Oh...my...God," she gasped. "I...had...no...idea...!"

After a few seconds, I could taste semen...the man who had fucked her a few hours before. Now the stranger's come was on my tongue. I was about to come myself. As I move up toward her clit, she started madly grinding and pressing against my face. Then, a long, low, Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhha
aaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!! All as she jammed her pelvis against me and tightly clenched my hands. I stayed down there a while longer before coming up and holding her for a long time.

In a few minutes, we went into my bedroom...